This next poem is called "Little Yellow Leaf."
And I recalled recently, I've forgotten for about a year,
but I now recall the impetus of this poem.
And I think I related not for just a personal interest,
but I think that it does help with the idea of the poem.
I was doing with--
the only time I ever did this kind of thing,
I was doing a genuine poetry circuit, which
means you go around and around.
[SIGHS]
[LAUGHTER]
And you really go, you really go pretty berserk.
You go-- give about 12 readings in a row, that's
what I was doing, I give 12 readings in a row.
Sometimes two a day and driving every place
and, you know, you just--
it's horrible.
You end up hating your poems and hating your voice
and hating your car.
[LAUGHTER]
So it was about the sixth reading when I was about
going-- when I was all beginning,
I mean the self-hate business was beginning--
about the sixth one.
And I was at this really small college in Oregon.
And I was having a coffee after the reading and sitting around
and the questions were very boring.
[LAUGHTER]
They were asking-- the ones--
know-- like, do you really expect anybody to read
your poetry and--
[LAUGHTER]
And just generally insulting you in every conceivable way.
And suddenly out of the empty air, this voice came that said,
don't you feel absolutely alone?
And I turned around and it was this pretty girl.
[LAUGHTER]
So there was a shocking question at that point
because I was trying very hard to say exactly what they
wanted me to say.
Everything they wanted me to say, I'd say.
That's the best thing to do.
[LAUGHTER]
And so I was trying--
Do you really expect anybody to read your poetry?
No.
You know, you say everything that they want you to say.
So this girl said that and I was stunned.
And I go on-- the next--
I go out and get in the car and drive 150 miles
and get out and go to another small college.
And I'm going along reading and all of a sudden I
see that girl in the audience.
[LAUGHTER]
And this happened the next five days,
and I didn't say anything.
I didn't ever say anything to her
but she was always sitting there in the center of the room,
just sitting there.
And finally, about the fifth time
it happened, right in the middle of a poem I was reading along,
and I saw her and I couldn't say another word.
[LAUGHTER]
Just-- so I asked her if she wanted to go get a beer.
[LAUGHTER]
And then I had to give another reading that night.
And I said, are you going to be at that one?
And she said she would be there indeed.
And so it was at Corvallis.
It was reading.
When I finally asked her if she wanted a beer it was in Eugene
and then I was driving up about 60 miles to Corvallis
and she said she'd be there.
So I left the pizza parlor and got in the car
and started driving and there was a blizzard.
And I got there and I gave the reading and I--
as a matter of fact, though I was really
at the end of the line, really going wacky,
I tried very hard to give an exceptionally good reading,
and I thought it was a pretty good reading.
And when it was all over, everybody
started filing out the door and everybody kept filing out,
she wasn't there.
So I nearly went crazy.
[LAUGHTER]
And her name, I remember her name was Vicky.
And I knew what town she was from, she was from McMinnville,
Oregon, if you're ever there.
And--
[LAUGHTER]
I called the operator and I said--
I called McMinnville, Oregon and I asked for a Vicky.
And the operator-- and the operator
gave me her number, right?
[LAUGHTER]
And I talked to her and she said that she had fallen in a ditch.
[LAUGHTER]
And so she came down.
Then she came down right away.
But this poem is a lot more serious than any of that.
Well, I think you'll--
even though that's a silly anecdote I think
you'll see how--
I think it's relevant to the poem.
There's an idea-- I mean, I wasn't
just telling --there is an idea that I had about that.
And this was written up in the mountains
during a blizzard in Oregon.
It's called "Little Yellow Leaf."
A woman's pink body could be preserved
separate from the mass and the mill
and anonymous though urgent love capable of disassembling
the rest of us like a pure white puzzle or an essay
fraught with hyphens.
Preserved forever inside a glacier,
she moves across the valley like a violin.
Our gladness flares like a pheasant in an empty field.
How strong the need to comprehend the little lights
and bells inside our heads when she slides by.
Avalanches will begin soon and maybe flood the town below.
I think I know her name.
Her name is Little Yellow Leaf, I
should not let the others know.
She is deathless dream.
She holds loose and spare parts of loss lives
together with one slender revolving finger.
The world needs a love it cannot buy or chain.
Untouchable Little Yellow Leaf, lure us beyond loss and gain.
Let profit be the love we part with and failure the first day
of the rest of our lives.
[APPLAUSE]