There were two reasons to drive to the East Bay: to see the sun and attend Jannie Dresser’s Sunday Salon. It was a pleasant 40 minute ride for my friend Jori and I to reach the address in the Oakland Hills.
The topic for the salon was the Godparents of American poetry: Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman. Jannie gave an introduction to Dickinson before we read her poems. Short, terse, and some seemed to be written in codes. We picked a few poems after reading, examined and dissected the sentences to come up with some sensible interpretations. Then moved on to Whitman.
In contrast to Dickinson’s compactness, Whitman’s oratory eloquence took us on a wild ride. Like a broken faucet the words kept coming with such force that by the time the reading stopped I was exhausted. I could see his influence on the Beat Generation and why he was the fountainhead.
With mystic Emily and ultra-extrovert Walt on our minds, we zoomed down the hills and freeway to find the toll plaza before the Bay Bridge a solid parking lot. Jori and I scratched our heads. We would never know what caused the horrendous backup. Stuck in the mire for an hour before we were able to break through, we agreed it was the only disadvantage of driving to the East Bay.
