Tonight I emceed a reading at Barnes & Noble for David Bromige who opened his set with a dyslexic prose piece. Lines he'd snagged from his dyslexic friends. Being dyslexic, I'm fixing all his typos automatically in my head.
We dyslexics always mishear things, and are endlessly entertained.
Once, 15 years ago, when I was a new student, I blurted out to David Bromige, Would you trust a poet in your mouth? I no longer remember what I was trying to say, I was so mortified, only that David said aha! A poem! And so it was. But I wanted to crawl under the desk.
After the reading tonight David signs bookmarks, broadsides, and his books. I hand him a bookmark. The pen barely works. He signs the books, complaining. I hand him another pen, and misunderstood, thinking he'd called me a mensch, when he said, Don't mention it. So he signs the bookmark, From a real mensch.
I hand back the book he'd handed to me earlier, as he had signed that one To Maureen, as well, except it's not my book. I ask, Are you giving it to me? He says, No, I can't even afford to offer that. We are coming to a solution. Let's see, he says. It costs $12. Tell you what, I'll give you my copy.
But when David flips the book open, he discovers it's not his book, but Barnes & Noble's copy. He goes, Oh God, now what do I do?
Adds just kidding, after my name, and signs it for Greg Sabourin who works as the community relations coordinator at Barnes & Noble. Only now the book says For Greg, with love, replete with little swirly loops. He hands the autographed book to Greg who looks very puzzled, and asks Whose book is it anyway? I'm not buying it, am I?
David slaps his forehead. Greg says he'll get Barnes & Noble to remainder it. I ask, Can I have it anyway? But, he says, it has my name on it. Oh God, this is getting complicated. Celia, David's wife says, it is worth more now than it then it was first signed.
Meanwhile, David's writing a long disclaimer as to what happened to the title page and why it has lost all its value. Greg, who merely wanted David to autograph it for the bookstore, meanwhile has remaindered the book, and then he hands it over to me, and I say, A real mensch.
The name of the book that I didn't even want to begin with: Men, Women and Vehicles. Now I have two copies and I can’t give either one away. Driving me crazy.
Ironically, earlier I wanted Greg to hold it for me, as I wanted another title, a Black Sparrow book, but it was very expensive. So I got David's book for free. Oh well, Greg, or Barnes & Noble owes me $60 for emceeing for May and June, apparently I am being paid in books signed to other people.
I figure the books are perk. Yesterday I had bought David's Tiny Courts, used at Copperfield's. I just wanted David to sign his bloody book, and also the copy of Manaña in Paradise. After that fiasco, he scribbled something unintelligible, and I can't read it. Speaking of dyslexia.
As a closure for the reading, I had asked David to read from Mañana in Paradise. One of my favorite Bromige books, I like the poem about the cars resting on cinderblocks in a driveway.
Greg reassures me that I'll get paid for May & June—mañana.
September 21, 1995
