San Fran Voice

Last night was one of those nights when I felt like being out and about but didn’t actually feel like wandering too far from home. Luckily, it never takes too much time to get to a place in San Francisco where something was happening. In my case, I just needed to wander around the corner to the North Beach library where I found a melding of creative minds at a cozy little reading by three North Beach poets. These poets harkened back to the old days of the Beat Generation that filled the bars and cafes here … but of course I wasn’t here in those days so I can’t attest to what nostalgia their coming together last night created. What I can attest to is that it was an hour well spent amongst people who have opted to make creating poetry a regular part of their daily lives, rather than just a passing phase.

I can tell you about the poetry, of course. But poetry read aloud is something which is better experienced in person than via post-activity description. You can read it for yourself or catch up with the poets at other readings as they are all active around town. Look for Jessica Loos, Mark Schwartz and Ronald Sauer. The Beat Museum is a good place to start for locating these folks who read about days past and present with an energy that transcends time.

The poetry was worth hearing, but what caught my attention and interest was less the poetry than the crowd of people gathered to hear it. We all know that I love to people-watch, that observing other characters in the dance of life is where much of my inspiration comes from. There was no shortage of inspiration there. The people were casually themselves, unique in ways both subtle and obvious. The androgynous body sitting two seats ahead of me never turned for me to get a better look, but the hair hanging down in layers of purple, orange and blonde caught my attention for more than a moment. The stoic man in the front right corner of the seating area would have appeared solemn if it weren’t for the decorative feathered hat and peasant-type blouse he wore. The gentleman who sat sketching the scene is probably someone I ought to know although I don’t. And Mark Schwartz’s boisterous laugh filled the room in a way that reminded me we should all laugh with such lack of restraint.

It is these glimpses into the lives of people that make poetry out of the city. And San Francisco hums with this poetry every single day.

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