When you imagine a poetry reading, the scene that comes to mind probably doesn’t involve battalions of underwear-slinging admirers. Poetry is supposed to be dusty stuff, the reading of which can inspire even a hyperactive 4-year-old to go gentle into that good nap. And yet here is Dylan Thomas’s wife, Caitlin, describing her husband’s famous 1953 performances at the Poetry Center in New York, now part of the 92nd Street Y, “I used to come in late and hear, through the mikes, the breath-strained panting … booming blue thunder into the teenagers’ delighted bras and briefs.” As signs of performative triumph go, happy underwear surely beats a standing ovation.