Blue Afternoon by Georgia Mcann

On a humid Wednesday evening, I made my way to Midtown to attend a book launch event for the first time. Arriving in the area thirty minutes before it began, I sat in Bryant Park, simmering in the humidity and watching the revolving carousel of humanity pass me by.

I was nervous because I never know what the rules are for these kinds of events. Is it okay to show up early? Should I be there on time? Or are you supposed to show up thirty minutes late, at a minimum?

I grew up with the Midwestern conviction that punctuality is a virtue. You arrive at the stated time out of respect for the individual who extended the invitation. But a painfully embarrassing reminder from one of my first parties in the city, four years ago, always arises in my consciousness: I had arrived at the stated time of the invitation, only to be met with a look of disdain cemented forever in my mind as the hostess opened the door and said, annoyed:

“Oh, you’re the first one here.”

I had broken an unspoken social rule. A criminal offense.

I had arrived on time.

But a quick Google search for book-launch arrival etiquette reassured me that it was, in fact, okay to arrive on time to these kinds of things. I could even arrive five minutes early! So, with faith in the benevolent search engine, I made my way over to the venue and ascended in the elevator—five minutes early, nonetheless.

Located on Fifth Avenue, neighboring the New York Public Library, Moss is a members-only social club occupying five floors of a supertall skyscraper. Moss’s website describes the club as a venue where members gather for “intelligent leisure and physical culture.”

And starting at only $745 a month, you too can participate in all five floors of said leisure and culture!

The book being birthed that evening was a collection of poems titled Blue Afternoon, by reality TV personality Georgia McCann, who was a gracious host and, upon my arrival, immediately managed to dissipate my early arrival anxiety by introducing herself as the author.

I went into the event completely blind, as I prefer to do, having done no prior research on who she was, so I look back with some embarrassment at the dumbfounded expression I must have given her when I asked if she was going to read any of the poems for us, only for her to respond…

“No, I don't want to confuse it with my reality tv identity.”

What she meant by that, I’m not entirely sure, but it would have been nice to hear her read one of her poems. As I skimmed through a copy of Blue Afternoon, I could see the vision for a lyrical performance, and as the crowd continued to trickle in and an increasingly generous amount of wine was poured, I immediately noticed and appreciated that the dedication read, “To Marissa,” which felt oddly serendipitous. Georgia explained that Marissa was a close friend who had not only encouraged her to publish the book, but had also reassured her that her poems weren’t, despite what many Gen Z poets seem to fear, cringe.

Georgia’s poems, from what I was able to observe, I should note that I’m still waiting for my copy to arrive in the mail before conducting a more in-depth analysis, were largely confessional in nature, with a diaristic quality that offered glimpses into the inner life of a young woman navigating contemporary city life. The subject matter often inhabited the familiar territory of quintessential downtown-girl escapades, with references to ketamine at Le Dive and other such Dimes Square touchstones sprinkled throughout, you know the gist. But there were also glimpses of other cities, experiences, and ex-lovers, which made for an entertaining reading experience of autofiction.

Georgia was kind enough to allow me to ask her some questions about her poetry here's our conversation:

Marissa: How would you describe your poetry?

Georgia: I think it's a little Frank O'Hara meets Georgia McCann!

Marissa: You mention Frank O Hara, are there any other writers who have influenced you?

Georgia: I keep going back to Frank O hara, just because he talks about New York as a character. And I like to treat cities as characters, there were other cities I lived in too while I was writing these, that I also attempted to personify. Think of it as settings as characters. Oh and Olivia Gatwood I love her!

Marissa: I LOVE HER! (seriously if you’ve never read Olivia Gatwood check her out.)

Marissa : What kind of style were you going for?

Georgia: Biographical, but not all of them are.

Marissa: The biographical ones which eras of your life do they encompass?

Georgia: Post highschool, to like, young early womanhood I think. It's very coming of age.

Marissa: What are some of your favorite literary devices to incorporate in your poems?

Georgia: I think I like a dramatic ending, or I like to bookend my own poem for the first stanza, make it seem kinda random, but then come full circle and call back to it at the last stanza. I really also enjoy Stream-Of- Consciousness.

Marissa: ooo I love the stream of consciousness. What about using that style do you feel appeals to you to implement in your poems?

Georgia: What do you mean?

Me: Like, do you feel as if it gives you a vehicle to be more honest and not as structured, so less intimidating of a writing form?

Geogia : Yes, I have said in other interviews that I always thought poetry was reserved only for poets, and I put poets in quotations because what does it actually mean to be a poet? The way poetry came into my life was very slice of life, style of writing, and stream of consciousness writers being some of my early references and influences.

And thus, the end of our conversation. I lingered a little while longer, ostensibly to continue engaging in an unspoken flirtation with the bartender, who was playfully splashing droplets of water at me from across the bar, both of us caught in a shared trance of mischievous grins, the kind of shenanigans that apparently transpire after three glasses of wine.

I also found the conversations I was eavesdropping on and the overall liveliness of the atmosphere thoroughly entertaining . There’s a creative benefit to attending events alone, even if it seems terrifying at first, or if you look a little odd standing alone, scanning the room, your head acting as the axis of an overstimulated swivel. You might leave with some kind of inspiration, and if not, well, at least there are new characters to write about. I made my way to the elevator, and as I entered, I saw the same bartender once more, walking down the corridor. Right as the doors were closing me out of the frame of the night, I playfully called out:

“You, I’m keeping my eye on you!”

He let out a boisterous laugh, one that descended down alongside me and made the night worthwhile.