The Warriors won, and so did a poet

Poet Erica Lewis, whose day job as a publicist for arts groups mandates spotlighting the works of others, was herself in the spotlight Sunday, April 23, at City Lights, where she read from her new book, “mary wants to be a superwoman.” The title of the book, like the title of each poem in the book, comes from a Stevie

Wonder song. “This book is about my family, our history” she said, adding that her mother’s family “traces back to the Trail of Tears.” Lewis’ audience listened in rapt attention. “The past has ruined the future,” she continued. Then a few minutes later, “We forgot how to dance.” The crowd was hushed, then euphoric; the longed-for reception for the work of poet.

I’d been at other readings in the bookstore’s upstairs poetry room, but never one in the afternoon when it was flooded with light and packed, not only with friends of Lewis but also with friends of prose writer Rita Bullwinkel, who read first. As the room filled before the program began, I listened to the conversation of poets and poetry lovers. There was some talk of the Warriors having won. The man next to me pulled a copy of Bob

Kaufman’s “Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness” from the shelf and skimmed through it while he waited.

“How do you know her?” I heard one audience member ask another about Bullwinkel. “We were waitresses together,” said the other, “at a writers’ conference.” “I knew she was doing writers’ stuff,” said the first. “You gotta support the arts.”

Another woman talked to the person next to her about a mutual pal. “She’s doing slack-lining. It’s really good for her core.”

Looking around, my glance fell on the bamboo blinds hanging crookedly in one of the windows, through which you could see laundry flapping across the alley, almost near enough to touch. A short story and a few poems later, the printed blue bedding had been taken in, and replaced by something mint green.

Mike Zonta was on the J-Church the other night, when he “overheard a guy talking to himself using American Sign Language. Got off at 24th Street.”

H.L. Brown suggests that the threat of violence at UC Berkeley speaking events would be lessened if all speakers and everyone in the audience were required to be nude.

Call and response at the March for Science, as cited by Trent Orr: “What do we want?” “Science.” “When do we want it?” “After peer review!”

At the Park Tavern this week, Sally Bedell Smith, author of “Prince Charles: The Passions and Paradoxes of an Improbable Life,” spoke to members of the Monday Group, who gather periodically to reap wisdom from authors and civic leaders. Her multicity tour was co-sponsored by her publisher, Penguin Random House, and the Royal Oak Foundation, which “seeks to raise awareness of and advance the work of the National Trust of England,” according to its website.

Smith, author of seven previous memoirs, is a thorough journalist — she interviewed 300 people for this work — and a measured speaker. When she spoke to this group about her Pamela Harriman biography, she employed a handful of neat index cards. Nowadays, she uses her iPhone for speech notes.

Her portrait of the prince, however, reveals that he makes no such use of technology. A thoughtful man full of opinions, he walks around jotting down his thoughts on little white pieces of paper, she said. A silver notebook on the dinner table allows him to keep on jotting during the meal. At night, he does his correspondence using a fountain pen.

Also, she said, he sometimes lies on the floor of his country house so he can hear the comments of tourists who can’t see him; he does not carry keys, but performs an intricate set of movements with two doorknobs that allow him entry to his house. He is very involved in charity: His Prince’s Trust provided a $2,000 grant to young Idris Elba that was the seed money for his blossoming acting career; the trust has paid for the restoration of 65 buildings in central Kabul; he also established a charity for endangered red squirrels.

His mother has not stepped aside to let him rule, but when her mother’s time on Earth is up, he will become king. “There’s no mechanism to skip Charles,” said Smith.

“I tried being nice for a week, but it’s just too hard. I have to accept that I’m not a nice person.” Girl to girl, overheard in a Redwood High math class by Niles Thornhill