Rick’s Poetry Reading went really well this evening. He was one of many great readers tonight at the Richard Hugo House. The place was packed! Many of our friends showed up for the event! Betty Capehart came all the way over from Vashon for the event. She came over for dinner before the reading and it was so nice to spend some time with her beforehand. (Why-oh-why did I have to go and douse the food with tons of garlic? I know I reeked reeked reeked of garlic tonight! Poor Marilyn! I ended up sitting next to her.) While I was busy making dinner, Rick was practicing reading his poems. At one point, I found him practicing reading his poems aloud (and dramatically) in the bathroom while standing and then pacing!.
The reading started at 7 pm and we left Fremont headed for Capitol Hill with 20 minutes to spare. Oddly enough, it made me nervous to leave this late. I asked Rick, “Are you nervous?” “What? About the reading? No!”, he says confidently.
Here is the most beautiful poem he read tonight called Violin Light (written for me!):
In a rectangle of sunlight
I play the violin.
In a white fire of light
the opalescent bow hairs dart and glide
over the shiny cables of the strings
(that hold down the bridge),
ringing out arpeggios like carillons
through mountain towns.
In a white firelight,
half my body meets the other half.
In the light of a white fire, Earth speaks up
through my legs and torso,
my fingers thrumming,
answered by the sound in my ear,
driving me all the more
to play quick and clean and full.
Above all, Light exclaims, make music!
by their happy heartstrings!
Make your wife’s every flower sing!
Light, like love,
demands a certain discipline.
Light directs the eye,
the eye, the mind.