Earlier this week, I participated in the first International Poetry Reading and Reception at the community college where I work.
I originally planned the event eight months ago, and later linked it with the College's International Education Week festivities - a concession to my Dean, who proved to be my strongest backer, not only of the event itself but of my own dreams, desires and effort. As a result of this commingling of events, the day was out of my control, and fixed to a Monday evening.
First regret in hindsight: Monday is a lousy day to hold a poetry reading. Turnout was light. We moved the audience, who had seated themselves toward the back of the auditorium, toward the front.
Second regret: Large auditoriums may reveal high confidence in speakers and audience. But in reality, a small attendance is glaringly noticed when so many seats are empty.
This was my baptism. I've read at a number of places - and looking back, I realized the rooms were cozy, tight. Usually, seats had to be added to accommodate everyone. And without exception, these were held on a weekend evening.
Then there was the time frame: two hours of seating without interruption requires unusual stamina. Now why didn't I think of that? How many plays, concerts and other staged performances have I attended? Plenty. And how many of them force attention for 120 minutes? Well, hmm now. Few. When this particular convenience was not provided, people started leaving. Rolling into the second hour, individual abandonment became a contagion. When I watched my two good friends rise from their seats and lurk out, I knew my mistake was a biggie.
The morning after, I awoke with a sour memory. Disenchantment and disappointment poured over me like a deluge. I couldn't shake the awful feeling that I'd led two wonderful poets (Celia Alvarez and Marisella Veiga) into an open pit, a vast darkness; that I had not attended to reality - day, time, space, breaks.
But regret is like yeast that rises into a mountainous mass and two hours later, falls flat, levels out. It took more than two hours. But finally I recognized that my disappointment was based on untested expectations. A "first" of anything has inherently higher risk than a repeat act.
And continuing in the vein of relativity, I just read of a poet's experience at a reading arranged at a bookstore. She had zero turnout. She sold one book. And she received no honorarium.
So the nature of regret is flexible. Now I realize that an audience of 80-90 people ain't so bad when the alternative is zero. I recognize that press before the event, while not shaking the rooftops, was good. And, I recognize that poets do not go out of their way to support other poets. Multilingual people, immigrants, the displaced, English faculty, ESL faculty - they are the same. This isn't a condemnation, just a simple truth.
And the nature of regret is that it comes ready made for learning. I'm already meeting and organizing for next year's poetry event.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
The Nature of Regret
Earlier this week, I participated in the first International Poetry Reading and Reception at the community college where I work.
Blog Scans
Up early this morning and skipping from (mostly poetry) blog to blog. Here's what I've found worth reading:
On the benefits of repetition: Diane Lockward talks about the value of writing out already published poems in longhand. "I process the poem in a way that I don't when I merely read." Julie Enzser and Ann Lederer add to the conversation.
Call for Midwest women poets: Becky Ellis with Cherry Pie Press announces the 2008 chapbook contest for women poets with a connection to the Midwest.
Minimalism or deserved rest: Suzanne Frishkorn has been busy. Her newest full-length book of poetry, Lit Windowpane, will be coming out next fall. You'll be able to get a copy at Main Street Rag Press. Suzanne, I'd love to write a review!
Giving Thanks: Ron Silliman devotes space reminiscing about lifelong friendships, the Grand Piano project, and is promoting a benefit reading in San Francisco for Will Alexander, a poet with no insurance to cover his chemotherapy.
Random Gift: I drifted over to Ruth Ellen Kocher's blog without any foreknowledge of her identity. I'm glad I did. She first recalls the power of a word ("will") and its synchronous effect on her life. Then there's a reflection of the visceral power of poetry, on how when she reads, her hand automatically moves to her heart, where she is touched, the intersection of body memory and verbal memory. And she talks about being homesick for poetry - a state I can empathize with - how it has moved out of her head, out of her house, and the distractions she machinates while the silence endures.
On the road: Go over to Gina Franco's blog for her random photos. She's been traveling and takes you along. There's a fish barely out of water, a grainy close-up of a tumbling shed roof, road signs, a mirror shot, eerie looking doll faces and snow falling in Roswell, NM.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Blog Grades
I ran across one of those quickie blog ratings and put mine through the test. According to The Blog Readability Test, my blog is at the level of high school. hmph!
Well, I wondered, how do other blogs compare?
- Suzanne Frishkorn: GENIUS
- Margo Berdeshevsky: GENIUS
- Ron Silliman: GENIUS
- Anni Ballardini: GENIUS
- Barbara Jane Reyes: COLLEGE (Post Grad)
- Jilly Dybka: COLLEGE (Under Grad)
- Rachel Dacus: HIGH SCHOOL
- Lyle Daggett:HIGH SCHOOL
- Gene Justice: JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL
- Julie Enzser: ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
- The Hypertexts: ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
- BitchPhd: ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
What's your score - or do you care to know?
NaPoWriMo Week Three
BLACK FRIDAY
ten Mourning Doves flurry across
the flagstones, dust-speckled wings,
something god-like in their descent.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
NaPoWriMo Week Two
Nov. 5, 2007
Natural Surrounding
The shrimp plant outside my window is a forest
to the ants circling below, driven
by innate regimen to survive.
A noose circumscribes the neck
of a neighboring oak,
sticky vines in their relentless march:
symbiosis or suffocation.
The Genographic Project
Has anyone participated in the Genographic Project sponsored by National Geographic?
