I came up in the ‘poetry readings’ world under royalty. I was in the military for a small bit (small note about the military: When you are on, you are on, and when there is nothing, there is nothing. “Stand around and wait,” which for me meant, stand around and read. I probably read more books in the military than in graduate school) and when I came out I went to a small Midwestern, liberal arts school to work on or fly airplanes (my MOS in the military was 68 Golf). I lasted a day in an engineering class. My father worked evenings, and I drove to his business late at night and told him I couldn’t be in aviation. He smiled and gave me a hug (he was good at making big world problems seem small) and told me to take some classes that I was interested in.
I loaded up on English courses, philosophy courses, and journalism courses. I was attracted to the work, but also to the character of these professors. Dr. Richard Prince was (and remains) one such inspiration. If English offices were supposed to have books dripping off of the shelves, low light, uncomfortable chairs that had butt prints grown in, with a partially filled ashtray somewhere, and a small flask of something hidden not too far from the ashtray, then his office fulfilled that duty. He was smart. He was giving of his time. He was very interested in the lives of others. And when he spotted something interesting about a student, he helped develop and nurture it. Personally, he introduced me to Chicago as the hot bed of literary activity. And, he introduced me to poet Marc Kelly Smith. Marc is the poetry slam founder. He runs a weekly show (it is the longest running poetry show in Chicago, quite possibly, the country) that has the poetry slam in it. He created the poetry slam in 1988. The Green Mill Jazz Lounge is the home of the poetry slam. Marc Smith built it.
I am a behind-the-scenes guy, mostly. But I was lucky that I had this very hard discipline from the military, a very formal education from the Christian Brothers, and the juxtaposition of living, breathing poets and writers. It very much interested me to read Carl Sandberg and see Marc Smith. It interested me to read Gwendolyn Brooks and see Patricia Smith. It interested me to read Nelson Algren and see Stuart Dybek. So, as I was reading the books of unerring truth, I was meeting with Marc to work on shows, or book tours, or write articles; Marc would always ask me what I was reading and we’d sit on his couch and go back and forth about how good, or how awful it was. Marc is an artist, one of the most pure minded artists I have been around. He is a tough nut. I came up with a bunch of tough nuts. All of them filled with love, desire, passion, a Midwestern work ethic, and the ability to continually impress and screw up at the same time. All too human. (Marc was particularly brutal on the Beats. We went round and round on that … he might have won.) Among the many, many gifts that Marc has, he builds shows. And that is his lasting impact on me. How do you put a poetry reading together? Marc is royalty. He taught me.
The biggest annual literary event in Chicago is the Printers Row Bookfest. It is a small neighborhood of Chicago that sits next to the retired Dearborn Train Station. It’s cool: Blocks and blocks of books, writers, poets, chefs, enthusiasts, kids, music, beer, and sun (or rain) – Kasey’s Tavern. I first went in 1998 and saw Robert Pinsky. Robert was good. I am pretty sure he read "Jersey Rain" in Dearborn Station. The following year I saw Li Young-Lee read at Grace Place at the fest. I am pretty sure he read "The Gift". I saw Edward Hirsch in the Poetry Tent as people were piled up on the outside trying to peer in. Edward said something like, “The poetry tent is too small. The Chicago Tribune needs to make a bigger poetry tent. They thought poetry wouldn’t fill it. They were wrong,” something like that. It was fun, and lovely. He gave a great reading. I saw the slam poet Taylor Mali fill the tent and impress with his poem, "What Teachers Make". I saw Mark Doty a couple of years ago fill the tent and give as elegant a reading, while bleeding sweat, as I have ever seen. I saw Amber Tamblyn, Rachel McKibbons, and Mindy Nettifee, fill the tent and deliver ice and popsicles to the audience during the ‘coven’ reading (which later blurred into Frank Deford talking about a witch he knew in New York City). I saw an audience member ask poet Michael Robbins why he was so, ‘melancholy’. There was even a fun squabble last year where I was moderating a reading with Patricia Smith and Cin Salach, and Patricia took the lead from me and asked if there were any questions, to which one Joffre Stewart of ‘Howl’ fame (he is Ginsberg’s friend in Chicago burning money) stood up and started to defame some poets. Patricia looked at me and said, “Oh god, I’m sorry,” and then an older man in the crowd jumped up and started screaming at Joffre to “Shut up, shut up, shut up”.
I have been hosting the poetry tent for about seven or eight years. This means recommending poets. It means putting together different ‘show’ ideas with poets. It means reading introductions. It means asking questions. It means building an environment to have both poet, writer and audience member happy and entertained. It means getting poets water (Yes, I'm the Water Boy … Slap Hands! Slap Hands!). It isn’t always easy. Mostly, I like reading the books before the poets come and making a comment, or asking a question about the work. Sometimes I am more critical than I should be. Other times I am more giving than I should be. If you like poetry, if you like characters, if you like a little drama and spice, and if you enjoy the varied voices, the poetry tent is for you. All of the different stories about the readings … to paraphrase Edward Hirsch, the poetry tent is too small, but it is kinda big too.