The Poetry Reading

 

It was sometime in the mid to late 80s,

I was to have a poetry reading at a coffee

house in Asheville, North Carolina where

I was house-sitting for a couple of college

professors who were traveling in Europe

for the summer. The name of the estab-

lishment escapes me now.

It was one of those small and cozy hole

in the wall places reminiscent of the Beat-

nick era of the 50s and 60s, close to down-

town.

I had a write-up in the local news paper,

The Citizen-Times, a few days prior to my

reading. My scheduled time was in the

middle of the day when most folks were

at work, school or play. Even so, being

an artsy university town gave me hope

that I would have a fair turnout.

I arrived at the appointed hour disap-

pointed to find only one couple seated

in the place. I greeted them and sat at

their table. I waited some 15-minutes,

giving would-be late-comers time to

arrive. No one else did. I then asked

the couple if I could give them a private

reading of some of my favorite works.

They were polite and amenable so I

proceeded.

A half-hour passed and no one else

arrived. So to an appreciative round

of applause, I bought my audience of

two another cup of coffee and left.

Of course I was a bit disappointed

with the lack of attendance at my

reading, but nonetheless Asheville

is a lovely town, picturesquely nestled

in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North

Carolina where I am sure to this day

wonderful poetry is inspired and

recited privately each day. It just

seemed to me that kind of place.

            - 30 -

Chris Hanch 7-10-21