(applause).

i'm the president of friends of mclaren park. it is one of the oldest neighborhood community park groups in san francisco. i give a lot of tours through the park. during those tours, a lot of the folks in the group will think of the park as very scary. it has a lot of hills, there's a lot of dense groves. once you get towards the center of the park you really lose your orientation. you are very much in a remote area. there are a lot of trees that shield your view from the urban setting. you would simply see different groves that gives you a sense of freedom, of being outdoors, not being burdened by the worries of city life. john mclaren had said that golden gate park was too far away. he proposed that we have a park in the south end of the city. the campaign slogan was, people need this open space. one of the things that had to

open is there were a lot of people who did a homestead here, about 25 different families. their property had to be bought up. so it took from 1928 to 1957 to buy up all the parcels of land that ended up in this 317 acres. the park, as a general rule, is heavily used in the mornings and the evenings. one of the favorite places is up by the upper reservoir because dogs get to go swim. it's extremely popular. many fights in the city, as you know, about dogs in parks. we have 317 acres and god knows there's plenty of room for both of us. man and his best friend. early in the morning people before they go to work will walk their dogs or go on a jog themselves with their dogs. joggers love the park, there's 7 miles of hiking trails and

there's off trail paths that hikers can take. all the recreational areas are heavily used on weekends. we have the group picnic area which should accommodate 200 people, tennis courts are full. it also has 3 playground areas. the ampitheater was built in 1972. it was the home of the first blues festival. given the fact that jerry garcia used to play in this park, he was from this neighborhood, everybody knows his reputation. we thought what a great thing it would be to have an ampitheater named after jerry garcia. that is a name that has panache. it brings people from all over the bay area to the ampitheater. the calls that come in, we'd like to do a concert at the jerry garcia ampitheater and we do everything we can to

accommodate them and help them because it gets people into the park. people like a lot of color and that's what they call a park. other people don't. you have to try to reconcile all those different points of view. what should a park look like and what should it have? should it be manicured, should it be nice little cobblestones around all of the paths and like that. the biggest objective of course is getting people into the park to appreciate open space. whatever that's going to take to make them happy, to get them there, that's the main goal. if it takes a planter with flowers and stuff like that, fine. you know, so what? people need to get away from that urban rush and noise and this is a perfect place to do it. feedback is always amazement. they don't believe that it's in san francisco. we have visitors who will say, i never knew this was here and i'm a native san franciscoan.

they wonder how long it's been here. when i tell them next year we'll get to celebrate the 80th anniversary of the park,k,

good even and welcome. jack hirschman. he has been a poet in san francisco from 2006. his powerful voice set the tone, his latest book, "all that's left". >> my voice is a little untuned.

very simply so they are not any question of anxiety or worry. on march 14th, i decided to take an operation on my carotted artery and therefore. i don't want to go out by a stroke. i would rather go out another way. the operation was perfectly senseful. there wasn't pain. they put a tube down your throat. so i lost my voice for a month or 2. therefore, i ask your

indulgence. i will read in this voice, if you don't mind. i am very pleased this book came out. i am going to read with the war. the war drug on. die after die. so shares and shout so jibes, nor many a steer of so cult

exist and jams, juice, gins over in his tomb. tears over borrowed good as well. and future is dust and smothering. the war i rock is a masked, sad gem stone of war kings and people. and fear must without heaven, over a toga pot. that's import that war boil. that's bile that gag or jail roomy and oath and the war is

cocked. air and fuel the plague and watch him of his hunter of ash guard down the stinking hole. they were shacked up from to be done. >> [applause]. >> this house of hunger, for the american kids who go to sleep each night without supper. this house of hunger has millions of kids in it. breakfast and lunch is all their worth. famished of billions of bucks in them. what pretty prophets have set

before king's death. they stink with the stench of unmitigated treaty. their indifference included in their digital speeds. while those kids lie in bed without a cup of bullion in their head. also kill the children, american you shootful. and the murders you plant in your own backyard. keep insisting your democracy. but in the starving darkness, those sad, lost eyes know the truths of your lies that you sold all the marbles in their

little sacks to the bullies who applaud because they won't give them back. you have stolen the bread that cried from their mouths and turned it into dirty dough. when finally they manage to fall asleep, their dreams cause you the haunted house. the spell of the sun to burn you down so that greeds flee and steal the good things for hungry little bellies to eat. between the page, with the heart and the mind, wrestling

upon it. and the year which later will receive those limbs of light as perfect harmony. there's a stillness who's volume speaks word of words defiant. treasures of the unstable. secrets of the heavy enchantment and the never ending gathering at the lips of the kiss of poem. now, >> [applause]. >> now, i understand them causing an enormous amount of

anguish of my voice. i brought my girlfriend. she is going to read 3 poems to you so you get another dimention of my voice. please welcome, agnes ford >> the house of the setting sun. the comrade again and the poorist way wave you. to the red flag. i put my mount to your misery new orleans. here, war lies piles so high. this floating prison