This was in a much bigger venue than other poetry events, and we were told that it could have filled a space twice the size. It was one of a series of events around Australia to celebrate the recent publication of the UWA Collected Poems. The book's editor, Toby Davidson, has organised and chaired the events, in which local poets read poems by Webb and speak briefly of their connections to him.

Toby D is a young man whose enthusiasm for his subject wouldn't have shamed a revivalist preacher. He wants us all to read Webb, in solitude and aloud to our friends. He recommends the practice of carrying a book of his poems everywhere with us (which Bob Adamson Told us later he actually does). He kicked things off by reading 'Ball's Head Again'. He didn't read badly by any means, but he did demonstrate the difficulty of Webb's verse and gave us a yardstick by which to judge the other readers.

By any measure they were all brilliant.

Judith Beveridge spoke of the texture of Webb's language, its compression and richness, and read 'Images in Winter' and 'For My Grandfather'.

Brook Emery quoted a speaker from an earlier session who referred to 'songs that please the ear and songs that please the heart' and said he would add 'songs that please the mind' - Webb's poems, he said, are always reaching for meaning. He read 'Night Swimming', the first poem by Webb I ever read, when I was 24 or so, and 'Nessun Dorma'.

Johanna Featherstone, easily the youngest of the poets, struck a blow against the view that Webb is a poet's poet, read only by scholars and fellow poets. She takes poetry into correctional centers, where prisoners, possibly influenced by knowledge of his time in institutions, believe him. She read 'The Runner' and
Harry'.

Craig Powell, a psychiatrist in his day job, told a little of his acquaintance with Webb when in a psych hospital in Melbourne. He read Five Days Old', prefacing it with the story of its creation: a psychiatrist in England took Webb on an outing, and asked him to hold his little baby for a moment. Powell almost spoiled the moment by asking with a snigger, 'Who would hand their baby over to a certified chronic schizophrenic?' But he gave us the poem with sound and heart and head. He also read 'Hospital Night'.

Robert Adamson talked about the stigma of 'mental illness', quoting an eminent poet-critic-media-personality's description of Webb as 'the maddy'. When they met, Webb asked Adamson, 'Are you a Communist?' 'Why?' 'The long hair.' He read 'Bushfire', 'Black Cockatoos' and 'End of the Picnic'. As a final comment he said that whereas a lot of discussion of Webb's poetry focuses on his 'mental illness', the poetry itself is full of hope and lucidity.

The young Bulgarian woman sitting next to me said she'd loved the poetry, though there were many words she didn't understand. Me too.

As I was on my way to the next session, I accosted Bob Adamson and said how much I'd loved his reading. He reached into his briefcase and gave me a book! So, dear reader, when someone does something that
Ives or delights you, make a point of thanking them.