El Poeta
Saturday I had the good fortune to find myself in a cozy Victorian w/the great Cuban poet & novelist Pablo Armando Fernández. He was giving a private reading in a beautiful home in the hills above Haight-Ashbury at the behest of filmmaker Saul Landau, to which I was very lucky to be invited.
The party gathered around a table of hors d’oeuvres & wine, w/the dozen or so guests mingling about in conversation… everyone seemed to know everyone else, except for me. This was a wonderful fact because it meant I got to meet many accomplished & amazing people - an artist, a doctor, a journalist, a filmmaker &, of course, El Poeta. Even the children (largely my age or younger) of these people seemed to be doing notable things. It was humbling.
The centerpiece of the evening was a reading by the 80-year-old Cuban writer. Though he could speak English fairly well, he read his work in Spanish &, after the music of his voice subsided, Saul would stand & read the English translations. El Poeta told many beautiful stories, mostly about love & family, & won over the hearts of the gathered.
What a remarkable man he was, all white-haired & lion-faced. This man, who was exiled from Cuba before the Revolution & counts Castro among his friends. This man, who knew Neruda & hosted Ginsberg & Ferlinghetti in Havana. This man, who asked about my wife & advised about my life &, when evening came, took my hand & said “Good luck, my child.”
