Writer Calvin Trillin is pretty happy these days, and with good reason.

He recently overcame a minor illness that postponed his appearance in Boise; his new book “Quite Enough of Calvin Trillin: Forty Years of Funny Stuff” is out and doing well; and this coming election’s bounty of Republican candidates have great names for political poetry.

“They work so well for deadline poetry. Cain rhymes with all sorts of things, and Perry, well, you could say ‘the space between his ears is airy.’ Or for Cain I wrote:

‘We’ve spent a month on this campaign,

And trying daily to explain

The steady rise of Herman Cain.

Through willingness to strain

Every muscle of the brain

We’ve laid out all that is germain

To help the public ascertain

Why Cain consistently can pain

(Despite some charge, a moral stain)

Support that doesn't seem to wane.’

It’s not like Clinton, which is like the ‘orange’ of politics.”

Having Trillin read one of his political poems over the phone is a particular thrill for a fellow journalist because he’s not only one of the funniest writers around, known for his wit, satire and ironic turns, but he’s an ace reporter on more serious stuff.

This well-balanced journalist, essayist, poet and humorist has been dubbed one of the “finest reporters in America.”

Trillin will be in Boise Dec. 8 as the guest speaker at the annual Idaho Humanities Council’s Distinguished Lecture Dinner.

For nearly 50 years, Trillin has covered all sorts of things for The New Yorker, The Nation and The New York Times. Most notably, his wry commentary on the American scene, his deadline poetry, books chronicling his adventures as a “happy eater,” his memoir about his late wife, Alice, all have earned him renown.

Originally from Kansas City, Mo., he writes with a grounded frankness that often takes you by surprise.

This won’t be his first time in Boise. In 1979, he came here to write for his U.S. Journal series covering stories from serious to quirky (sometimes both) across the country.

Trillin worked out of the Statesman’s building on a story about two upstanding guys turned bank robbers, remembers retired Statesman columnist Tim Woodward.

“He was so funny,” Woodward says. “Jim Poore and I took him out for lunch at Manley’s Cafe, a place famous for serving huge portions. It was kind of a dive so at first he looked nervous, but when we walked in the door he got this big smile on his face. He said, ‘When I travel most people take me to the restaurant at the top of some tower with a rotating restaurant that has awful food. This is the kind of place I like.’”

Trillin spent some time on the phone from his Greenwich Village home.

Q: When did you figure out you were funny?

A: I was one of those kids who was being told not to be a smart aleck. When I figured out that people would laugh was in Sunday school. I can’t do this very well over the phone because it’s a site gag.

We were studying the psalms and we came to the psalm “If I forget thee O, Jerusalem let my right hand forget its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.”

And I was a shy little boy. I remember standing up and saying it with my right hand flopping around and my tongue literally stuck to the roof of my mouth. Everybody laughed and the teacher kicked me out of class. That’s what I still do, engage some and spurn others. The folks in the East call that humor as a defense.

Q: Have you ever gotten yourself into trouble?

A: You can say something a little more pointed, as long as it rhymes. The rhyme sort of takes the curse out of it. There are things I say in some of those poems about politicians that I wouldn’t say in prose. In a poem about Mitt Romney, I wrote:

“Quick to shed his moderate regalia,

He may, like Ken, be lacking genitalia.”

Now, Romney’s press secretary isn’t going to call me and say, he does too have genitalia. It’s obviously a joke, so it takes some of the poison out of it.

Once, I met Oscar de la Renta at a small party after writing a piece in the book “Dinner at the de la Renta’s” (1981), which was not a complimentary piece. That’s one of my biggest nightmares, to run into people I’ve written about. Somehow it was clear that he had read it, and he was very charming. I don’t know if politicians would be so gracious.

Q: The book has some real gems in it. With 40 years to work with, how did you decide what would be in it?

A: It was a pain. There were certain things I knew I liked. Those were easy. Once I figured out I wanted to do it topically, that made it easier. So it’s organized according to New York things, or sports or animal things. I thought it was going to be a simple job, and it turned out to be a very irritating job.

Trillin is probably his funniest when irritated. The book offers a series of non-partisan pot shots at nearly everything, from the literati and social elite to his dentist, whom he calls Sweeny Todd.

Dana Oland: 377-6442