Poetry IRL: Building Connection and Community Through Poetry Readings
By Max Stone
Listening to poets in far-reaching areas of the country from the comfort of my couch, bed, kitchen table, or desk has been one of the small benefits of the pandemic. When everything shifted to Zoom, poetry readings became infinitely more accessible. I saw some of my favorite poets read their work in ways that I otherwise would have been unable to experience. These readings were inspiring and uplifting, but I found myself missing the physical presence and connection of other people—as many did. Nothing compares to sharing space with other people and hearing poetry in person. Our auras are stripped away when we’re all sitting alone at home locked in our 2-D rectangles, further separated by different internet speeds and technical issues—it’s just not the same.
I started working on my MFA in poetry in the fall of 2020 at the University of Nevada, Reno (UNR). Our first two semesters were all online, which was challenging, and we all were missing being in the classroom and other literary haunts (bars). In the fall of 2021, classes were in person again, and I bonded further with the other three members of my cohort—Eli Coyle, Erik Soto, and Courtney Cliften. Courtney and I often talked about how we wanted to build more of a poetry and literary community outside of the university and engage with people in the way that only poetry allows.
Eli, Courtney and I organized our first in-person poetry reading in November at Pignic Pub and Patio in Reno. We held it outside on the back patio to make it safer with the still-looming threat of COVID. The sky threatened rain, the wind picked up and blew the pages out of my hand, and there were issues with the microphone, but after those few hiccups things settled down and I could sense this feeling of—I’m not sure how to describe it, maybe calm with a slight crackle of joy? Really just a strong feeling of connection to those present.
We had around 50 people in attendance, and it was a beautiful, joyful night, despite the theme of the reading being “Decay.” The evening began with eight poets, including myself, reading their work and ended with hours of much-needed socializing. Students, professors, family, and friends all mingled and talked about everything we hadn’t been able to talk about in person for a year and a half. Jared Stanley, Assistant Professor of English at UNR, said it was one of the highlights of his year.
After the success of our reading at Pignic, Courtney and I wanted to set up monthly poetry readings in Reno. We spent a few months looking for a venue until by chance I started talking to Marcos, a bartender from Ferino Distillery in downtown Reno, who had heard about our reading at Pignic and was interested in having monthly readings at Ferino. Our first reading took place on March 9, 2022, and was well-attended. We’ve had two more readings in Reno since then, another at Ferino in April, and one on the roof deck of the Matador Lounge in May. Our goal of building a flourishing community of people who care about and want to spread the lifeblood of poetry is coming to fruition.
As much as I appreciated being able to see poets I admire read in a rectangle next to me on Zoom, nothing compares to listening to poetry when the writer is right there in the same room. You can feel the timbre of their voice and tap into the emotion in a way that is not possible through a screen. Come listen to poetry IRL (in real life), at a bar near you in Reno.
Poets after our first reading at Ferino Distillery from left, Caryn Dreibelbis, Max Stone, Penny Lane, Courtney Cliften, Nick Pulito, and Eli Coyle. March 2022. Photo courtesy of Max Stone.
Poets after the second reading at Ferino Distillery from left, Arian Katsimbras, Courtney Cliften, and Lindsay Wilson. April 2022. Photo courtesy of Max Stone.
The Dream of Rhyolite
By Max Stone
for Fred Schoonmaker and Alfred Parkinson
A red winged monster, not so much monster
as misunderstood, and an elegant art gallerist with immaculate
taste landed in a ghost town in Nevada, they scoped it out,
Here. Here’s perfect. He started sketching blueprints.
Together, they planned and built a town just big enough
for us to live without judgement. No qualifiers, no entry
exams or interview process besides desire to live in a safe place.
Every new resident gets a key to a modest yet refined house,
nice little backyard with a porch swing and a peach tree,
and a corner office with grand windows if you want one.
A homeland in the desert. Land borrowed from scorpions
and rattlesnakes. Decaying buildings replaced with banks,
shops, casinos, homes. Ghosts asked politely to leave.
While the pair carved a city from dust they lived
in an old railroad caboose, dreaming open a portal
to a world where people can exist sans narrow-eyed stares,
double takes, spit in the face. You can hold hands with anyone.
Old institutions scrapped, repurposed. Bicycles made
out of antiquated marriage vows, country clubs
turned luscious public gardens with Grecian baths
where anybody’s welcome to soak,
Candelabras adorn the entryway flickering “you are enough.”
Bathroom art cliches ring true here. All the queer kids can grow up
and be boring here if they want to:
work an office job four days a week, eat broccoli and brown rice for lunch.
Everyone is content entering any building without fear of being turned away,
wear whatever color of eyeshadow, strut pretty in heels however high,
smudge on facial hair with burnt cork to see how it looks,
unrestricted sartorial choices: silk to leather to flowy to cotton to neoprene to denim.
Flags waving proudly, this is it—a better place exists.
Panthers and fabulous angels guard the gateway to the city
and usher anybody in who has kind eyes.
Bathrooms without gender markers or judgement,
delicious salad buffets, lounges for recreational drug use,
Four day work weeks, block parties all summer
Sparkling—ghost town in the middle of the desert
dusted, polished, and reclaimed. A mecca awaits,
hate and fear have no footholds in the red rocks and sagebrush.
No one has to hide their true self from their neighbor.
None of the kids have an obligatory self-hate phase.
Everybody gets to eat cake.
Photo courtesy of Max Stone.
Max Stone is going into his third year as an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Nevada, Reno. He is originally from Reno, but has lived many other places since. He is currently working with Nevada Humanities on planning the Nevada Humanities Literary Crawl, which will take place on September 10, 2022 in Reno.