Today I read a poem.  Actually, I read two of my own creation at the John Hewitt Summer School’s first open mic night.  The proceedings for choosing the order in which the twenty-some amateur poets read their work was quite simple—names were drawn out of a hat.  With a last name like Vugrincic, it’s always nice when an alternative to alphabetical order is derived, since it allows a rare occasion to not be the last presenter…or so I thought.  After roughly two hours of poems, some which were mumbled inaudibly before an echoing microphone and others that were spoken in booming, definitive voices, I had the pleasure of closing the entire ordeal.  At that point, of course, over half of the audience had bailed, though my committed Armagh Project peers and friends stayed with me till the bitter end.  Three of them took the stage as well, each giving stunning performances that received thundering applause (because let’s be honest, the Armagh Project students are pretty cool).

Earlier in the day I had the pleasure of attending a poetry reading of Tess Gallagher, whom I unwittingly sat next to at breakfast when I was just trying to find a place to eat my potato bread.  Her poems created beautiful images and told captivating stories. Though I failed to talk to her while absently munching my bread, I thoroughly enjoyed just being in the presence of Gallagher.

Tomorrow marks the end of the festival, and I’m certain the event will close with a bang. It seems like days only have passed since stepping off the plane in Dublin, and the Hewitt has passed in a fantastic blur—but every day is a new memory for which I can account and a new bunch of stories to tell and be to told.

*Please note this blog was posted one day late, because wordpress was not being cooperative.