In the last couple of years, I have gotten involved with the English Departments events like open mic night, or the Crazyhorse reading series, both of which invite speakers to share their work, whether past or current. Last Thursday, I spent my night in Randolph Hall on the College of Charleston campus. Everyone knows the building, it’s a National Historic Landmark, one of the oldest college buildings still in use today, which makes it a great room for things like poetry readings. The Crazy Horse readings, if you’ve never heard of them, invite relevant writers to read their favorite pieces aloud to both voluntary and involuntary guests (we see you Poetry 101 and 102 students). These readings are based on the Crazyhorse literary magazine that publishes literary work from people who have won Pulitzer prizes, to National Book awards, to just accomplished and published writers such as Mary Biddinger. In 2001, the College of Charleston took over the literary journal and began the installment of Crazyhorse readings shortly after.
If there’s one thing you take from this article, it’s that the Crazyhorse readings always have really good snacks. So, as I sat in the back of the room, with a plate of spinach dip and pita chips in hand, I listened to the reverberation of Mary Biddinger’s voice lull me in and out of a poetic trance. There’s something to be said about the rise and fall of Biddinger’s energy as she introduced a poem about how Wisconsin was so close to Chicago that they would jump on a train and call it their California and then made a joke to the crowd before she started easing into the whimsical world that included dirty cinema velvet and alligator spines as if the two just went together and you’d never thought differently. I felt myself wondering what Biddinger was going to recite next, waiting for the shuffling of feet to end and the endless sneezing from the girl in the second row to cease. I felt a quiet, respectful and thoughtful as each one of us drank the drops of words Biddinger hung over our heads.
That being said, at the end of the reading, I fell into the exact same place I began my night, thoughts cleared from my head after a long day of class and work, wondering why I didn’t involve myself more in my major during my first three years of college. It was nice to escape my anxieties about my upcoming graduation in the time that Biddinger let us listen to her while we ate. If you ever find yourself free on a random Thursday night at 7 P.M., do yourself a favor and pop in Randolph Hall to see what kind of beautiful poetry is being read aloud and what kind of dip is on the table. You won’t be sorry.
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