Poetry Hotel/ Birthday Poem

WHY I’M GLAD YOU CAME INTO THE WORLD, WHY I WISH YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOW (2013), AND MANY MORE

—Jack Foley

 

Listen to the poem!

 

 

The Poetry Hotel
Imagine paying for a night at the hotel with a poem…
—Clara Hsu

(Clara) At the Civic Center Bart Station
Carlos, Dan and I had a vision
to take possession of the Mission Street Marriott
after we win the lottery.

(Jack) When I heard this poem,

We will renovate the building
knock everything down to its bones.
With imagination, joy, and persistence
we give birth to the Poetry Hotel.

I wanted to join up.

When you enter the Poetry Hotel,
observe the grand reception hall.
Poets check in with a poem
check out with a new chapbook.

I’ve got poems, I’ve even got

The ground floor is reserved for first drafts
the second floor is for revision.
From the third to the twentieth floor
there are chutes and ladders built especially
for the out of bounds writers.

a rhyming dictionary,

All the rooms have the essential
desk, chair and bed,
an unlimited supply of paper, and
ink gel pens to write.

though I don’t use it.

There are numerous libraries
each named after a poet.
Collections of works are readily available
for reference, research and reading.

Clara came to me

As for dining, the Poetry Café
serves daily a scrumptious buffet.
Muffins, puddings and all sorts of pies,
thick soups, black coffee, exotic teas
to nurture the poetic belly.

and asked whether I could bring her to a “break-through.”

Every evening there is a gathering
new and old poems are read.
Cakes and champagne are served afterwards
to celebrate the creation of words.

I notice now

This enterprise is run so successfully
it is franchised throughout the world.
All the poets in this planet
come home to the Poetry Hotel.

that she brings me to “break-throughs.”

Carlos, Dan and I blinked
as we stepped into the train.
It was filled with sleepy people
who wanted to get home quick.

When I’m weary, at night, it’s late, near bed time, my mind a blur,

Days of work and nights of toil
weaken our eyes and hearts
But tonight we lay the cornerstone
for the Poetry Hotel.

she sends me poems from her own “poetry hotel,”

that boiling consciousness,

and suddenly:

(Both) I waken.

*

Photo by Dore Steinberg.