I seriously thought I was going to post this earlier in the week. Ha! What was I thinking? I have managed to unpack (although I still haven't found my night guard mouthpiece, yipes!) I haven't washed clothes yet. I haven't grocery shopped yet. (So grateful for a patient husband and a daughter who brought shepherd's pie that lasted two nights!) I did teach five yoga classes and I think I've mostly caught up on my sleep.
First let me just say Poetry Camp was amazing. My ride from Seattle to Bellingham was with Janet Wong's husband, Glenn Schroeder and Louisiana poet, Brod Baggert. Both have lawyer backgrounds, so I stayed entertained in the back seat listening to these two. Of course, my Eastern Time Zone body was screaming three in the morning! When Brod asked who were my favorite dead poets, it took a minute to remember their names. Theodore Roethke, Christina Rosetti, Gerard Manley Hopkins. Ask me next week and I might come up with three different names.
|I swiped this from Janet's Facebook page, so I have no idea who gets the photo credit.|
|I love these two ladies, Irene Latham and Jeannine Atkins.|
Julie Larios led a writing workshop using Oulipo techniques for getting out of a writing rut. Basically it meant giving yourself specific constraints with the understanding that the constraints themselves force your brain to operate in a different way, letting the poem lead you. I was in a song-writing workshop earlier this summer where this same concept was the basis for creating a song.
Here's an example we actually worked on: Write a five line poem. The final vowel sound in each line must be a long a, e, i, o, and u.
How can she stay in this sun-deprived place?
She watches leaves on the elm sway in the breeze
and lifts her eyes to the graying sky,
weighing the distance she must go.
She spreads her wings and lifts toward blue.
A fun first draft that I wouldn't otherwise have written. Maybe it will go somewhere, maybe it won't. Maybe I'll salvage a phrase or two. Who knows?
If you read my post yesterday on friends, this should have gone on that post, but that didn't happen. On the way to dinner with April Halprin Wayland and Nancy Bo Flood, I wrapped my arm through April's and said, "Help me out here. I'm feeling a bit like a fraud after sitting in the room the all those amazing poets." She just patted my arm and said, "We all have our own level of fraudulence to deal with." Maybe it never goes away, that feeling that you're just pretending to be a poet. But there's nothing for it but to keep writing.
I don't remember her name. I wish I hadn't been so surprised that I forgot to ask about her school. She made my day.
I told Janet and Sylvia that on Friday I felt a little like an imposter in the middle of all these rock stars. By the end of Saturday, I felt a little like a rock star, too.
There's more, of course, but I'll save it for later.