Clearing the Sill Of the World - Key West 2

I have spent a beautiful sunny day in the Florida Keyes indoors, in a dark cavern called the San Carlos club, with 200 of my closest friends, listening to an All-Stars Game of Poetry:
Rachel Hadas - A bit academic, but honest and adroit. She, the burden of opening and so at a disadvantage. Brilliantly trained in the classics, she is the ground wire amongst so much lightning.
Erica Dawson - A mere 30 years old, and pursuing her Ph.D. at the University of Cincinnati, Ms. Dawson naturally coheres language, ideas, and format. Her hard work never shows. She makes a triple axle look like a dance step. An everyman engaged in the work of masters . . . she succeeds. I'm a bit jealous of her ease, and innate intelligence. She just arrives, and bears light without self-consciousness.
James Tate - My favorite of the day. Brittle and elderly, he needed help to climb the stairs to the stage. Once seated he read humorous poems in a deadpan-comic Richard-Wright style. His common language conveys large concepts using vernacular characters and dialogue. Amazing, accessible. I laughed regularly throughout his reading!
Robert Pinsky - A genius whose intelligence is akin to defense mechanism. He's like a magician that keeps you mesmerized by the energy and activity in his right-hand . . . while he arranges a surprise below his cape. I have the involuntary desire to sit him down . . . slow him down . . . lead him back to his heart. Wind from that path that bears complex and unaddressed issues. I wonder if his intent isn't to inspire repeated inspection of content. Rich with layers nevertheless.
Rita Dove - Whose new book is my next purpose - had the most interesting subject matter: A biography of a baroque mulato violinist who traveled Europe during the age of slavery, held court with kings, was a friend of Beethoven, and eventually lead the Price of Whales orchestra. What an amazing life!
Mark Strand - Funny, but not hilarious. He had one or two classic lines from his early work (to represent the celebration of 60 years of American poetry). He is a humble and generous poet, who was more interested in his peers than himself. Also someone I'd like to take to dinner.
Tim Steele - Did the BEST job with the most difficult subject. He spoke intelligently and engagingly on meter and rhythm in verse . . . and enabled me to access every point without losing my attention. I hope a transcript of his presentation is made available. It was that good. Sterling!
There were also four panel discussions of various formal topics: Influences, Poetic Mechanics, Form, and Process. These were interesting, as I'm a poet. Panelists spoke extemporaneoulsy and informedly . . . but I was self-reflexively aware that the audience was full of poetry "groupies" chomping at the bit to repeat some of their ruminations at the next book-club meeting. Still good stuff for a poet, priming himself to gestate in a workshop next week. I should have been subjected to a complete Survey of Modern American Literature by the time I have to explain my stinking attempts at immortality (turns out Vampirism is involved . . . and I'm just not that straight!).
The average age in the room is 60. I mean who prizes poetry enough to miss a week of work, and has the income to migrate to Key West at peak season. The greatest generation is also the greatest audience. They laugh freely and typically swoon a long suppressed "MMmmmmmmmm" after poetic flourishes by which they are moved.
I did manage to get Richard Wilbur (*the* 89 year old guest of honor) to sign the title page of his anthology. I asked him to inscribe something inspirational, but he only signed his name. I think the autograph was involuntary in that public-speaking thanks-and-here-you-go kind of way. I'm told this will be worth billions one day, but I'm not the type to haggle with sacred texts.
Tonight, I will attend the performance of a staged reading of Richard Wilbur's translation of the Suitors (French farce), and attend a cocktail party. The food and company has been lovely, but alas, a day of vacation has flown by. I feel stimulated, but not refreshed. If the weather is not freezing later in the week, I may play hookie and sit out in the sun at the beach. More soon . . .