A Writerly Evening With Billy Collins

Last night the PWG (Petaluma Writer’s Group) gals and I went on a "field trip" to go see a reading by the man I would have to call my favorite poet: Billy Collins. I realize that saying he’s my favorite poet doesn’t mean a whole lot, since I don’t normally read (or write) a lot of poetry. Not for lack of interest, but more for lack of discovery mechanisms--I’m not motivated enough to find it myself, and I don’t have enough (or effective enough) poetry pushers in my life who hand me books or point me at websites and say "here, you just *have* to read this, you’ll love it". (I get a lot of books and music this way, and often what little cinema or TV I watch too.) I guess you could say that poetry’s marketing efforts (now there’s a phrase that seems a bit contradictory) just aren’t reaching me, their potential consumer. I’m sure that lots of other people have delved into the mystery of why poetry as an art form hasn’t achieved the widespread appeal of, say, movies or rock music, so I won’t go any further with that discussion here, except to note that it was both surprising and heartening to us word-nerd types last night to see such a huge and relatively age-diverse audience (probably over 1000 people in the nearly full Wells Fargo Center for the Arts auditorium) turn out for a poetry reading.

Anyway, this particular poet is someone who impressed me so much the first time I heard him (which was, as I recall, on NPR--one of my few consistently good non-friend sources of new media discovery) that I went out to the bookstore and bought his latest book (Picnic, Lightning). I have always had a preference for accessibility in writing of all types--I really believe that everything that you could ever want to communicate artistically or intellectually can and should be done in as accessible (not dumbed-down, but accessible) a way as possible. I especially had a huge issue with the glorification of convoluted, jargon-filled, impenetrable academic writing while I was in grad school (though sadly, as you can no doubt tell from this blog, it has had an irrevocable effect on my own writing style, dammit). And that’s what I (and apparently thousands of other poetry and non-poetry fans) love about Billy (look, even his name is friendly and unthreatening--he’s Billy, not William or even Bill): his poems *are* accessible (or as Billy puts it, hospitable), even by non word-nerds. Like a good host, his poems are gracious and welcoming, charming and thoughtful. You leave each poem marveling at what a good time you had, and hoping you’ll get invited back again soon. He is completely unpretentious--in fact often he is the very opposite: he intentionally pokes (relatively gentle) fun at poetry’s (and poets’) solemnly canonized forms and stereotypical subjects. He is exactly the type of poet that I’d want to be, if I ever start writing poetry more than once or twice a year. Which is why I was willing to take the time and effort to go see him live--and I was not disappointed. Far from it--I was both impressed and inspired. (Not inspired enough to actually write this entry as a poem, mind you, but inspired in that brushing-against-greatness-makes-you-more-creative kind of way.)

For not only are his poems great in and of themselves, they are also immeasurably improved by his wry, measured reading of them. You can tell that he’s been a professor for 30 years--he’s totally comfortable in front of a crowd (contrary to what we think of as a poet’s usual shy and retiring demeanor). He joked, told wonderful off-the-cuff stories about what inspired a particular poem, and answered questions from the audience with such wit and insight, such a flair for improvisation, that you could almost believe the questioners were ringers. I especially liked one comment he made about jealousy (I might have called it envy, but same idea) of other poets’ (or other artists in general) great work being the driving force behind artistic creation. He likened it to a little propeller under the water moving a big ship--you couldn’t see it spinning, but it was driving the whole thing forward. It felt like an intimate performance, despite the 1000+ crowd. (Of course part of this was probably because, due to the connections of uber-usher Suzanne, Rebecca and I had truly awesome seats--Suz sat farther back by herself, and the selfless graciousness of this gesture was much appreciated).

Billy was not only talented as both poet and performer, he was also unbelievably gracious as a person--he stayed around after the reading to sign books and meet fans for at least an hour. The gals and I actually went through the signing line twice--we were amongst the first 10 people in line, and didn’t have the guts to ask for a photo with him at that early stage, so we went and bought some more books and then stood in line again (!) to have him sign those and ask if we could take a picture. (We did this with Anne Lamont too…if I could find the photo link I’d show you. Perhaps over the decades we’ll have enough fangirls-with-authors pictures for a whole photo album.) Even though by the time we reached him that second time, we were nearly the last in line and he’d already been meeting fans for an hour or so, he was still very kind and actually stood up and came around the table so we could have a proper picture with him. Here we are with Billy:

Don’t we all look like excited fangirls?

(Oh and by the way, Rebecca, speaking of inspiration and excited fangirls, don't think I've forgotten: I DARE you to write--and publish--at least 5 poems by Valentine's Day 2008. Official contract to come. Love ya.)