Last-Minute Poetry Duo Saves May Library Reading

Sometimes fate interferes with the best-laid plans, and it seemed at one point that May’s event Tuesday was going to be a textbook example. 

First, the scheduled feature, poet Barbara Ras, had to cancel due to a back injury; but organizer Catherine Taylor used her connections with talented local poets to bring a strong pair of writers on board: Robert Thomas and Andrena Zawinski.

Then, as the event was about to begin, there was another medical emergency: Taylor’s toy poodle, Vince, was behaving oddly, possibly on the verge of a seizure. Afraid to leave him home alone, Taylor arrived at the library with Vince packed in a bag and, as the crowd assembled, I found myself walking the little white dog outside the library, wondering how the evening would progress.

But progress it did, with the added feature of Vince, in the arms of a friend, looking eagerly through the window for the first half of the reading, and then listening more calmly from Taylor’s lap for the second half.

Robert Thomas, who had intended to come as an audience member May 10, began by reading a poem by the absent Barbara Ras; he then moved into several of his own poems, pieces that often had a lighthearted feel, chewy with rich nouns.

One was an “ode to all the women that have rejected me”; another was written in the voice of an angry muse, addressing the poet: “When I ran out of gas next to a garlic farm/and went down a furrow to the dark garage,/when I danced at my brother's wedding/stomping my boots without wasting one drop/of champagne, you were there. You loomed,/likening me to a diamond can opener/or a one-woman bevy of quail, but always/likening me.”

Tired of always being admired, the muse ends with “On your honeymoon, I’ll be the aa, the long black ropes of lava slicing your flip-flops.”

I don’t know if it was the reference to flip-flops, or Thomas’s cheerful demeanor and pleasing swoosh of white hair, but to me the effect was an engaging combination of Jimmy Buffet and Mark Twain.

Thomas kept his reading brief, and Vince the poodle entered the room for Andrena Zawinski’s reading.

Zawinski, a transplant from Pennsylvania, noted the importance of place in her poems, and interspersed poems written in California with poems from her native Pittsburgh. Something she saw for the first time in California, for instance, was altars, and these inspired an ekphrastic poem, which she read.

Most of the poems were in a heavier, darker mood than Thomas’, and several dealt with death or war, or both, and had a haunting quality. In “After,” a poem that begins with a list of “afters” lead the speaker slowly toward sleep: “after geese bellow their offbeat evening refrains,/ after thieving herons squawk and beat wings nest side,/after night turns into a still life, city side, lake side....”

But the central event is hearing "a woman screaming in the night," which rattles the sleeper awake, and into insomnia.

When the poets finished reading, instead of coming to the podium to take questions, someone suggested they just turn their chairs to face the audience, and the next 20 minutes were filled with a lively discussion about the writing process, from the technique of writing persona poems, to the pros and cons of writing on a set schedule, to the role of emotions in writing.

There, during the dialogue with the audience, the energy shifted, and the chaos that had begun the evening was finally put to rest unequivocally. Even Vince was settled calmly in his owner’s arms, lulled by voices in conversation.

Everybody makes mistakes ... ! If there's something in this article you think should be corrected, or if something else is amiss, give editor Emilie Raguso a call at 510-459-8325 or shoot her an e-mail at emilier@patch.com.