OK, I'm still exhausted, but determined to get the rest of these photos up while waiting for Ismael to fall asleep. It just seems impossible to present photos in blogger! Anyway, if the captions don't seem to immediately match the photo, well. excuuuuuse me!

At left, from left, Jean-Jacques Poucel, Money (never quite got the correct name), Preston Something-White, Elisabeth Hayes, Michèle Métail, Anne Portugal, Sébastien Smirou and Jose.

At left, below, David Lespiau and Sabine Macher admire our host's collection of boats (never did figure out who owned the dingy dinghy, though). At right, Pascal Poyet and Sabine, I think admiring one of the many spiffy digital cameras that I'm sure will be producing much better photos for a different blog.

Macgregor Card and his library and his coat of arms--not! At right, Macgregor, Jean-Jacques and Anne either watch rehearsal or the actual reading. The staircase belongs to the Eugene O'Neill cottage, where the reading took place.

Sébastien sees Eugene O'Neill's ghost. Below, a carload of poets head out for yet more food (I think we singlehandedly saved the restaurant economy of New London).

Après dinner, Sébastien, Macgregor and Pascal exchange poetry notes. Below on left, samples of Pascal Poyet's imprint, contrat maint. I got four books by David Lespiau--Opération Lindbergh, Oh un lieu d'épuisement, Réduction de la révolution la nuit, and Spirit II--and one by Métail, LA VILLE, DE LA VILLE, which is an extract of her larger piece, TOPONYME: BERLIN, a copy of which she gave me. Alas, Holly Dye is already translating it; otherwise, I'd be all over it as it looks absolutely fantastic. Poyet's entire line of approx. 30 books (that's a wild guess though) fit quite nicely into a small bubble sac and won't be pushing him over any weight limits for the flight home. Ah, the many advantages of chapbooks!

Anne Portugal and the proprieter, or manager, or just really nice guy of the Elks Club branch we ended up at. He took us on a tour of the building, which used to be a brothel. Interesting trap doors. The French were impressed by the sign over the bar that said "No drugs or weapons allowed onto the premises." Just one of those things you don't give a second thought until it's pointed out to you. I prefer the "No ID/No Party" sign visible over Anne's head. Anyway, now I've got the photos up, and am heading to bed, but will at some point blog more about specifics of the event, and about my translation plotting for Métail's work, now that she's given me so many books and so much more information about herself and her art.