I once met Jack Kimball. I think it was in a bar. He had just said he wanted to throttle me, and this made me feel bad. All I’d done was to read a sestina!
I’ve never met Scott Pierce. But my son has. My son, of whom I am proud, for he is very good, is an intern this summer at Effing Press, in Austin, Texas. Though you’d never know it, since Scott has never mentioned it...
I’ve never met Farid Matuk, either, but I wish I could. If you haven’t read his new book, you should. I haven’t read it yet myself, but my son wrote me and said it is pretty fucking amazing dad, he is the King, so I’m going on that.
I once met Dale Smith. We put our heads against the side of Lorine Niedecker’s old house on an island in Fort Atkinson and we rested them there for a long time, and I looked at Dale and he looked at me, and we cried for a little while, it was quite something. Then we went to the bar down the road where a small dog walked in circles on its hind quarters.