Before I read one final poem, I do
want to tell you about David.
This looked as if it were a joke in my book,
and it's not a joke to me.
I made friends with Robert Bly and his wife,
and I'm more than friends.
Annie and I are godparents of two of their children.
I went out there week after week when
I was living in Minneapolis.
They live in Western Minnesota.
I went with Robert when he bought a horse,
and I love that horse.
And I think he loved me, too.
He was a swayback horse.
He was quite old.
He was a Palomino, very nice.
And once, I had written a poem, and I forgot about it.
Well, I didn't forget about it.
I wanted to show it to Robert or Carol, his wife.
And I couldn't find anybody.
I was in the chicken house.
I went over to the farmhouse, and I couldn't find them.
There was nobody in the house I went
around the back of the house.
And of course, David was wandering around.
Wonderful, old David.
He ate the poem.
[LAUGHING]
I know it sounds as if it were a joke, but it's not a joke.
No.
David is dead now, what has ever happened.
[LAUGHING]
When I came to put my collected poems together,
I have a poem called--
or something called, "In Memory of the Horse
David Who Ate One of My Poems," and here it is.
[HOLDS UP THE POEM, A BLANK PAGE] [CHEERING]