Poet Abroad

Yesterday, our DC Hope writers group met in the courtyard of the National Portrait Gallery. Even on a cloudy day, the Gallery’s courtyard can let in a great deal of light. Luckily for us, the sun was out and it felt as though we were convening al fresco.

We’d swapped poems two nights before, via email, giving each of us time to read, re-read, and comment. At first go, I found myself rather rusty, not having participated in a workshop in over a year (since my MFA). However, I gave myself time, read, re-read, gave myself more time, and eventually back into a position of being a critical thinker and reader of poetry with something worthwhile to contribute.

It had also been a couple of months since I’d written what I would classify as an official poem – there are poems you write, and there are poems you re-write. Last week, I came back to a poem that had been sitting in a folder on my computer for at least three months, perhaps more. It was time I gave it some air. I brushed it off, tweaked a few lines, added another stanza, gave it a fresh title (which has been changed twice since), and sent it off to the gals.

Nervously, I, the second to be workshopped that day, read my poem aloud to the other poets sitting at the table across from me in the Gallery. Sometimes, when you get the opportunity to hear yourself do this, it gives you a new take on what you’ve written. You can hear the trip-ups and the stumbles, the lines that seem to flow and those that don’t, and you can tell whether this is really something that has been worth your time to write, or if you’ve just realized you’d rather not be sharing it at all.

I was so grateful for the comments the girls gave me. They addressed every question about which I’d been self-conscious, and nailed the moments of intent with their responses. They also helped me finally pick an appropriate title, something with which this poem was giving me serious trouble. Now, I’m happy to say that The Veronica is well on its way to being finished. Soon I’ll send it out there amongst the throngs of other submissions.

Brianne read next and, halfway through her reading, an older man who had been sitting at the table opposite us, stood up, walked up between Sara and Brianne, and interrupted with a question. He asked what we were doing, sitting there, studiously pouring over some important-looking papers and speaking so critically and elegantly. He wanted to know if we were critiquing the art in the Gallery. No, we explained. We were poets, reading and commenting on each others’ poems. This was simply an ideal meeting place we’d agreed upon. “Oh,” he said. “So, nothing to do with art, then.”

His reply shook us a little. We looked at each other and tried holding on to our giggles until after he’d left. I immediately scribbled the quote down on a spare bit of paper, amused. Apparently, what poets do has nothing to do with art.

We’ve set a date for the first DC Hope Writers Workshop. It took longer than I’d imagined to work around everyone’s schedules. But there you have it. On Sunday, 17 October, in the courtyard of the National Portrait Gallery, across from DC’s Chinatown, there we’ll be: a small handful of former Hollanders reminiscing over our favourite Michigan poet and trying like hell not to be the first writer to expose their work. At least, that’s how I’ll feel.

The fact is, writing has been eluding me of late. Each day I sit down with the good intentions of cranking out at least a mildly decent draft of something resembling a poem. Yet, with all those good intentions, no results. My preoccupied mind turns instead to grad school applications. Oh, the dread. Not another year of these awful things. Which programme? Which faculty? Which concentration? Which writing sample? How puffed up can I make myself without sounding ridiculously phoney?

I’ve heard many writers say the same things – they feel like a fraud; they excel only at B.S.; they have no idea why they’re in the same room as Pete Fairchild. Yeah, we’ve all had those thoughts. Me, definitely. So, to put down on paper how absolutely marvellous you are and how much you deserve a spot in a place surrounded by people who you simultaneously admire and envy can be one of the most tedious and embarrassing projects. This is no time for humility, folks.

Today was a complete writing FAIL, both creatively and academically. Instead, I tuned in to college football and watched my Wolverines kick the snot out of the Hoosiers. Way to go, Blue! But alas, it did not produce a poem.

I wonder if blaming it on my current unemployment status is truly valid. I’m sure it isn’t. Of course, unemployment depression doesn’t exactly help to get you into a good writing space. I need to form a positive routine in a consistent time and environment. A friend of mine wakes every morning at 4:30am and sits in his office for at least four hours and plugs away. Naturally, I hate him for this, especially since 4:30am is far-too-frequently the time I finally drift off to a fitful sleep. However, I’m convinced it is the muscle memory from consistent habit that helps him dutifully take the writer’s helm every pre-dawn day.

When I think of this devoted individual, I also wonder if there are days when he simply can’t sit still in the chair for five minutes without getting a cup of tea, or checking the mail, or playing with the dog, or doing the dishes – the same procrastination exercises I perform when sitting down to write. What are his excuses? Surely, with all of his success stories, he can’t feel phoney. So, then, what would make him fidget?