Tonight the Lowell Poetry Network put on one of its monthly readings at 119 Gallery on Chelmsford Street. Rain washed the street outside, turning it to a mirror for the red taillights rushing toward the Lord Overpass. Fifteen people showed up to hear nationally published poet Sarah Getty of Bedford, Mass., and Al “The Fogg” Bouchard of Lowell and Pepperell, Mass., read in the featured spots. Al’s book is so-named because the first section has poems written in response to artworks in the Fogg Art Museum at Harvard University. Other poems explore existential questions, puzzle over relations between men and women,  and chart the landscape of dreams. Gallery host Walter Wright has given the Network a home for its reading series. A generous table of refreshments was laid out for everyone’s enjoyment. The two featured poets had their books for sale. Al offered a sneak preview of his new book, his first book, The Fogg, published by my small company, Loom Press (full disclosure here). He will have a big book launch at the Whistler House Museum of Art on Saturday, September 26. Check here for details.

After Sarah and Al gave their 20-minute readings, the mike was opened up for Network members — Billy, Ed, Stephen, Paula, and Patrick each took a turn. (Billy videotapes all readings and has an invaluable record of recent literary activity — imagine if we had tape of Dickens, Poe, Emerson, Larcom, Thoreau, and other writers who spoke in 19th century Lowell. Poe wasn’t POE when he visited. Some of today’s names encountered in the city may grow in reputation.) The readers shared their work amid a display of vigorous illustrations, drawings, and paintings generated by some of the Gallery regulars. A few pieces were created at the recent Armory Park art happening. Intense color and energetic lines and slashes of paint made the walls pop, a juicy background for the poets and their timeless compositions. Al is 73 and publishing his first poems. I joked that he is like the movie character played by Brad Pitt — Benjamin Button — born full grown in a literary sense. I’m hoping his book gets the attention it deserves. The work is cerebral and emotional at the same time, a fact that hits home when you hear him read. His voice infuses the crisp, thoughtful poems with humanity. The “voice” in the poems is so sophisticated that it is humble, knowing what it does not know and scratching to get at some understanding of what the heck this is all about down here on Earth.

Behind a door on Chelmsford Street, the local culture was perking and bubbling and spitting steam while the business of the city went on from precinct to block to neighborhood, while the tens of thousands at home did what they had to do and got ready for tomorrow. That kind of writing — Getty’s, Bouchard’s — has no freshness date. The Gallery doubled as an incubator tonight. Their work is going to stick around through many election cycles.