These are my thoughts

after lvg the Charles Simic rdg @ Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House last night:
-this is what i'm going to miss about NYC when i finally fly outta here like a bat outta hell next year-- walking thru the streets w/ a little plastic glass of white wine
-i've found a new (haha!) poet to love (Charles Simic writes the kind of poems that appeal to me: proletarian, profound beyond what is actually being said w/ vast stretches of silences in the center)
-this is what i like most about Lilli Vernon Hse-- the wine reception! (I felt better drinkg in the subway than i felt thru my entire day of errand hopping betw Bklyn and Manhattan)
-that girl who asked a question (can't remember what the ques was) sounded so much like Maria-- the Russian girl @ my summer job who told me about Charles Simic-- that i went lookg for her after the talk ended

Let me explain why i've been M.I.A these last few mos my oh-so-indifferent public. I've been workg @ my seasonal summer job out in Coney Is-- a vast wasteland of flaunted labor laws & criminal mismanagem't! But, alas, this soul destruct'n finally ended Mon & i seem to have some free time while my attempts to find somethg that pays above min wage cont to be ignored by this buyers market of a recession economy-- oh joy.

Anyway, Maria who is a Russian-born recent college grad who wrote for & was a staff @ her school lit journal told me about Simic, & right after rdg The L Magazine events sect'n i saw that he was kickg off the rdg season @ one of my favorite haunts.



Turned out he recently joined the NYU Faculty. Alice Quinn was her usu observantly literary self. A snippet fr the eve:

Alice quoted fr an essay where Simic said somethg to the effect that poetry was the orphaned offsprg of silence. Simic then laughingly disabused everyone of the notion of him as a solitary broodg poet walking the moors or-- more accurately it would seem-- the empty darkened wooded areas of New Hampshire. He-- more or less-- said to be careful of taking what a poet says as absolute truth. That he very much loves drinks & conversat'n w/ friends (& fr the hacking coughs throughout the rdg: Smokg?). What a man of words-- to the God of poetry & wine: Oh thank you!

Oops-- nearly fell of the train sta platform as i was transferring trains on the elevated outdoor stop. I stumbled as i was leaning out to look for an oncoming train. I started laughing & this lady who saw the whole debacle said "That wasn't funny." I just laughed some more. All that on a tiny glass of white wine!