Rising from the audience, slumped in slim
sweater, he responded to George Plimpton’s
intro: “I’m afraid I left my poems
where I stopped for lunch.” Scratching stirred ashen
hair, Plimpton, log-long and limber, replied,
“Well, John, perhaps you should quickly retrieve
them.” Monk-mute, shy John with slow shuffle-slide
left the room. Calm George laughed softly, relieved
the stunned, muffled crowd with literary
vignettes, prestoing a half hour into
five minutes. Back at last, papers buried
under left arm, quietly slipping through
his faithful and shaking the emcee’s hand,
the poet uncrimped his work, and began.
Roger Armbrust
December 27, 2007
