Who says poets don't know how to have fun?
Thanks for the report. Felt like I was there!
- Frank
>-----Original Message-----
>From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and
>poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]]On Behalf Of Gudding
>Sent: Thursday, March 14, 2002 3:22 PM
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: AWP Report
>
>
>Apologies for cross-posting.
>
>Clio, Mairead Byrne, Marina and I drove the 6 hours from Oxford due south
>into New Orleans, 370 miles. We arrived at the Radisson Thursday evening,
>people were smoking in the lobby.
>
>After we set Marina and Clio up in our very small room, Mairead and I went
>to hear Richard Ford giving his keynote speech but left because we couldn't
>hear what he was saying. He may have been talking about squash. We found
>more whiskey and red wine and then made our way to the first AWP Poetry
>Slam. I heard Annie Finch perform a rousing poem. And then Mairead read a
>poem she wrote while trying to hear what Richard Ford was saying during his
>keynote talk. I read one of my insult poems which I had to cut huge chunks
>out of because you're not meant to read over 3 minutes. Then there was a
>great reader named Abraham Smith who's only published 3 poems. He had a
>funny little hat and beautiful eyes. Afterward Mairead and I went the AWP
>sponsored soiree Thurs night and sat down and met Charles Ford and Pierre
>Joris. I got a mild case of food poisoning from Dijon Chicken and became
>flatulent while showing Pierre my aluminum Lamy Al-Star fountain pen with
>broad stub nib (filled with Permanent Royal Blue vintage Sheaffer Skrip).
>Pierre showed me his Montblanc 146 with medium nib and his Yves St Laurent
>steel nibbed cartridge fill (a delightful pen, very smooth and wet). My
>stomach began to balloon under my sportcoat and I told Pierre, Charles and
>Mairead that I needed to go outside and release its contents. I said that
>in addition to expelling gas I would be smoking. Pierre's eyes lit up and
>asked for some cigarettes. I gave him 3 Parliament Lights. He was wearing
>new tennis shoes and while we were outside smoking he told Mairead and me
>all about his life in London, Algiers, and in various places Upstate, and
>what it's like to work with Jerome Rothenberg. I think they were Adidas
>though I'm not sure.
>
>Probably the least of my misfortunes during the conference was that I
>fainted on the street Friday at noon while talking to Ed Ochester and my
>esteemed friend Gerry LaFemina (who's on the AWP's board of directors). The
>latter carried me inside half unconscious and across the lobby of the
>Radisson, ensconcing me in an overstuffed chair. He then ran to fetch
>Mairead from our room as the editor of Pitt patted my hand. People were
>gawking. I had once again become helplessly flatulent. The word
>"ignominious" does not begin to characterize how I felt.
>
>Friday afternoon I wandered the bookfair in a hypoglycemic daze.
>
>Friday night saw Mairead and I having drinks with Crystal Williams, a
>colleague from Cornell who now teaches at Reed; fantastic poet. Later on we
>began to hit the receptions on floor 6 and ate a lot fruit; I talked with
>Rodney Jones some and later on at the AWP soiree again and while having too
>many free J&B/rocks with Mairead, Mary Ann Samyn, and Gerry, I met Joseph
>Duemer. We talked at length about Kent Johnson. Then Joe said abruptly he
>had to leave.
>
>Saturday afternoon I took Clio outside and went collecting Mardi Gras
>necklaces from the dirt in a nearby park. Later on I again wandered the
>bookfair with hypoglycemia.
>
>Saturday evening Mairead and I went to the LitCity reading and heard Rachel
>Zucker, Arielle Greenberg, Maxine Chernoff, Paul Hoover, Claudia Keelan,
>Randy Prunty, and others read. The wine there was free and some guy in a
>suit stood in front of the salsa hogging it, I wanted to punch the back of
>his head, all these other people wanted salsa. Very selfish man. (I
>realized later it was Andrei Codrescu). Then I showed Pierre Joris my
>vintage Teal Parker 51 Demi from 1942 and he pretended to put it in his
>breast pocket. I panicked briefly until I realized he was just having me
>on. Then Bill Lavender told Mairead and me to to go to Molly's and we did
>and sat in the back, but no one else followed us there. As we were leaving
>Maxine Chernoff said, "You're Gabriel aren't you." I said that I was. Then
>Mairead and I walked home down Bourbon Street to Canal and I saw the
>breasts of many people because they were lifting their shirts. One man
>pulled out his dong and began jumping up and down. It was very crowded and
>everyone but Mairead and me had a drink in hand. The air smelled like beer
>pee. The next day before driving across Lake Pontchartrain we drove up
>Bourbon Street; it was empty and clean and smelled of incense. The sun was
>shining and there was a slight breeze.
>
>Gabriel Gudding
>
>PS, The reports about the rat attacking Donald Revell's ankles at LitCity
>are true; also the lady from the back who screamed "Shut if off!" because
>Pierre's phone went off while Paul Hoover was reading -- that is also true
>and the best part was that Hoover thought the lady was yelling at him to
>shutup and got this shocked but gentle look on his face like "Well, I can
>stop reading if you really want."
>
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