Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

Wow, what a 6-day stretch of words, words, words! And hugs, and tears, and new ideas, and new friends, and--yeah, it was amazing. I took yesterday afternoon to drift back into my "real life"-- but then, poetry is part of my life, and it needs to weave itself back in. For quite a while, I've been living life in separate cubicles, mentally, emotionally, and sometimes even physically. Too regimented, too fragmented, too fractured. I'll take today to wander through my house and set things to rights, too-- a messy house distracts me.  On Wednesday, we were somewhat playfully instructed to write an oath that we'd keep for the last day and a half of the conference, and I'm going to keep mine. I think I'll revise it a little: To live intentionally; to honor my talent and my craft and to engage with them without limits. One thing that did surprise me this week about my own work is that I didn't immediately slip into the facile world of silly rhymes. This is som...

Well, look at me, prosing myself silly lately. The writing prompt for this part of our conference is forcing me to engage in some really imaginative stuff, and to combine it with some of my more familiar experiences. We are on a subway in the Underworld, and there are stops along the way. We've started at the river Styx, and had to get off the train at Lethe due to track repairs, and we get back on in Mnemosyne.  Forgetfulness and Memory... What will likely happen is that this long, involved prose narrative could be transformed into a long poem. Or a series of linked short ones. It's borrowing from the familiar mythology of Greek/Roman invention, but it is asking us to take that and go with whatever our imaginations want to say. Exhausting work, but really interesting. For the first time in forever, I woke up this morning thinking of where my narrative is headed next, and how I'm going to get my main character (a persona of me) back home again. And isn't that what I...

Well, apparently I may have a future in writing Hallmark-ish fiction.  Not really, but an extended writing exercise yesterday was a lot of fun, and it gave me some really great strategies on how to lead young writers into and through a short piece of fiction. Neat, huh? And it was not all about my broken psyche! Not self-reflective or indulgent at all! Hooray! It was essentially a meet-cute that involves a professional dog walker, a handsome stranger in a suit, and an unexpected re-meeting on an airplane. That's as far as I've gotten, and it's likely it'll just stay there, a little flash-teaser of formulaic romantic fiction.  We wrote seven drafts yesterday, three in rapid succession, and then four more after lunch. My brain was tired last night, for sure.  And the reading of the participants' work last night was fun, too. G and I didn't stay for the socializing after (we did have dinner with the crew before hand), as we were both pretty tired and 5am comes earl...

Another damp start to the day, and breathing is really awful. Canada is still on fire, and it's hell for asthma patients like me. I wish they had all this rain and damp. I've been writing a lot of drafts this week, most of which are just "etudes" but others may have some promise. What I've noticed is that I still have a lot of psyche work to do. I spent most of the last few years writing about my father's decline and death, and now it seems that some deep anger and resentment about issues in my childhood are bubbling up. O great, right? No wonder I'm not sharing all of these raw drafts with the group. No one needs to hear that stuff. Poetry is not therapy, but writing can help sort things out. It is not my intention to go digging like this; it's not comfortable, and it leaves me sad and exhausted. But there are things I need to say, to confront and deal with, I guess.  I am hopeful that whatever writing prompts we are given today, they lead me to somet...

The lushness of the grass, the trees, the hedges, even the weeds--it all belies the fact that there will be no fruit this year. Or little, luck-dependent, surprises amongst all this verdure. The snow we had late into the spring, when blossoms were settling and bees were busy, has frozen the crop before it ever really got started.  On the news, the estimate is for 85% loss; no apple picking with families this year. So far, the strawberry crops at commercial farms are okay, but the early greens like spinach and so on were hit hard. I have some hope for blueberries. But not my own micro-orchard; the trees are lovely, full and rustling softly in the breeze, but unladen. I think there's maybe five cherries on the tree that, last year, gave a full crop of tart, red fruit. I won't bother netting the tree; the birds can have that scant bounty. I had hopes for the apple trees, but I don't think it'll bear out. And the pears were in high blossom when it snowed and got so cold.  I...

I was talking with my poet-friend Teresa last night about my little chapbook, and how, although I think it's pretty seamless, maybe it's "too quiet." I don't know, but it took a lot of emotional energy and introspection to put that little book together, and it's not going anywhere at this point. It's a little disheartening. As we talked, I started thinking about what else I could put together, something that tells a story. I have a lot of poems to pull from, and maybe I can put a "sharper" or more energetic/challenging chapbook together. There's nothing saying I have to get rid of my other one, just develop a new one and see what may come from it.  Just not today. I'm already a little pre-tired, although I slept well. Day Two of the conference starts promptly at 8am, with me dictating today's poem.  I'd better get on with the coffee/shower/food thing. Have a good day, C

Today is the first day of the CPT at The Frost Place-- the first in-person since BC (before covid). I get to see my friends in person! I get to make new friends as well! Of course, we will gather in the barn at the historic home of Robert Frost, and of course, there will be bugs, and it'll rain. But we will be tucked away in the White Mountains, talking about poetry with other poet-teachers. And I get to do this every day til Thursday! I've done my best to get my house in order so that it doesn't crumble into dust while I'm busy elsewhere. I'll be stopping home mid-day each day, too, but it's always a bit chaotic.  Take good care, and read good words! C