"Then we made love with our hands up"

I arrive at Prairie Lights on Wednesday, March 25^th at about 6:55 pm. This being the first poetry reading I have ever attended, I am pleased to see a member of my class whom I knew frequently attends such readings. I sit next to her and look around, taking in my surroundings. Green plastic chairs are set up in the upstairs area of Prairie Lights; I have an odd moment during which I cannot remember what the area looks like without these chairs. By 7:00 pm, there are maybe about 40 people there, filling almost all of the green plastic chairs. Though, reader, do not necessarily take my word for it, as this critic is incredibly bad at approximating numbers of people. The reading does not start until after 7:05, at which point a woman who I do not know (presumably an employee of Prairie Lights?) introduces Zach Savich. He is to read from his book, Full Catastrophe Living. She describes his work, saying that it addresses the gap between “romance and reality” while “inventing a new world versus staying true to this one.” I like this.

A young man wearing jeans and a collared shirt approaches the podium and immediately begins to read, the words rolling off of his tongue in a slightly monotone manner. He seems nervous, but is simultaneously endearing. He is clearly happy and excited to be there, and he expresses this sentiment. I realize as he begins to read that it is difficult for me to hear poems read aloud; it is hard for me to follow him, and I find myself wishing that I could go back and reread certain passages. The way he reads confuses me slightly. At first, I think that he is reading separate poems and not naming their titles, until I realize that he is reading one long poem and putting what, in retrospect, seem to be meaningful breaks between phrases. I cannot decide if I like this or not.

I do decide, however, that I like the way he speaks while casually addressing the audience better than the way he speaks while reading his poetry. He is funny as he talks to us. After his first short reading, he immediately jumps into posing the following question: “What do you imagine when you write poetry?” He engages us, and seems genuinely interested in the answers that we may have put forth if we had had time to give them. Before beginning his next poem, Savich says, “I get lonelier with every poem I read, so come, let’s say hi afterward.” I find this invitation to be a reminder that he is human, and he seems to be saying that he is as interested in us as we are in him. However, one thing that I do not like about his casual speech to the audience is the way that he addresses certain individuals. He mentions names of people who I do not know and the things they have done together – some people chuckle. This makes me feel like an outsider. Some other people may feel this way as well. I notice a man in the front row who continually smiles at Savich throughout the entire reading; I feel as though he must know Savich. A bored college-age guy in the second row on the side looks as though he might be sleeping and a girl in the back row examines her nails. They may not be so personally connected. Maybe they feel like me.

As Savich continues through his readings, I am struck by two particular lines. They are from two different poems, but unfortunately I am not aware of the names of the poems that they are from:

“Part of you is in pain and you say, “I am in pain” and it’s all of you.

Part of you is numb and you say “I am numb” and it’s more psychological.”

I love this verse simply because of the incredible truth of the statement. It strikes me as something incredibly meaningful and incredibly common, while also being something that people do not often think about.

The other verse that I find compelled to write down is the following:

“Then we made love with our hands up.”

Though this line is obviously quite short and simple, I find it to be interesting because Savich raises his right hand as he says it, the only gesture that accompanies any of his poems throughout the entire reading. His action makes the line seem important to me. It makes me feel as though if nothing else, THIS I should internalize. Why, I cannot exactly say.

I liked Zach Savich very much as a person, though his style of poetry was not the kind that I most prefer to read. I wish that I could have had the book in front of me while he read from it. However, I would not discourage anyone from going to one of his readings; I found him to be an endearing and interesting poet.

-Rachel McNamee