I heart Tony Hoagland

Rob D and I went to see him read a few weeks ago at the Folger. He is an elf with a Brain of Pinky and the Brain sort of head, but not in an annoying supersmart way, just in a twinkley sort of way. He read in a wonderful, measured, very precise tone that left lots of room for laughter and reconsideration of what different moments meant or could mean, which I loved. Mostly from What Narcissism Means To Me (which you should either buy or ask for on your next gift-receiving occasion) and then he signed for hours and hours. The food was fabulous (rare roast beef on toast points and carmelized onions in puff pastry -- Downs and I had a bit of a binge) and the wine was my favorite kind of wine, free! When we got to the front of the line I saw he looked exhausted and offered to get him something, so I brought him a fizzy water (he said he needed some fizzy energy) and then he signed my book "For Hannah with thanks." I am smitten with him and his wee red suede waistcoat over black tshirt and jeans.

Here is one of my faves, which he read:

Migration
by Tony Hoagland

This year Marie drives back and forth
from the hospital room of her dying friend
to the office of the adoption agency.

I bet sometimes she doesn't know
what threshold she is waiting at --

the hand of her sick friend, hot with fever;
the theoretical baby just a lot of paperwork so far.

But next year she might be standing by a grave,
wearing black with a splash of
banana vomit on it,

the little girl just starting to say Sesame Street
and Cappuccino latte grande Mommy.
The future ours for a while to hold, with its heaviness --

and hope moving from one location to another
like the holy ghost that it is.


***
(what I just realized is that the title of this poem is the topic of the grant I've been working myself barkers on for the past two weeks, and that gives me shivers -- ah, serendipity)