The event was actually just about the furthest thing from a rock concert. The crowd outside was clamoring for tickets to a reading and onstage interview with W. S. Merwin, a spindly, kind-hearted old guy, described by SAL Executive Director Margit Rankin in her introduction as both "one of America's most distinguished poets" and "one of America's most influential poets." He is also, apparently, one of the most adored, at least in this town. When he read a line about finding himself "in life as in a strange garment," a woman in front of me wrote that down, and when he read, in another poem, the line, "I who have always believed too much in words," she wrote that down too. The lady next to her wrote down the title of every poem he read ("For the Anniversary of My Death," "Fly," "The Iceberg," "The Child," etc.) and the woman next to her nodded basically the entire hour.
Meanwhile I was trying not to nod off. There are poems by Merwin that I think are grisly, oblique, and stunning, but many of his poems are strained and dull, very white-guy-standing-in-his-kitchen-thinking-about-nature-and-God, and those were primarily the poems he read. "In the time that we have," he said at one point, "I would like to read a bunch of poems that touch on animals."
Ugh.
But I'm an asshole, and everyone else was enthralled--sitting forward, clasping hands, grinning madly--and afterward, the line to get stuff signed was huge. "That was so astonishing. You totally changed my life. Thank you so much," said a woman who'd brought along a broadsheet for him to autograph. "Hello, wonderful reading. You have a beautiful voice," said an older man with bright blue eyes like Merwin's, and a similar wardrobe. The man's wife stepped up and said, "Your voice animates your poems in a way that I've never head before, and I've been listening to poets since I was a teenager."
A woman with long dark hair and a poncho said, "I know it's kind of odd for you to sign my sketches, but I would love it if you did," and then held out her copy of the program. She had made several drawings of Merwin's face, looking in different directions. He signed it, and they chatted for a moment about "animal languages," and she smiled so much it looked like she was going to burst. "He has such a great face," she said to someone else. "It's just impossible not to try and capture it."
