a fine night out

For quite a few weeks I knew about the event.
Would you like to go to the Gala? my boss would ask as we made arrangements for him to invite people.
As it was an expensive event to attend I thought it best that he invite people important to him, or to the company, first. I didn't think much about it - we were very busy trying to get him to London and he, he who is on The Board, would be missing the Gala as he was supposed to BE in London.
Then my friend A started asking me if I would go to the Gala. I could tell she wanted to spend the evening with me but didn't want to push me. (It's always hard to tell if people, any people, at work, truly want to attend an after-work function or if they are being polite...or feel responsible for attending. I could tell that A wanted me to want to go.)
Blahblahblah, busy at work...SOBUSYATWORK and all the while, in the back of my head, thinking of going - or not, to this poetry event. Big stars, lots of poetry, and a cocktail reception following.
The thing about me and poetry is: I usually enjoy poetry well enough but I'm not one of those people who become deeply immersed in it and have never pondered writing it. I'm a casual observer. But, I decided to go.

A and I went for a drink first, which was a good idea as I was suddenly a little nervous about what I'd gotten myself into. Fortunately, the wine soothed my mood as I ended up sitting in front of Darth Vadar (read: a fellow well over 6'5" and 350 pounds) who, though the hall was quite large, had his knees in my back the whole time. (He was also a very loud/heavy emoter - you know the type, hugely loud laughter when most of the audience smiles?)
It was quite an evening.
Ten readers, ranging from elder statesmen, to artists, to - well, Meryl Streep, read three or four poems of their choice.
When I was not mesmerized by what I was hearing I had the additional treat of watching the ten of them sit on the stage in front of me for a couple of hours. Of observing them whilst they listened. But more on that in a minute.
Gabriel Byrne told a wonderful story of how the Irish had traveled from Egypt to Ireland and read in Gaelic before he read in English. What can I say? I love me some Yeats - have always - and what could be wrong with listening to some Gaelic read by Gabriel Bryne.
Rosanne Cash read a very nice After Making Love We Hear Footsteps.
Alan Cumming, with his very fine accent and a utterly fantastic suit, read Cultural Operations which was very good but also Men Talk, which he was perfectly suited to.
Jhumpa Lahiri! Ms. Lahiri read three poems about Cape Cod!
Sting.
Sadly, though I spent most of the evening appreciating Sting from about 12 rows back and have several observations regarding him - Sting read Philip Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings. Long and interesting, but not what I was hoping for. Glad he shaved off that beard though.
Finally, Ms. Streep read The Witch of Coos by Robert Frost and A Cold Spring. The selections were not astonishing - Ms. Streep was.

So. Suddenly it was done. I had sat and appreciated two hours of poetry (poor Kim, eh?).
But then we were expected at the reception. Ushered through the crowd with ten co-workers, to the party. Wine and food and - THE READERS.
I had already watched the readers for a good long time - Sting, for example, who, though he may benefit from all that yoga, is not good at sitting still! ADHD perhaps? Meryl who does that thing with her hands and tilts her head in that way she does in films too! Alan Cumming who sat with his arms on his knees, leaning forward and listening intently, Gabriel Byrne who plays with his eyeglasses as he does on In Treatment.
And Alec Baldwin, visiting, having sat in the front row and who, surprisingly, was much smaller than I thought he'd be.
I'll quickly say that Alan Cumming blew me right off. I had approached him and complimented him on his poetry choices and said that I had very much enjoyed his reading - and he, sort of, waved me off. I don't think he spoke, even.
This put me off a bit and I spent time observing for a while.
Alec Baldwin was very much The Big Star.
I missed Meryl - other side of the room or something.
I heard that Sting was holding someone's hand and people didn't think it was Trudy (must have been!).
I casually mentioned to Jhumpa Lahiri that her poems about the Cape struck me as it is such a special place to our family. She looked positively petrified and fled. (Let me assure you - A was with me for that one and explained that perhaps Jhumpa is not used to one on one attention and told me I was not coming off like a crazy person.)
And then, toward the end of my time at the party, I was standing with my wine and gazing.
And Gabriel Byrne was doing the same - just across from me.
My friend had just walked away - I don't know why Mr. Byrne was alone.
A wait-person passed between us and we were suddenly facing each other AND HE TOOK A STEP FORWARD AND SAID (WITH THE ACCENT AND THE EYES AND THE GENTLE VOICE):
This is a lovely place for a reading, isn't it?
And I did not faint, and I took a breath, and I composed my words...and said:
Indeed it is. And I very much liked your choices.They were wonderful, and it was a pleasure to listen to you read them.
But I was thinkin, he continued, it would be nice to do this in a really small place... (And think of the t's he says, with that accent, will you?)
Well, you just let me know where and I'll come listen. I can bring some friends too, if you like. I did not pass out. I spoke in real sentences.
He took my hand.
Does Christine have your information? My mind raced like a Grand Prix car. Christine? Yep. I knew who he meant.
She does.
Good, then. I'll be seeing you.

I, who am never star struck. I, who like poetry well enough but doesn't breathe and sleep it.
I had a very nice time at the gala.