Being a true account of my trip to Dartmouth through the Great Flood (greatest downpour of rain on those granite hills in 70 years) to meet my translator.  Includes a jaunt to Detrroit, my mechanical incompetence, dining at Big Boy's, a tribute to Tim Smith, a brief account of the great conference, literary chit chat beneath paintings of men and dogs chasing foxes, a reading of my poem by myself and my great translator and a moving account of my arm wrestling a Russian poet as I recite "Paradise Lost."

Trifles from Joe Green

 Poems from the third day of the Dale Credico festival!

Dale Credico -- the rain, the city...

Dale Credico, blithe spirit, performs two poems!

Six more by Don!

It has been six years since Rinty died at the pound in Brighton Beach.
And now, for the first time, audio of his selected poems is available to the general public.  He would have wanted it this way.  Of course, all sorts of problems remain.  His assertion that he killed JFK still questionable.  His assertion that he was the greatest Hamlet of the twentieth century not accepted by all.

But what is beyond question is that in these poems he gives us a glimpse into an extraordinary dog -- a spirit who, in these querulous times, can, perhaps, lead us to an understanding of what it really means to live and to hope.

The very last minutes of this reading should be listened to with especial attention  by those of you who are not quite convinced  that the myth of the eternal return of a spirit, destined to again and again, bark at the dark until the darkness yields, is merely the embodiment of a vain hope. 

See!  They return!