12:30 | Here we go But not yet.

12:40 | Intro/My favorite muse Fashionably late. I applaud this, as my computer lags, conspiring with the event. Rapid introductions given.

12:41 | Packs of three With haste, Su Xiaowei poses the question of the day to Liz Niven and Ouyang Yu. Where is inspiration found? Yu finds it in translating courtroom cases, and driving on the freeway--relentlessly repeating to himself everything he sees until he arrives home, upon which he grabs his pen. Where else is inspiration uncovered? On the toilet. He indicates that the Chinese word for poetry shi would transmogrify beautifully if one were to add a t to the end.

12:49 | Arab Strap Su Xiaowei wonders how Scots caters to the language of poetry. Niven asserts that Scots is perfect for poetry, for the richness of sound, and for there are "names for the nameless." Visions of ghosts dance in my head. Both poets are bilingual, and Su wonders which language each prefers. Yu is more lyrical in English--it's faster. Niven looks at context first.

12:55 | Spoken word Poetry as it was meant to be: read aloud. Yu is ever the gentleman, as for the third time he allows Niven to go first. Niven's passage is but a sole stanza, but her rhapsodic voice elicits decent applause. Yu's poem is whole and seems to be a blunt recollection of every "someone" in the world, and of every possible action in a single given moment. Words on a massive scale. (He mentions that this particular poem was written five weeks after 9-11, but that there was no inspiration drawn from the events of that day.)

1:02 | Toy fights Light on the claim that Yu is a poet of fury, full of anger, angst and darkness. He retorts nonchalantly, "enough life exists outside my books already."

1:04 | Phone me tomorrow Madam in center front row has left her cell phone on, we find out. But her embarassed grin is just too sincere for me to feel annoyance.

1:06 | Peons For the first time I take in my fellow audience members. I like thier style, their scarves, bob haircuts, and glasses on attentive faces.

1:07 | Serenade Another reading from Niven. Her voice is truly fascinating, sweet like a grandmother's, soft like a child's. It complements wonderfully the nostalgic tone of her written word. I find myself wanting to buy her book.

1:12 | Immigrant warfare Yu discusses his publishing career. In it, he somehow manages to mention farting. This guy is so cool. Beyond, ahem, he gives us a piece of what he was just after emigrating to Australia. A feeling of invisibility.

1:21 | Why Oh Why Why does Niven write less and less in Scots? Publishers discourage her, because of a decadent market. I sigh, in again foreseeing another precious language--and thus culture and core of a people--face extinction.

1:25 | Impetus, Oh my impetus Take advantage of every moment. Wherever the poem is born--in the airport, the train, the car--it must be captured. Note: the contexts he mentions are always of movement, of transportation.

1:27 | Why English? First audience question, for Yu. In deciding to write in English as a second language, must it be absolute? Is there a conscious decision to write only in English? Yu promised himself not to write novels in Chinese. This, because he has been out of the country and market for so long. Conversely, he has been "living in English" to the point where he feels more comfortable writing it.

1:32 | Coming down An inquiry from a beatnik in a top hat: does Yu feel like his corpus is moving away from anger (is he, "instead of complaining about the concrete, planting flowers to replace the concrete?")? I am shamelessly too busy typing to capture the full breadth of his answer. He seems to be lengthily discussing the problematic of translation, especially of one's own corpus. Samuel Beckett, Czeslaw Milosz.

1:36 | Last question If displaced to another country, would Yu still be capable of expressing himself? Definitely. Everywhere he has gone, he has been bilingually prolific. Of course he finds inspiration on foreign soil! For example? Going to London and understanding that England is not a white nation. Who wouldn't be affected? Poems upon poems, my friend.

1:43 | Afterwards We are released. Everyone mosies on home to find their muse. Or to use the loo.