[APPLAUSE]
Oh, oh, oh.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you so much for that.
I forgot about the Q & A.
I think we have time for some questions.
And speak up if you're way out back or into the--
Can I make one-- does anyone--
did anyone recognized in the Westerns--
I've never read most of these, those new poems--
that one line--
"The thing about revenge from a flashback that had murdered
is--" Does anyone know the movie that I'm referring to,
the Western?
"The Outlaw Josey Wales?"
No, no, but close.
"Once Upon a Time in the West?"
Yes.
Wow!
[LAUGHTER]
Yes!
I was wondering if-- yeah, it's--
I mean, I didn't camouflage it.
I should have camouflaged it inside of a bus,
like a vodka bottle.
[LAUGHTER]
But good!
That's-- you know your Westerns.
You must also be an insomniac.
Yeah.
[LAUGHTER]
Well, that was with a few films with Henry Fonda as a villain.
Yes, yes.
That was his favorite film, you know?
Yes.
I know much too much about Westerns.
[LAUGHTER]
We have a question right here.
Yes?
How did dyslexia affect your writing?
Where is the person?
Right here.
Oh, OK.
I'm here.
Can you talk a little more about your dyslexia,
and how it affected you, and a little bit more
about your writing?
Well, I didn't know.
I had been a writer for a very long time.
I don't know if I mentioned that my son was in second grade
when he was diagnosed with it.
And that's when I found out that I was.
And every one of his symptoms was mine.
And that explained everything why
I couldn't learn how to read until I was in the fifth grade.
And I spent this time at a table called the dummy table.
So I think that, in a way, probably,
my writing came out of that battle with low self-esteem,
where I need to escape into my imagination.
I first drew and painted.
I think the imagination is a haven, is a refuge for that.
And I think, also, from what I understand,
I mean, I'm far from an expert, that one aspect or advantage
of dyslexia is that you want to turn experience almost
immediately into a story.
That story save you.
You turn it into a story.
And then, you live in the story.
And it helps objectify experience,
so it becomes less painful.
And I think, writing does that too.
Any more questions?
Go ahead.
Why do you write in free verse?
I'm sorry, what?
Why do you write in free verse?
Why do you like to write in free verse instead of rhyme schemes?
I always did.
I don't know if my dyslexia plays a part in that.
But I think, I'm a child of the 60s.
And I grew up in after the Beats and in the era
of Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti.
And that's what poetry was.
And American poetry was really much born out of Whitman.
And so, I wasn't part of the English tradition,
so I wrote in free verse.
But I scan, I carefully scan poems.
And there are rhymes in them--
slant rhymes and half rhymes.
Do you ever read for pleasure?
Good question.
I don't know.
My inclination is to say, well, I read the newspaper,
and I read the sports page.
And there's pleasure in it.
But I always have to overcome a certain reservation
and a certain idea that I'm reading.
And when I talk myself into the fact,
sometimes, in order to write, I have
to play solitaire, and trick my brain
into jumping over a field of anxiety into doing it.
And I think that reading is something like that.
How did you get [INAUDIBLE] to poetry?
You know--
[INAUDIBLE]
Someone is going to have to repeat that question.
I just didn't-- sorry, I didn't hear.
How did you get to poetry from whatever you were doing before?
Could you be more specific?
How did I-- what-- you mean, when I was a kid,
and I first drew?
Why did I start writing?
Or when you were telling stories to your grandmother and mother,
and then, you became a poet.
How did that transformation [INAUDIBLE]??
Well, there were years when I drew.
And that was the first way of using my imagination.
And then, well, that's a very good question.
I think around the time my father died when I was 18,
it was all this drama about his bankruptcy and his--
he was infamous in ways, that I decided
that, if I was going to do something,
it wasn't going to work--
drawing and art weren't specific enough.
They were too figurative.
I wanted to be literal.
I wanted to tell stories that left nothing
to the imagination.
I ended up leaving a lot to the imagination or being more.
But I think, that is the most honest answer to that.
I think the actual transition to writing
was needing to tell more details.
Be less figurative.
Were you ever concerned if anyone
would like your stories, care about your stories?
Did it not matter at all?
You mean, like, my poems or--
Yes, yes.
Does it bother-- do I worry about whether am I--
whether or not a poem is going to be successful enough
to not write it?
Is that what you mean?
Yeah.
Were you ever concerned or have you ever
been concerned with whether there's an audience for what
you have to say in your poems?
No.
[LAUGHTER]
You know, if you become a professional poet,
the chance of making a livelihood and surviving that
is so far fetched.
And if you live on that level of folly and inspiration
or whatever you want to call it, not really.
I guess, the need to do it was so great.
I think all people do what they do
because the desire is so profound that the fear takes
a backseat.
And if you don't have-- and if your desire is not
as great or greater than the fear,
you don't do something or anything.
At the end--
I didn't expect these questions, and you probably
didn't expect these answers.
