high five

today was a curious day. spent the morning, as usual, in three hours of poetry workshop. (hear: hell). it's not that i don't like poetry, i just don't like spinning infinite circles around nothing. this is what we do in poetry workshop. we make our brains hurt discussing three poems in an hour and a half. line by line. word by word. character by character. enough to drive you mad.

i showed up late today, i didn't mean to, but it happens. and i felt bad because i always seem the rebel. i'm not trying to be but it was a blazing hot day and i needed water for my water bottle. so i went to get it. then, i was late. only five minutes, but i was bummed i forgot the water.

so, we're workshopping some poems i feel are utterly irredeemable. i don't see anything on the page worth talking about, let alone talking about for an hour and a half. (hear: torture begins). i oblige, try to just keep my mouth shut and get through it.

this lemonade from lemons prof is reading the same poems i want to roundfile, and she gets up and shows us on the board how to make this poem matter. how to explode the content out off the page and into the realm of poetry (not just words on a page in poetic form). it was afuckingmazing.

then we move on to the next poet who really is skilled at wordplay, and ultimately the prof and i are going back and forth over the narrative details of this particular poem and i'm firing back at her, mind you, we were so engaged in this discussion the group just sat and watched. and finally, some fifteen minutes into the discussion, the poet chimes in and tells us that i got the pivotal detail right.

the poet leading the workshop, the prof i've been an ass to the entire time she's been here, puts her hand up in the air and i slap it and laugh. the poem was such a circuitous mindnumbing path of words that i felt like i'd sprinted up and down a flight of stairs with the exertion of that exchange. but it was a great relief to know i can read a poem, even a convoluted poem, mano y mano with a published poet.

at the reading tonight (after the open bar, note to self: bring liquor next residency, LOTS of liquor), i went up to the poet/prof and said,

that was just beautiful what you did with that work. you saw the potential on the page and not just the poem. it was amazing to watch.

she said,

thank you, coming from you that means a lot

.

she went on to say,

i reread through your poems tonight. i'm amazed at what you're doing. you're breaking all the rules and making it work. you're 95% there.

wow. now wait until she finds out they are all first drafts. :D

i was wondering what she'd say about my work, because when i saw it in her piles today there was not anything written on them. the other poems from my fellows had tons of notes. maybe tomorrow the notes will be there, but today i couldn't draw any conclusions.

so, here's where it's at for me. i see why this poet is the prof. i want to be the prof someday and see beyond the poem to the potential on the page. truly, it was amazing. i wish you could have been there.

now, i must to bed, drank a couple glasses of wine, i'm in the goddess club apparently, the resident writer who comes from africa calls me a fellow goddess, and this pleases me.

it has been, for all my bitching, a wonderful residency. i had a lot of soul searching to do, and i've not yet clarified what exactly i'm going to say, how i'm going to make this redeemable for the directors. but i want to contribute, that is what i keep saying. i want to contribute to this program. to make it better. so my suggestions are going to be helpful not just bullshit criticism. anyone can complain, i want to give them tangible ideas for improving things, making it work for others.

gotta go to bed. i'm being critiqued tomorrow for the last time. this will be the toughest critque yet. what she says will make a difference, i have to listen, and be willing to change. i am willing to change. (well, not really).

i'm still me.

damn.