Well, thanks Frances.
You know I've only been here for a week,
and it's really strange I already have
so many people I need to thank.
First off, Frances and Gail and Renee, Bonnie Jean and Rodney,
Christine, Annie, Maureen, everybody at the Poetry Center,
I'm going to be thinking about this place forever, I think.
And I can't wait to come down and see it
when it's in its new location.
I want to thank Kristen and Amy at Casa Libre, another place
I'm going to be thinking about forever,
and be glad to see again before too long, I hope.
They've been excellent hosts and protectors.
I want to thank Michael and Kristi for immediately
making me feel welcome here.
And their generosity continues even now, because they're here
and they're leaving tomorrow.
And they probably have a lot of things to do.
So thanks for coming.
I want to thank Boyer and Morgan for selecting me
for this honor.
And it really is an honor.
And I want to thank all you guys for showing up.
I started my day last Thursday, a week ago,
in Seattle with these intense stomach pains,
and I was afraid maybe I had appendicitis.
And I was leaving at about three hours.
And I just thought, "Oh my--".
I'm somebody who just is kind of a Christian
Scientist by temperament, I never go to the doctor.
And I'm at the doctor just thinking
that-- just bemoaning my terrible fortune.
And then, later that day, many hours, many miles later,
I'm sitting over at Casa Libre drinking chilled wine
in a hot tub and feeling just fine.
So my fortunes clearly improved by traveling south.
And they've meant that good luck has held.
I'm going to start with a poem I wrote a few days ago.
And that's usually a really unpromising introduction
to a poem, but bear with me.
In my office at Casa Libre, there's
a poster with all these kind of spires and sort
of narrowed eyes.
And at the top, it says "F. Kafka, Praha".
And I spent about a half a summer in Prague or Praha
a couple of years ago.
And so this poster got me thinking.
This poem is called "Sunlight Off the Vltava".
"In Czech, it's Praha.
Sometimes Prahaha.
Kafka's city, but this isn't one of those gaga salutes to Kafka.
Tycho Brahe, a Dane by birth.
He had a copper nose.
Or Dvorak, as much as I like Dvorak.
I'm thinking of a song that goes--
it goes 'da dum da dum da dum'.
I don't put stock in memory.
But Chloe used to hum it to me sweet-like.
And then we'd lock the door, which
truth told is what right now I'm thinking of.
We didn't expect or really want it to last.
And now that all this time has passed,
it seems lovelier still.
Not silly or put aside.
Not undone by hyperbole."