[LAUGHTER]
At the end of your poem, "What I like and Don't
Like," you said that, "The thought of no one listening
anymore- I like that least of all."
Why would you refer to it as I like
that least of all, rather than I don't like it?
I--
For the sound!
You mean, why I didn't say, I don't--
I could have said, I don't like that most of all,
but it just sounds better to say it that way.
And I think everyone knows what I'm saying.
Yeah.
I am assuming.
[LAUGHS]
Do you write on a computer or do you use a pen and paper still?
If you ever saw my handwriting, you
would understand why the computer was invented for me.
[LAUGHTER]
Every now and then, when I'm on the bus coming into the city,
I have to-- and I have an idea, I write it down.
But then, I never can read it.
I just can't read my--
even when I tried to print, that's even worse.
I have a very bad handwriting.
And I'm sure that comes out of the dyslexia.
So I have to write on a computer, pretty much
Have there been periods--
You're going-- could you stand up and maybe, speak up?
Yeah.
Have there been periods when you just had avoided and stopped
writing, and what are some of those situations that--
There were 18 years between books
at one point, 1984 and 2002.
It was a long void.
Yeah.
[LAUGHS]
I didn't like what I was doing.
I felt that I was writing about failed relationships, mostly,
and that the writing about them had something
to do with their happening.
And for whatever reason, the fear
was greater than the desire.
And I stopped.
And I started a school.
I did all kinds of things.
I got married.
And then, I started writing out of more happy circumstances.
Do you have any schedule for your writing
or is it just as spontaneous?
It has to be morning.
I have nothing left by midday.
I mean, it has to be early morning.
I get up.
I'm very early.
Sometimes, I go right from the Westerns [INAUDIBLE]
[LAUGHTER]
No.
Actually, I mostly sleep soundly.
And I wake up before I go on off,
and walk my dog along the beach, and have ideas.
And then come back and write.
[INAUDIBLE]
Would someone-- you know, it's like Chinese whispers.
[LAUGHTER]
You could say it to someone and I'm--
--to address the contemporary world?
I'm sorry.
[LAUGHTER]
Do you think it's important for a poet
to address the contemporary morals?
Do you think--
I know, I heard it.
[LAUGHTER]
You know, these are some of the best questions I've ever had.
[LAUGHTER]
I mean, do you all get together and prepare these things?
And one has to be tougher than the next one?
And finally, you reach a point where I'm a pretzel.
[LAUGHTER]
Yes.
I mean, Brecht, the great German playwright,
said that, especially, in a time of crisis or catastrophe,
to not be political, is for a writer, a poet,
is moral cowardice.
And I agree with that.
Yes.
Yeah, I think it's absolutely necessary to not pretend
that the world you live in doesn't exist,
and that its problems aren't above or below
your necessity of writing.
I believe it's absolutely essential.
It's part of your job.
Now that in the '30s, it made for a very, very bad poetry,
and in a lot of parts of the '60s.
Because people were telling other people
or writing about what they already knew.
The job of the writer is to try to tell people
something they don't already know,
which means that something they themselves don't already know.
It's like being on a soapbox, isn't it?
Maybe, it's like, get out the vote.
OK.
Could you stand up, please?
Yes.
This might--
I could tell this is going to be a good one.
[LAUGHTER]
Let me brace myself.
[LAUGHTER]
This might be a personal question, but I'm intrigued.
I'm assuming you've written a love letter in your life.
But have-- you have, right?
[LAUGHTER]
You mean, not to myself?
[LAUGHTER]
Have you given it to someone?
Yes.
How was it received?
[LAUGHTER]
I'm going to take that as a compliment.
[LAUGHTER]
No, no!
No, no.
I love the question, God, these are the most imaginative
questions.
How was it-- you mean, the first one?
[LAUGHTER]
The first one, when I was about 5--
[LAUGHTER]
And I couldn't write and I figured, what the hell?
[LAUGHS]
There was one that I got, it was returned with silence,
which was horrible.
And I was madly in love.
I was 20 years old.
And I ran all the way to San Francisco to get away.
And another one landed me a wife.
So I don't know if there were many in between.
May I ask, why did you ask that?
[LAUGHTER]
That's such a-- intriguing.
I have a feeling a reason for asking
is much more interesting than my answer.
That's even more personal.
Yeah.
Did you-- I'm liking, my fantasy is
you thought I'd write good ones.
Oh, oh, definitely!
Oh!
Nothing like being on the spot, right?
Are you still asking?
Yes, please!
[LAUGHTER]
Yes, please.
I'm so flustered.
Well, I guess, it's always just been a personal fantasy
to receive a love letter from a poet.
[LAUGHTER]
And I-- never mind.
No.
Just leave your address in the front row.
[APPLAUSE]
I think maybe we should stop there.
[LAUGHTER]
We're just getting going.
[LAUGHTER]