Since our last meeting, so to speak, the family "Woo" arrived on time, in high spirits and considerably tired. Kelly had dutifully held reading lists conferences so the class work was out of the way. We had gorged on soft pretzels and arrived at Penn Station in the afternoon. The station looked nothing like it did the last time I saw it. (We will not get more detailed than that.) We loaded into cabs and headed for the Sheraton New York.
Green, maroon and navy seem to engulf everything and everyone in the lobby. And it was all held together with a pristine white marble like floor. I refuse to believe it was real marble. Simone laid out the meet every morning at 8:30 rule. For the superstitious among you, we were all on the 33 floor which probably would make a pretty good title for something.
Some of the rooms where not ready yet , so Simone was kind enough to allow us to stash our bags in her room with a 3:30 pm rendezvous time to get them. After settling in, that left Tiff and I just enough time to catch the end of Galway Kinnell's reading.
The poets among us will probably know the name. I, to the chagrin of Tiffany, was clueless. (Thank goodness for Google.) I came to hear Joyce Carol Oates.
However, Mr. Kinnell's words would probably do well to be heeded by all writers no matter what the genre. For young poets, his advice is to:
"Stay aware of your senses. Stay aware of your surroundings. The art of poetry is an exercise of the senses."
He wore the poets' attire: an elderly collegiate look of a dark suit, blue shirt, understated tie and the best looking tan leather briefcase I've seen in awhile. But, what I noticed most was the aura of accessibility that was around him. In the coming days, that attitude would be so important for a novice writer who is more comfortable with the written word than the spoken one.
Monday: Joyce Carol Oates, Skunks, iPhones and There is a Wrong Night to go out in New York City. no matter what anyone tells you.
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