The various Creative Writing classes I’ve taken so far held small poetry readings where students could read their work from the semester. Yesterday, I went to an actual poetry reading up in the department’s Poetry Center, and it was, well, interesting.

For one thing, it was interesting to listen to someone read their published work - I found it a little difficult to focus on both the poet and on the piece, and I noticed that some people around me listened to him read with their eyes closed. Also, the poem sounds different when it’s read aloud; on paper, I couldn’t tell how I was supposed to react at certain parts. Was I supposed to laugh after that stanza? Contemplate? Did this line break mean something? Strange how something doesn’t come alive until you hear it.

And the poets were very down to earth and fun to interact with. I went up to one of them afterwards to ask him a question - and to get his autograph. “Are they forcing you guys to read my stuff?” he asked in return. “There’s a class, I know, that had to buy my books for required reading, and I was flipping through one of those textbooks awhile ago. Someone had written on the very back of the book, ‘What the —- is this —-?’ So of course I had to buy it!”