And Then This Happened

THIS HAPPENED:

05.12.2026 & various previous dates:  I published posts on some of the butterfly poems of Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost.

05.13.2026:    I published a post on Dickinson’s poem “In the name of the bee” (of which the second line reads “And of the butterfly” before concluding with “And of the breeze. Amen!”).  In that post, I noted, “As I was exploring and writing about the various butterfly poems of these two poets, I stumbled upon info related to a (2010) podcast run by Christopher Lydon with an interview of Helen Vendler, an American academic, writer and literary critic (additionally, Vendler was a professor of English language and history at Boston University, Cornell, Harvard, and other universities).”  The podcast (for which I have yet to find an audio file to listen in on the conversation) centered on Vendler’s book Dickinson, Selected Poems and Commentaries.
 
05.14.2026:    I ordered Vendler’s book.
 
05.15.2026:    The book arrived.

05.16.2026:     I flew to Chicago (to attend an all-French program of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra culminating with Saint-Seans’ magnificent Symphony No. 3, the “Organ Symphony”), and I began reading the book on my flight.

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED:

05.18.2026:    I flew home – and before I get to the good part of the story, let me recount that O’Hare was, for the most part, contained chaos and confusion.  I walked into a dense wall of travelers at the congested automated check-in machines, the stalled serpentine TSA lines (both general and pre-check) and the clogged baggage drop-off.  I do not exaggerate when I say the scene resembled an outlandish vison by M. C. Escher.

Below:  Actual photo of O’Hare on the morning of my departure:

Fortunately, I’d arrived to the spectacle in plenty of time to check-in and pass through the TSA’s low-energy radio frequency waves before grabbing a thirty-dollar snack and taking a seat at my departure gate.  There, I pulled out my computer and began working on my daily Dickinson post for the following day.
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There I sat.  My laptop was – appropriately – on my lap, and in the seat next to me I’d parked by jeans jacket, my backpack, and my newly acquired book. 

At one point, a gentleman across from me spied “DICKINSON” on the spine of Vendler’s volume.  He came over and asked if he could take a glance at it. At this point, I can’t recall exactly how the conversation went, but I remember saying something like “Do you know of Vendler?”  Yes, yes he was well aware. I remember talking, too, about another book I’d been reading, George Monteiro’s Robert Frost and the New England Renaissance, and I mentioned Dickinson’s influence on the young Frost.  

“Hmm…I never really thought about that,” said the gentleman – or something to that effect – and at some point I thought to myself, “Okay, who is this I’m talking to?” because I could tell he knew his stuff beyond that of a casual fan of poetry such as myself. 

In the conversation, I did get his name – Calvin Forbes – so just after he returned my book and walked away, I googled his name.  The first link beneath the cluster of photos was to a page on the Poetry Foundation’s website.

I jumped from seat and chased after him.  “Mr. Forbes,” I shouted through the passing throng.  “Mr. Forbes…Mr. Forbes.”
He heard me and turned his head.  “Can I grab a selfie with you?” I asked.

After the quick photo op, I returned to my seat, clicked on the PF link, and selected one of his poems to read, “The Card Players” (HERE). 

LOVED. IT.

I’ll discuss the poem tomorrow. 

THEN THIS HAPPENED:

05.20.2026:  I ordered a copy of Mr. Forbes' book Blue Monday.

Stay tuned for more -- as it happens.