The Hill-Stead Sunken Garden Poetry & Music Festival Recap

I just got home. Can you believe it's eleven o'clock and I just got home? Crazy. I should go right to bed, but I wanted to jump on real quick to report on the great night I had at the Hill-Stead Sunken Garden Poetry & Music Festival.

We got a terrific spot in the garden on a grassy path behind a bed of lavender. I spread out our little blanket then sat down with my L.L. Bean Bag (aka portable bar) to begin mixing cocktails. We also brought a bowl of popcorn, but it appeared the snack du jour was crackers and hummus. I'm not sure why I feel like you need to know that. In any case, the place was crawling with hummus. Oh, and we got our picture taken by Connecticut Magazine. Hopefully they wont actually run it, but I always try to be a good sport with stuff like that because one of my tasks when I worked in communications was to take photos at company events and people were absolute turds about it.

Soon the music started. A band played called Conga Bop. I'm totally non musical so I don't really know how to describe it except to say it sounded exactly like the kind of music you'd think a band called Conga Bop would play. I enjoyed them. Really I would have enjoyed pretty much anything on a warm summer night in a garden.

The first poets to hit the stage were a group of six high school students who won the Hill Stead's Fresh Voices Competition-- so I mixed myself another drink. I was worried the Fresh Voices would be all tortured teenage vampire romance, but they weren't. In fact, four of them were really terrific. What a crazy bunch of talent. They tore it up.

The headliner was a fella named Taylor Mali. I had never heard of him and didn't know what to expect. He was just amazing. What an entertainer. He's an entertainer like Gary Shteyngart only dreams of being an entertainer. And Taylor Mali pulls it off without the self promotion and douche bag name dropping. Anyway, I like a poet who keeps a beer at the podium. Taylor started with a genius poem he had just composed, like seconds before he took the stage, that incorporated bits and pieces from the six Fresh Voices as well as his observations from the festival. Who can do that? It was insane. He also did a cover (what do you call it when a poet reads someone else's work? I'm going with a cover) of a Billy Collins poem... and then challenged him to a poetry smack down. What? He had that place rocking, man. And he referred to us all as motherfuckers, but in the most endearing way. That takes skill. I was really blown away.

Even the drive home was good. I love being in the car a night because I get to listen to Delilah. No one knows this about me so keep it under your hat, but I totally cheese out over Delilah. Unless, of course, I'm feeling particularly cynical, then I mock her love struck callers. But that's fun, too. Anyway, back at home in the country, the sky was sparkling with stars like I have never seen. I could have stayed outside all night watching them. And I would have, too, if it weren't for three hungry dogs.

Tonight was closing night for the Festival unfortunately, but I'll be back next year and I want lot of company. So put it on your calenders. You're all invited. All definitely ten, but maybe twelve of you. I'll bring my L.L. Bean Bag.