Offerings redux

I remember the good old days when we made and delivered Valentines and I was the good PL.
Now I am on the outs with about half my friends, there is a buzz both good and bitter, and I thought I was going to have to eat my words about the SF Reporter, but they managed to have an article this week (yay!) and not mention my part in  (O & O) even though the picture they included was Bernadette Freer's process in tackling my poem, "Unpunctuated Awe" to WS Merwiin.

Here is a nostalgic look at the good old days. The carefree Poet Laureate Living La Vida Local Life.

Now I am feeling like a cross between Judy Chicago on a bad day, and Grandma Moses on a good.
My sophistication and naivté at war with one another.  You see, though the art show is fabulous, the most in attendance ever at Community Gallery, and most people happy.  The poets are fuming.
It seems that though I was advised to not display the poems, and pictured people milling around, studiously, with booklets of poems in hand that they pour over, the poets wanted wall space.  I understand, honestly I do.  I would be bad-mouthing myself if I weren't me.  I would be critical in the nicest of ways, "What was Joan thinking? This PL thing has addled her, gone to her head, and forgot to post the poems."  But no, friends of mine who are miffed, we thought we were doing a good thing, and it has, indeed set up a longing for the poems, a magnetism, a conversation about art and poetry.

Forgive me my perspective, though Michael forbids me to say I am sorry. I guess that is what love is also, getting to tell a person you are not sorry.  I am, though.  I hate to roil the poetic waters, muddy the iambics, ruffle the swan feathers.  At least, I told Mike, I was not swanning around at the Opening, but handing out name tags and answering the phone from my friend Robin who was robbed.

Get people hither to the show!  Booklets are there, the air is clear and clean, you can see the work and read the poems at your leisure.  Closed Sunday and Monday.