A Poetry Reading

With Robert Lowes

Aug 13, 2024

Poetry is often though of as a solitary endeavor requiring long, lonely stretches of reflection and musing before one even scratches the page. Because of this reclusivness, poetry gatherings, where poets emerge from private garrets and hermit holes, are all the more enthralling. What richness it adds to hear a poet’s voice leap up from the page.

A little over a week ago, I was delighted to host an evening of poetry with local St. Louis poet, Robert (Bob) Lowes. For those of you who do not know, Bob is the author of two poetry collections: An Honest Hunger (2020) and most recently, Shocking the Dark (2024). Along with these books he has published poems in journals such as “The Christian Century,” “Delta Poetry Review,” “The Journal of the American Medical Association,” and “Southern Poetry Review.”

I’ve known Bob for as long as I can remember as he was dear friends with my belated grandfather. They attended the same church, volunteered at the St. Louis Poetry Center, and met together regularly to muse over literature and ponder life. According to Bob, Grandfather believed in him as a poet.

Though my garret apartment would have lent poetic ambiance, I figured the space was too tight for a large gathering, so I asked my cousin, Liz Watt, who now owns my grandparents’ home, if we could gather there. Given the history of Bob’s friendship with Grandfather, the space proved especially fitting and acted as a kind of home-coming for him.

After a trip to the store to purchase an array of snacks (loads of cheese!) and a thick bundle of pink gladiolas, I let myself into Liz’s home and set to work circling up chairs and setting out food and drink. Unfortunately, Liz got sick and missed the event though later she told me that she tuned in from atop the staircase, a vantage point which she ended up cherishing.

Bob was the first to arrive bearing stacks of poetry books to sell and sign afterwards. While he was setting up, the other guests streamed in, and soon each seat in the familiar living room was filled. Just as we started up, several others arrived, so I made a mad dash to the spidery basement to find spare folding chairs.

Per Bob’s request, we started the evening off with music, which my parents (who I volunteered!) graciously provided. They have played together for over fifty years, and I always relish the earthy, folky tunes they choose. For this event that played a medley of songs which included songs by Dylan, Peter, Paul and Mary, and Neil Diamond.

After the music, Bob pulled a chair up and began his reading with a poem about my grandfather, which was a kind gesture. Who knew my grandfather pole vaulted in high school and had an existential experience while doing so? Bob went on to read a wide range of poems. There were stunning haikus, witty couplet arrangements, and poems (whose forms I don’t recall) that wrestled deeply with such themes as faith and the absurdity of war. Peppered throughout Bob’s verses are colorful, intelligent observations and a subtle humor which somehow puts me in mind of pipe smoke.

As the reading came to a close, Bob engaged questions and in doing so spoke about his writing process, favorite poets, how he got started writing, and the role of the imagination in poetry. I especially liked what he said about paying attention to the unique and even eccentric lines that might come to mind. Such lines he says can fuel the imagination and provide unexpected fodder for a poem.

Afterwards, people lingered to chat while Bob signed books. It was fun to hear people’s reactions to the reading and to meet folks I had not met before. Bob was the last to leave and after catching up with Liz, who was still perched up on the stairwell, I cleared away the drained cups of wine, wedges of cheese (hardly touched, so hit me up if you need cheese!), and clusters of grapes. It was a lovely evening, and I am flabbergasted that I am only now delving into Bob’s work. His poems are exceptional, and I will close with one of them to give you a flavor.

Here’s one that I read yesterday while on a favorite bench of mine over on the sprawling Concordia Seminary lawn. Today, while meeting with a patient enduring a great deal of emotional pain as he prepares for death, some of the lines from the poem sprung to mind, so I know the poem entered my heart as good poems do.