No rhyme or reason to who likes a free poem

Mc Allen had a holiday gift for San Francisco residents last weekend, and he invited me to watch him deliver it.

Early Saturday morning, Allen, who is 33, lugged a 65-pound toolbox full of poetry books to the sidewalk outside of Reverie Cafe on Cole Street. He steadied himself with a cup of coffee. Then he began asking every single pedestrian if they wanted to hear a poem.

“Would you like to hear a poem? It’s completely free,” Allen called out, again and again.

Since the Thanksgiving of 2004, Allen has dedicated one of his days every month to free-range poetry. (He also works as an enrollment coach at Parents for Public Schools, a nonprofit advocacy group.) During that time he’s learned a lot about reading poetry, and a lot about San Franciscans.

“It’s impossible to guess who will stop and listen,” Allen said. “I’ve thrown out every expectation I had about people based on the way they look.”

During my time on the sidewalk with Allen, I found this to be true.

A band of tech bros paused to listen to “Humpbacks,” Mary Oliver’s poem about whales. Before them, a bicyclist who was clutching a hemp sack and a Discman beamed as he listened to “Did I Miss Anything?” by Tom Wayman.

Solitary older people, who I’d expected might have had a moment for a poem, blew us off. But Cole Valley resident Scott Raymond, who was with his two adorable, squirming daughters, gathered them in front of Allen for a listen. One of the Raymond daughters even recited a poem back to Allen — “Crowded Tub,” by Shel Silverstein.

“I’d say about one in every dozen people will stop,” Allen said. “You just never know who needs a poem in their life at that moment.”

Still, persuading people to pause for poetry is a difficult business.

San Franciscans, like smart city people anywhere, are suspicious of anything without a price tag.

They’re also terrified of anyone who calls out to them on the sidewalk.

I know there are many reasons for this, most of which begin and end with the shocking persistence of homelessness, mental illness and panhandling in every corner of the city.

But I was surprised to see how many people reacted to Allen’s request as if he were a criminal — picking up their pace, clutching their bags, glancing sideways at him with horror.

“It takes a special person to do what he’s doing,” said Manny Mena, the 27year-old manager of Reverie Cafe. “It takes a lot of patience, and a thick skin.”

Mena has been watching Allen read poems on the sidewalk in front of his place of employment for several years. During that time he’s gone from skepticism to enthusiasm.

“When customers come in after hearing him read a poem, they’re always smiling,” Mena said. He gives Allen free coffee as encouragement.

Mena’s story points to the rewards of Allen’s long-running project. By providing perfect strangers with an unexpected and no-strings gift, he’s setting off a potential chain reaction of goodness.

Sometimes he’s fortunate enough to see the benefit of it, and sometimes he’s not. The point is in the doing.

“It’s a way of doing something good without expectations,” Allen told me.

There are personal benefits, too. Allen struggles with depression, and he’s found that offering something pleasant to other people helps him feel better about himself.

“It’s a solace for me at this point,” he said. “And I do believe there should be more poetry in the world.”

I agree. And it was heartening to learn that there are still a few people in San Francisco who do, too.

When I asked Devarshi Shah why he’d stopped for a poem, he said, “It’s a beautiful day, and someone’s offering to read me a poem. What’s better than that?”

The next listener was Darrel Rutkin, a 58-year-old who lives in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood.

“A poem on every street corner, that’s as good as it gets these days,” Rutkin told me. “I’m not an excessively literary person, but I love being read to. And he’s a good reader.”

After watching Allen read several poems, I can concur that he is a good reader — resounding enough to be heard over the street noise, emphatic during the poem’s dramatic turns of phrase. I asked him what kinds of poems San Franciscans like to hear the most.

“People enjoy poems with a story,” Allen said. “A narrative makes a poem accessible. And funny poems, too — everyone likes to laugh. Billy Collins writes a lot of funny poems that people seem to like.”

One surprising thing that doesn’t hold true, at least as far as Allen’s found: San Francisco’s famed culture of free love.

“I don’t get nearly as many couples stopping for poems as I’d imagined,” he said. “Maybe romance is dead. But the best audience for poems with any kind of erotic content is older women, over 60, with white or gray hair.” “Really?” I asked. “Really. You learn so much by sharing poems with strangers.”

I’ll say.

“You just never know who needs a poem in their life at that moment.” Mc Allen, reader of poetry on the street