It was a bad weekend for me. My ex had only told me that it was decidedly over between us, and so I heard that Ginsberg had died. I didn't know which news made me find the worse.I needed something to save my nights occupied so I wouldn't be seated round the theatre thinking. I looked through the activities division of The Phoenix to see what the city had to offer, with it in judgment to discover something to do, somewhere to go, every night of the week.he weekend was easy. Then I found something for Tuesday. Brother Blue's Storytelling in Porter Square sounded fun for Wednesday. Squawk open mike sounded promising. Johnny D's had live jazz on Fridays with a 5 dollar cover.Then I came across Stone Soup Poets at TT & the Bear's Place (the events and venues were listed in alphabetic order). They had a telephone number listed so I gave them a call. Jack answered, deep clear sound like a radio dj. He told me what Stone Soup was all around with such warmth and pity and energy. He talked about poetry with such enthusiasm.He told me where TT & the Bear's place was in Central Square and made me call to be there that night, he wouldn't hang up the call until I promised. He asked me to get on some poems to say to the group. I told him I'd be more comfortable just listening. But he said land the poems anyway, and we'd see.I launch the place easilly enough, paid the top and walked in. At the reverse end of the bar was a tall skinny man with bushy greying hair clasping hands with everyone at the bar in turn and when he saw me, he came hurrying over and threw his arms round me in a bear hug. I knew who he was by the voice of his voice, and he called me by name before I always spoke. And I hadn't described myself when we'd talked on the phone, he hardly knew.He asked me if I'd brought any poems with me, and I said that I had, showed him my notebook. He said that he'd put me downward to read, then, and he went to writing my call on the name he had on the clipboard he was carrying, before I had time to object."Oh. Well. No, I reckon I'll just listen tonight," I said shyly,but not wanting to injure his feelings, I added, "I'll get a look of how things are here, and maybe I'll read next week."He wasn't leaving for it though. "I'll put your advert on the list, toward the end of the maiden set," he said, like he hadn't heard me at all, and unclasped my men and walked off. I took a place near the back, where it was grim and I could go in.I'd forgotten what Jack said about putting my list down, so it took a consequence to read when I heard it called."We are esteemed to make with us. first time reading at Stone Soup."I could hear to Jack's voice all night. I was mezmerized by it."Let's make a warm welcome for." hands clasped in reverence, "mister Erik Tate."The silence brought me around, and so I noticed that Seaman was extending his arm in my direction, faces were turning to see. I didn't even mean about it, I got up and headed for the mike.There have been many decisions that have been made for me in my life, instances where events carried me forward while I let them pass like a watcher and waited for the outcome. This was one of those times, as I measured my steps, climbed onto the stage, and stiffly adjusted the mike at the podium.A full many of the mass in the audience seemed to be fans of the Dead poets, and knowledgeable in their literature and lore, so I was feeling easier anyway. I chose three poems that I had done about Ginsberg's death ended the weekend. One poem. Then the following poem. I was feeling my momentum like a boulder down a mound and by the end of the third poem I didn't need to stop, but I figured I'd better not push my fortune on the first outing.As I stepped down from the present to revert to my seat, Jack motioned me over, cleared off a place next to him in the front row and had me sit there. He put his arm round me. Cathy Salmons sat in the president on the former position of him. He leaned towards her and spoke so that I could hear."You see? You see?" he looked at me, and turned back to Cathy, "I told you we were in the front of greatness!" Jack had that way of making one feel their importance, while letting them recognise that they were a section of something bigger. A part of something. I saw it time and again in the days that followed as he welcomed the new faces with declarations of "poetry without prejudice".Weekends had ever been difficult, even before the split with my ex, what with the gap in the everyday routine, differing sleeping patterns and the abscence of a definite purpose with a top end to run toward. I didn't know how to handle my freedom, and the depression set in.With the breakthrough of Stone Soup, I had something to face ahead to on Mondays, and it gave me something to do on the weekends, coming up with more material with which to impress Jack.And Stone Soup was videotaped, and programme on local cable access. I could write poems about my ex and record them every week, air our dirty laundry and trust that she got scent of it. Healing would be sweet. --Erik Tate
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