Last night was Elizabeth Bishop's 100th birthday.
The Poetry Society of America had a fitting celebration in which 20 contemporary poets read their favorite Bishop poems, interspersed with excerpts of her correspondence with her New Yorker editors. It was most beautiful. The packed Cooper Union Great Hall was warmed by her mostly grayed, yet still starry-eyed admirers, each beaming with love, eagerly soaking in Bishop's familiar verses.
I cannot think of more pleasant company, a more deserving tribute, or more captivating words that could have eased my racing, confused mind with such sweet grace. While New York City may not be for me, Elizabeth Bishop will always be. I'm grateful that we, whoever we all are/were/will be, could settle in one great room for one great evening and share in reverence for a woman who affected each of us in some great way.
(here)
No comments:
Post a Comment