Newburyport Literary Festival

This week I didn’t get into the garden much as the weather was poor and I was busy inside. I work constantly so paper and books and files pile up and finally begin to obstruct even walking around in my office. My desk was a mound of paper. I had to do what always feel is a waste of time when I could be creating something on the computer or in the garden: straighten my office. Took two days to get through the piles and what had once been piles but was finally just mess.The truth is, I’m a very clean person. But a very messy one. I am always reading several books and several magazines and working on a couple of poems and something in prose. My political work generates more piles. Correspondence, stuff to go to Michigan, etc….We sent off a big box to the University of Michigan. Some years ago, I sold my papers to the University graduate library on an on going contract where they get a copy not only of my old papers and mss. but current relevant correspondence, publications, posters, whatever. Every five or six weeks, we send off a box to the librarian who works on my archives. They tell me I am one of the two most important writers to graduate Michigan, and Arthur Miller’s paper are scattered among various archives. My assistant Melenie also works at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown three days a week – she works for me for two. A new strain of flu has been going around Ptown and she caught it so didn’t feel good on Wednesday and went home early. I hope I don’t catch it. So far, so good.Friday after an early light supper we drove to Newburyport. We stayed at the Essex Street inn, which was pleasant with a gas fireplace and quiet. Woody was reading at 10 in the morning from YOU’RE MARRIED TO HER. He had a small but enthusiastic crowd. I am not fond of the way the festival is organized. There are up to six things going on at any given time. I was reading poetry with David Ferris @ two and reading short stories from my new collection THE COST OF LUNCH, ETC. @ 4. Woody noticed that there was little no provision at various venues for people with disabilities. The poetry venue was in the downstairs of a church quite a distance from the inn. It was badly organized. Poets were shoveled in without any space between so that we overlapped, causing me to be embarrassingly rude, frankly. The space was dreary and we were stepping all over each other’s time. Poets were put together who would attract very different audiences. It was a mess. Nobody seemed responsible for getting poets to say within their allotted time.In fact the only venue where I had any help was in the big auditorium. The rest of the time we were on our own. I’ve never taken part in a festival that was so overbooked and underorganized.The organizers obviously value poetry little and prose much. For my short stories, I read in a large auditorium, read alone, had a good mike. It was an altogether different experience and there were “only” two other events going on at the same time. It was cold and rainy. I did meet one of the participants in my June juried intensive poetry class, and a participant from several years ago, a fine poet and artist Laura Grohe, showed up and took us to lunch. it was delightful to see her again. I did see her briefly at the March conference, but just in passing, and while we keep in touch more or less through Facebook, it was good to have a sit down and talk and to catch up.Many year-rounders in Wellfleet nonetheless go away for part of the winter. Some go away for much of it. These sun worshippers are gradually returning. One of my good friends, Lois Rustia, is back now and we had lunch together and exchanged belated birthday gifts. Lois has beautiful taste and can find wonderful things. She gave me an amber pendant on a pretty necklace. I adore amber. It feels so organic and takes on body heat when you wear it. I gave her an unusual necklace I had fought during my last gig in the Southwest, in Santa Fe.