When, approximately two months ago, we
learned that James Wright would be
unable to read tonight because of serious illness,
we decided, in tribute to him, and partially,
in celebration of his poetry, that we had so much loved,
and in some cases, younger poets had grown up with,
to read for him.
As most of you know, James Wright
passed away in a New York hospital a little
over a week ago.
So in a sense, this reading of his poetry
must be a eulogy to him.
However, I think, more than anyone
who has written poetry in the last few decades,
James Wright has made poems which
have identified our own private lives and our most
secret and vulnerable selves.
So a eulogy seems, somehow, like a public thing.
I would rather, instead, that you
think of this reading as a quiet celebration, our speaking
of another man's voice, his personal fears and loves,
that have come so much to parallel
and to dignify our own.
Each of the five poets, who's going
to be reading James Wright tonight,
has chosen poems that they, in particular, care for.
And reading, in order, will be myself, Jon Anderson,
Maurice Stanton, Tom Owens, Ruth Gardner, and Dick Shelton.
And then I want to stand up, and we'd read one last poem.
I'm going to ask that you withhold any applause
until after the reading and that that applause be
in tribute, obviously, not to the readers but to the poems.