Is it National Poetry Month? It feels like it at Ada Books. It feels, in fact, like we're made from poetry; like poetry is the bones beneath our bones. I'm speaking collectively and possibly agrammatically. Not to mention melodramitically. That's what happens when one huffs poetry. And it could happen to you, too, if you'll let it. Not that I dispense the stuff. I leave that to the experts. Experts like Caroline Whitbeck, (Our Classical Heritage) and Julia Cohen (If Fire, Arrival), who'll read their words outloud (and perhaps communicate an ominous undertext with their minds) here, this Saturday, at 6pm. It's free and we'll have the usual assortment of humble wines and modest snacks. This makes our third engagement in just two weeks and so, if you can imagine me as king and imagine Ada Books as a small country, then perhaps you can imagine me proclaiming that it is indeed National Poetry Month; here, if nowhere else. Word of warning: I haven't had the time to print my own currency yet so please bring American dollars if you want to buy anything.


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