I haven’t been writing much–only one poem in the last few weeks. Tomorrow I leave for Squaw Valley Poetry where I’ll be writing a poem every day for eight days. The first time I went was three years ago and I was really just beginning to think seriously about poetry. I didn’t know anyone there and had no idea how it all worked. I remember the first workshop day I was in a group with Gerald Stern as the “guiding poet.” The poem I brought really was bad. I was horrified really to have to read it and wished I could have just bailed out of the whole thing right then and there. He didn’t say much about it, thankfully, and also, thankfully, the format at SV is to encourage writing new poems and stretching your boundaries. The feedback is not to be critical, but to point out where the poem works, so as to keep the poet in a positive frame of mind and not discouraged, as these are only beginnings, not finished products.

As the week went on I grew more comfortable with the format and my poems came along as well. I had three great roommates: Kay, Karen & Julie. We were in a big house up on the hill, each with our own room and lots of space to spread out in. The owners were obviously writers, as they had a humongous Oxford English Dictionary (the kind that has to have it’s own stand to rest on) and Julie even brought a printer all the way from Alaska (she put it in one of those Styrofoam coolers to transport it on the plane), so we were set. Even with all of this the real test was always getting that poem done by 7 AM when the “poem couriers” would make their rounds to pick up the poems to be copied for that day’s workshop. There were late nights and early mornings and sometimes the two would merge, leaving some of us nodding out during the workshop or snatching a much needed nap in the middle of the day.

This being my second time around I do know mostly what I’m in for, what the schedule is, the pace of the day, the facilities and the staff and I even have a few poet friends who will be attending, so on that level, I’m feeling pretty comfortable. But then, there’s always the poems—wondering what they’re going to do, wondering if I can pull a rabbit out of my hat every day, can walk into those morning workshops and not want to turn around and run right out. Poetry doesn’t seem like risky business, well on the surface anyway, but it can be gut-wrenching to take a those few “just wet” lines into a group of poets and lay it out there for all to see. It is definitely a lesson in detachment. And, really, what the poem is at that time is “material.” It isn’t formed yet and has a long way to go before it reveals whether it is worthy of even being called a poem, although, sometimes you get lucky and a good one pops right out of the brain onto the page. That’s grace and it’s rare but always a happy moment.

Well, it will be a week or so before I’m online again. I doubt very much whether there will be time or internet availability to do much blogging up there. I will return with much to share in thoughts and photos and possibly a poem or two. Here’s the one photo I can find from the 2003 session with one of my favorite poets, Lucille Clifton and one of her wonderful poems from Blessing the Boats.

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hag riding

why
is what i ask myself
maybe it is the afrikan in me
still trying to get home
after all these years
but when i wake to the heat of morning
galloping down the highway of my life
something hopeful rises in me
rises and runs me out into the road
and i lob my fierce thigh high
over the rump of the day and honey
i ride i ride
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