Another poetry reading (1 Viewer)

pichon64

Not read nor write
I went to another poetry reading. 7 pm said the bookshop window.

I arrived three minutes early with my wife. He was in front of the bookshop, talking with the owner. The poet is Uruguayan, but lives and works and get prizes in Mexico since he ran from our 1973-1984 military dictatorship. He's good, he's really good. He rarely came down here, so I brought three books hoping for a signing. 'Of course, not problem with that' said the beautiful brunette behind the counter. She didn't care I bought them elsewhere.

We sat at the first row. Twenty chairs and only three of us. The owner and the brunette checked the sound, lighted some incense, and covered the book shelves with some white gauze. 5 minutes past 7 pm.

A musician I know arrived. He sat in row two. Then, a female University student arrived. Young, sexy. She also sat in row two. 10 minutes past 7 pm.

The poet was then smoking and chatting at the sidewalk with the owner. 'You're a genius', 'Oh, get out of here, you're the real genius; surviving in this country with a bookshop', 'Hey, come on, Eduardo' (Ooops, I slip his first name, -sorry Mr. M*l*n-) 15 minutes past 7 pm.

My wife knows me very well. She tried to talk to me, tried to distract me, tried to hurry time for me. But I know her very well too. I finally thought: 'I'm not waiting for poetry: I'm waiting for a prick and wasting time I could spend with this woman'. 30 minutes past 7 pm.

'Let's get out of here' I said loud enough for the other two people waiting. Her face turned red but she followed me. The musician and the student looked at each other. 25 minutes to 8 pm.

When the bookshop owner saw us leaving, he shouted 'They're leaving! Eddy, they're leaving!' The poet looked at me for the first time and instantly saw the three books I was carrying. He tried to get into the bookshop, but my face was enough for him to step back and cleared the entrance. 50% of his audience were leaving.

We walked home. The sun was still there, blinding drivers going downtown.

Poets write poetry. Readers read them. Or not. Anything else is unnecessary.
 
sorry about your bad experience, Gabriel. that sucks. but good on you for walking. self respect is a good thing.

i was the university student, by the way.

i was waiting for you to say hi. i'm really shy that way. ;)
 
just look at that perfect grammar.

genius.

anyway, like i said Gabriel, good on you for walking.

if you let people get away with treating you like shit all the time then they'll just grow to think that's the way you want to be treated.

and then eventually you will follow suit.

and then you're fucked.
 
Thanks Father! It worked, but: We're sorry, this video is no longer available.

Googling I found it here:

F... hilarious
 
Maybe I have to remember, from time to time, that this is all about reading. Anyway, I met some nice writers in the past. Personally, and virtually in this very forum.

There's hope.

Hello?... Mother?... Yeah, it's me again... Do you read it?... NO?...
 
I went to another poetry reading. 7 pm said the bookshop window....

My wife knows me very well. She tried to talk to me, tried to distract me, tried to hurry time for me. But I know her very well too. I finally thought: 'I'm not waiting for poetry: I'm waiting for a prick and wasting time I could spend with this woman'. 30 minutes past 7 pm.

'Let's get out of here' I said loud enough for the other two people waiting.

Good story, pichon64.

Yes, that is a great little story. Thanks.
 
In this day of decaying sense of art and the slipping of once noble things such as poetry into relative obscurity, I would think it the duty of the poet to be prompt and do everything possible to aid in the positive perception of their craft; for both the poet's and listener's mutual benefit.

But that's just me. I would have left at 7:20.
 
Tempting, it may seem; but then you've stooped to the level of the person you are protesting. A nice brisk but polite exit speaks volumes, especially when it represents half the audience.
 
Tempting, it may seem; but then you've stooped to the level of the person you are protesting. A nice brisk but polite exit speaks volumes, especially when it represents half the audience.

well, I think the stament I'd made can be used for two possibilities, one would be to flee the scene, the other to brake the ice and start some conversation, who knows, maybe it was all a strange confusion and turns out that the guy was ok
 
The poet and shop owner were probably waiting until it was standing room only. I like the story Gabriel. Walking out was a tough move since you may have wanted your books signed.
 
well, I think the stament I'd made can be used for two possibilities, one would be to flee the scene, the other to brake the ice and start some conversation, who knows, maybe it was all a strange confusion and turns out that the guy was ok

Nah, the 'poet' was just standing on the street playing some sort of 'hey-wait-for-the-greatest-poet' thing. It was stupid, considering we were only four people waiting for him.

Walking out was a tough move since you may have wanted your books signed.

Yes, and now It's going to take some time until I even touch some of his books. I'm that picky. I must learn to separate things.

This just left me wondering if the poet nailed the hot student.

The musician was nearer. They instantly began talking to each other when we made our move.
 

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