Gerald Stern Visit 3/25/2010

A Pittsburgh accent
distinct from the way younger people speak—
think a little of Myron Cope
diluted by years in other states and nations,
a Myron Cope who pronounces
German and French like a pro.

My mother said, “He’s so funny
because he’s old and can say anything.”
I don’t think she gave him enough credit.
I imagine young Stern mocking Nixon’s V for Victory
with his shoulders a little higher
and I laugh the same.

He could’ve been a comic
but it wouldn’t do—he’s more
in touch with his universes inside
and yours and mine
than George Carlin, although they hate
everyone in politics the same.

“She says everyone comes from coal—
that may be an exaggeration,
but maybe not,” he said.
It is, Gerry—I said we
but maybe I wasn’t clear that the we
was us kids from Hannastown and Luxor
with coal dust in our walls.

But I felt foolish sitting down,
having spoken in front of him,
everyone older than I,
proclaiming what I think to be true.
What did I share with them anyway?
What could anyone take home with them
of worth from my words?
Why couldn’t I just have had
a cup of coffee and a bagel?

He threw his cane. I didn’t see him
walk with it anyway. My mother—
always most perceptive—
said, “He’s the only person that age
I’ve ever seen read without glasses.
How does he do it?”
Grapefruit, maybe, or maybe he doesn’t
need to read them anymore.

Maybe like he said, they’re
emotional adventures engrained in him
since the day he wrote them.
Not mental puzzles. He finishes
sentences like that with a “hmm”
that reminds me of Yoda.
You can tell he’s thinking something else,
reflecting on his statement
and its reception as if he weren’t
the speaker himself.
And suddenly I think they’re not too different:
masters, thinkers, comics, smartasses.

And when he does the V again
I imagine him with two fingers only
like amphibious Yoda
living in his cave, waiting for students
to find him. Keep it up
And you’ll get there, he says certainly
as if life has shown him everything
and nothing is a riddle anymore.