Poets on the Porch turned out to be an excellent poetry reading, but I must confess that for awhile there I had serious doubts. When I signed up, it sounded like a hoot. Be one of twelve local poets who gets to read for five minutes on the same program as the Poet Laureate of Maine. Wow, absolutely. Give me a slot. But when I got there, my enthusiasm waned and my joy turned to woe. All I could think was, "This is going to be a disaster." The setting was, to say it as kindly as possible, somewhat less than ideal. The Weary Club is a small, white, one-story house on Main Street in Norway and its porch is smaller than the lobby of a village post office. No problem. Except that the porch overlooks a lawn that is even smaller. A ten-year-old could mow it during a commercial. And after the lawn is the sidewalk and then the street. Again, no problem. Except that it was downtown Norway's busiest day of the year - the day of the Annual Sidewalk Art Show when dozens of artists display their paintings and hundreds of people wander the length of Main Street to have a look. Next door to the Weary Club a group had set up a refreshment stand to cater to the art lovers and was hawking hot dogs and sodas. Half a block away someone was playing blues harmonica and the riffs were echoing off the store fronts. It was loud enough that people nearby were tapping their feet. And then there was the traffic. A constant flow of cars and trucks and motorcycles provided a noisome, most unpoetic background. And last of all there was the sound system: a stand with a uncooperative microphone plugged into a single speaker. Anyone interested in listening to Poets on the Porch would have to be interested indeed. As I pulled my portable camp chair from its nylon bag and claimed a spot near the porch, I was embarrassed that Baron Wormser was going to have to read in such inhospitable circumstances. The only good thing about the setup was that a maple tree shaded the sidewalk. If anyone actually paused to listen, at least they'd be out of the sun. Against the rumble of a passing vehicle, Lisa Moore stepped up to the mic and with good humor said, "If you can't read poetry while a pulp truck is going by, you don't belong here." And suddenly the whole bizarre setup seemed okay. And it was. The crowd that gathered - yes, a crowd gathered - the crowd that gathered was so enthusiastic and forgiving that not only were the top quality poems applauded, but even the lesser poems (such as mine) were responded to graciously. The mix of voices - of the poets and of the poems - when combined with the unlikely surroundings, created an experience not to be equaled in the reading room of any library. As much as I enjoyed the poems and the wackiness of reading against the din of downtown, what I really enjoyed was watching Baron Wormser. You would think that the Poet Laureate of Maine would make his guest appearance, read his poems, accept his applause, and then take off - like a movie star on a late-night talk show. At least that's what I thought was going to happen. But no. He paid attention to the three poets who read before him and to the twelve local poets who read after him. Each of the twelve got to read for five minutes, enough time for three or four poems each. And Wormser didn't miss a single one. As I watched him watching the poets read, I thought, "This guy deserves to be Poet Laureate." Sure his poems are good, you don't get a five-year appointment as Poet Laureate of Maine unless you can really write, but what seemed important to him was not so much his poems, but poetry. And poets. When the whole thing was over, he stayed for awhile and made pleasant conversation with whoever wanted to chat, even asking me about the subject of one of my poems. Despite my initial misgivings, woe melted completely into joy and Poets on the Porch turned out to be a wonderful experience. Is it too early to sign up for next year?
Poets on the Porch