Bringing poetry to the people

Just like she's done every Sunday since early July -- whether in summer heat or freezing rain or snow -- Amy Allin last weekend set up a small wooden table along the northwest shore of Green Lake.

Hanging from the front of the table, glittery glass letters spelled out "P-O-E-T."

Then Allin, 39, sat and waited for the curious who jogged, bicycled or simply walked along the path 30 feet away.

Sometimes she reads poems; sometimes people read poems to her that she's selected. She prefers to select the work of other writers -- some well-known, and others less known.

Allin has a yearlong mission: to bring poetry to everyday people, whom she says the poets have forgotten.

"Poets are on an academic campus and writing for each other. I'm tired of poets who think that reading to one another is enough," she said.

So the Poetess at Green Lake spends all day each Sunday at her table across from the Shell gas station on West Green Lake Drive North. She's taking poetry literally to where the public is.

More poetry

A sample of Allin's work, and a blog she has kept of her Green Lake project, can be seen at thepoetessatgreenlake.blogspot.com.

To get on the e-mail list to receive a daily poem, write to Allin at

mimiallin@gmail.com.

Last Sunday, amid the steady rain and cold wind, 15 of the curious stopped by her table -- couples, a family of four, individuals getting a little exercise.

That's not a large percentage of the 9,400 or so people who Seattle Parks says would visit the lake on a nice weekend day, but it's enough for Allin to feel successful.

"I talked to 15 people who otherwise would not have had poetry in their lives," she said.

She wasn't greeted with disdain or mockery. Invariably, those who stopped by thanked her.

One of those who visited her table was Russell McDaniel, who makes signs at Boeing.

"The only place I've seen a poet is at a coffee shop, and I might not see them ever again," he said. "I've come here quite often to see her. I think she has amazing dedication and perseverance."

For Allin, the poet is just as necessary as the engineer, the doctor, the farmer.

"If the world is run for science only and for commerce only, we're no longer informed by creative notions that could solve problems. The artists allow us to see things," she said.

"Poetry can make a dull life the most exciting ever. You're no longer just walking down a dim street. Life becomes vivid and so much more worth living."

Allin writes poetry under the name A.K. Allin. She has a master's in creative writing from City College of New York, and has been published in a number of poetry magazines.

She keeps a blog of her Green Lake project, and in her quest to help people appreciate poetry, she also selects a daily poem to send to those on her e-mail list, now up to 100 by word of mouth.

Being a poet is her avocation, but it doesn't exactly provide an income.

About getting four of her poems published in one magazine, she said, "I got paid nothing. I was lucky to get two free copies. I sent one to my mother, and the other to my brother."

So Allin has earned money working with fishing boats, industrial landscaping, at a bookstore, teaching English to Chinese immigrants and on a health-education project. She now works at a Ballard boatyard; she started off scraping barnacles and now details boats.

She joked that her Sundays of sharing poetry keep her sane, but her dedication to them is nothing to laugh at.

She doesn't own a car, and each week walks 4 miles each way from her Lower Queen Anne apartment to Green Lake. She stays at her table from 9 in the morning until 5 p.m.

The only time she has gone home early -- at 3 p.m. -- was during the big snowstorm of Nov. 26. Then she wrote in her diary, "soaked through!"

Last Sunday, in the late afternoon, Bill and Sheila Marty stopped by with their children, Sean, 11, and Laura, 9.

Allin read to the children an Alfred Tennyson poem, "Little Birdie."

"Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away ... " she read. "Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little limbs are stronger ... " That spurred Bill Marty, an electrical engineer, to recite the ending lines of a Harry Chapin tune that he framed for his wife, "She makes up the story, She's the only story of my life."

Sean, meanwhile, said about meeting a poetess, "It's cool." His sister said, "I like her."

A little later, Allin called it a day.

As usual, she said, she was going home happy. It had been a good day's work.

Erik Lacitis: 206-464-2237 or elacitis@seattletimes.com