Music in the dark/ Bob Dylan hears my poetry

Pandora's Box was a tiny, dark, mixed venue club on Sunset Blvd. in the 60's Hollywood. I'd often go there, either with friends or alone, to listen to music, or take part in open mic poetry nights, at which I'd read my poems. Open mic night's were the nights I was always alone.

The club served various coffee and tea bevreges, sangria, beer, and wine. Carding was almost unheard of, and I was very, very underage. Sometimes guys would sit at my table, buy me a drink, and talk, but I was too focused on my own world, my poetry, listening to the other poets, to maintain a conversation. So they usually gave up.

One unusually quiet night, I was sipping my tea, making notes in my poetry notebook between acts, when I heard the sounds of an acoustic guitar playing softly behind me. A few notes would play, stop, the sound of a pencil scratch on paper, more guitar notes, the same ones as before with a few bars added, then stop, pencil scratch on paper, guitar plays on...

I turned to find the player. Off in the farthest corner, the darkest corner, lit only by one candle on the table, was a very young (Oh! God, we were all so young!) Bobby Zimmerman, Bob Dylan, curled over his guitar, playing and composing! I had just gotten the l.p. of Blonde on Blonde, and the song which ran through my head at warp speed right then was" Most Likely You'll Go Your Way And I'll Go Mine". I didn't approach him. I was raised in Hollywood, there are rules, and one follows them. Not approaching a celeb in the middle of something personal is one of the rules. This was obviously terribly personal, as was what I was doing.

I committed to memory every nuance of his being. I knew I'd never be that close to him again. For that one moment, for that one night, I was. And when I took my place at the mic to read my poems, he was still in the audience, listening to me.