I want to thank you for coming and especially
thank Alison Deming and the Poetry Center
for getting me out here.
If I lived here, I would be a fixture in the house of poetry.
It's just my idea of a dream house.
This is quite large.
Let's see if we can do this.
I thought since--
I've been spending all this time in the Poetry Center and all,
I would open with a poem.
I don't write poetry, so it won't be one of mine.
But it's the poem that-- you know how most writers have
something, a saying or quote, something
taped above their, in my case, typewriter still
or word processor.
This is the poem that I've had taped above my typewriter
for years and years.
It's a poem by Jack Gilbert called "Hunger."
But the very first time I read it,
I thought, oh, well, he's talking about what
the job of writing fiction is.
"Digging into the apple with my thumbs.
Scraping out the clogged nails and digging deeper.
Refusing the moon color.
Refusing the smell and memories.
Digging in with the sweet juice running along my hands
unpleasantly.
Refusing the sweetness.
Turning my hands to gouge out chunks.
Feeling the juice sticky on my wrists.
The skin itching.
Getting to the wooden part.
Getting to the seeds.
Going on.
Not taking anyone's word for it.
Getting beyond the seeds."