A GROUP that calls itself the “Saipan Art Community” promised a “Night of Art” last Saturday at Coffee Care, featuring “several local artists from a variety of disciplines including several visual art forms, poetry, short stories and music.”
There was one slight problem though. The “Night of Art” coincided with the parties for the NMC graduates AND the last day of the Taste of the Marianas festival. Still, the turnout at Coffee Care was not too bad, and several painters and sculptors were there—Barry Wonnenberg, Doug Rankin, Connie Cabrera and Joe Caruthers among them. I must, however, admit that I was looking forward to the fiction/poetry reading session, but only two litterateurs showed up: Arin Greenwood and Dave Bartsch.
I thought Arin was reading a very long and a very prosy poem. She spoke too fast and not in a loud voice, and yet I could hear each word clearly. Her piece, I guess, had something to do with smoking. She was damning everyone at one point, and the most memorable line for me was: “They can smell the journalist in me. I stink.” She was well-applauded.
Dave was next. He read, if I remember it right, three or four Lawrence Ferlinghetti poems, and he read them very well. Like the rest of the Beat poets, Ferlinghetti’s verses are tailor-made for public readings. They are plain, chatty and witty. The lines are clean, tight and fluid. My favorite 19 lines from “I Am Waiting” floored me the first time I read them many years ago, and re-reading them now is still a treat: “and I am waiting for someone/to really discover America/and wail…./and I am waiting/for the American Eagle/to really spread its wings/and straighten up and fly right/and I am waiting/for the Age of Anxiety/to drop dead/and I am waiting/for the war to be fought/which will make the world safe/for anarchy/and I am waiting/for the final withering away/of all governments/and I am perpetually awaiting/a rebirth of wonder”….
Dave read “Two Scavengers In A Truck, Two Beautiful People In A Mercedes,” and it was a splendid performance. “At the stoplight waiting for the light/ Nine A.M. downtown San Francisco/ a bright garbage truck with two garbage men in red plastic blazers/ standing on the back stoop/ one on each side hanging on/ and looking down into/ an elegant open Mercedes/ with an elegant couple in it/…. And both scavengers gazing down/ As from a great distance/ At the cool couple/ As if they were watching some odorless TV ad/ In which everything is possible// And the very red light for an instant/ Holding all four close together/ As if anything at all were possible/ Between them/ Across that great gulf/ In the high seas/ Of this democracy”….
We admire qualities in other people that we know we don’t have. In my case, I’m amazed at persons who could actually grab a mike and sing or talk in front of so many strangers. And so there was Dave reciting poetry as if the verses were strings tugging at his every gesture and inflection. (One of Dave’s original poems, by the way, is featured in this issue’s Literary Corner.)
“Dave and Arin saved the night,” John Davis later told me. John was one of the event’s organizers. “We appreciate the presence of the visual artists, of course, but we know that we also need the musicians and the poets and the writers to be here. I was expecting a lot of them, but at least we have two.”
The last time most, if not all, of the island’s poets and writers congregated for a public reading was in the spring of 1995 at Coffee Care when it was still in Garapan. There had been several attempts to stage a similar event, but as far as I know last Saturday was the only one that actually happened, although in a much lesser scale.
“We want to see another big event for the island’s visual artists, musicians, poets and writers,” John said. “We will try again and next time, we’ll make sure we put the word out.”
Considering the public response to this paper’s Literary Corner section, and the sheer number of students and professionals on this island who draw pleasure from poetry despite the glut in the supply of more accessible thrills (cable TV, PlayStation, the Internet, video poker)—I’m sure that the next Night of Art would be more memorable, provided that the public is adequately informed about it.
So John, just say the word.
