Twittering, Tweeting Poets

I confess, I've not thought much about Twitter and various art forms that are created via Twitter and cell phones. I can barely remember to keep my cell phone on when I've said that I would, so I don't anticipate moving my artistic endeavours to Twitter any time soon. I'm more likely to disconnect an incoming call when I try to answer it than to speak to someone--I swear that I'm not doing it consciously! My friend says she has an old-fashioned cell phone that only "doubles as an alarm clock and tip calculator and that's it"--an alarm clock? Could my phone do that? I don't even set up the message inbox, because I don't want people to think I'll check it and return their calls.

So, you'd think I'd be the last person in the world to be thinking about Twitter and other cell phone apps. In fact, I only recently started to think about poetry and Twitter when I recently read this article about tweeting recipes. I started thinking about how Twitter would require one to condense, condense, condense--a practice similar to what I force poetry students to do. The next week, I force them to write longer and larger, just to be fair. I think we tend to get in a rut. We do what's worked best for us in the past, and we rarely stretch ourselves once we figure it out. But what if there's another method that might yield interesting results?

Twittering could be useful, in that it forces us to work with new media and for most of us new form. How many of us force ourselves to write something powerful with just 140 characters? Don't count the haiku that you write to fulfill your National Poetry Month Poem-a-Day Challenge!

It reminds me of a time I wanted to enter a short short story contest. I started with the shortest short story I had ever written and discovered that I still needed to cut some 700 words. I looked at every sentence, evaluating its importance. Cutting those nonessential sentences still left me with substantial cutting to do; I ended up evaluating every single word.

I suppose that if I was a really good writer, I'd replicate this process with every piece of writing. I do not. Twittering might force me to do so.

And yet, and yet, and yet. I love blogging. I expected to love blogging, and yet, I love it so much more than I thought I would. But I must admit that I suspect blogging takes me away from poetry work, while, oddly, at the same time enriching and nourishing my poet self. I read more because of the Internet, yet, I have to admit at the same time, that I read less--less in the form of old-fashioned books. It's difficult for me to want to add yet another process that's likely to shorten my attention span and the amount of time available for poetry activities. And then there's the cost of the technology . . .

If you want to read more about poets and Twitter, and you want a list of poets who twitter, go to Collin Kelley's post.

If you want a voice that convinces you that you'll never want to Twitter, go to Rebecca Loudon's blog and read this post. She says, "Twitter seems to me the dumbing down of texting." And then there's yesterday's bit on NPR's Morning Edition. You can either read it or listen here.

These are interesting questions. Are the gains we're making enough to justify sacrificing our privacy in the ways that so many people do? Are we all just trying to avoid our deepest thoughts? Or does this technology help us to connect with our deeper selves?

Interviews and Inspirations

The always talented interviewer, Serena Agusto-Cox, has two interviews up at the 32 Poems blog (go here for an interview with Sidney Wade and for an interview with Erika Meitner, go here) and several on her own blog (go here for an interview with Clive Matson that isn't on the 32 Poems site).

I love these interviews because they always make me want to go straight to my notebook and write. And these days, I need that inspiration. I've been travelling too much, which I've enjoyed, but which always leaves me feeling like I've left some part of my brain somewhere else.

Or maybe it's just this time of year. Mary Biddinger writes a blog post about feeling like she's written the last poem she will ever write. I felt similarly, before reading the interviews that Serena has done.

I love the window that these interviews provide into the different writing processes that poets have. Sidney Wade says, "I also don’t think it’s productive for poets to insist on writing every day. Poetry is so intense an involvement that I can’t even write more than three days or so per week, even when the going’s good." What a revelation to me, a perfectionist who not only thinks I should write every day, but at least 4-5 hours should be spent on writing tasks every day. My current life will not support that goal. Yet I still have these ideas left over from when I had more free time.

I notice the same dynamic with exercising. I used to be able to exercise not just once a day, but several times a day. I wish I still could, but I have an administrative job that requires 40 hours a week to be spent in an office; it's a more corporate life than I ever anticipated, and I'm having some trouble getting my expectations and hopes to bend to my current life circumstances.

Maybe this trouble should be telling me something . . . Erika Meitner writes about her current project: "Many of the poems deal with the human geography of urban border-lands—people on the margins of society. Who do we leave behind or look past? What do we discard, as purposeful markers or accidental refuse? How can these people, places, and objects be woven into larger ideas about nature, sense of place, home, exile, and both personal and collective memory?"

Maybe I, too, am in a marginal land, albeit a margin that often isn't considered. I tend to think of margins and exile in terms of gender, race, class, or homeland, by which I mean a physical land on a map. But so many of us start out our lives thinking we'll be in one profession, only to end up in something radically different. We inhabit a marginal landscape too. Like many exiles, we may adapt and thrive. But we shouldn't discount the grieving process that may need to accompany us on our journey.

The Last Time I Saw the Bishop

First, let me say that I won't blog much here about the serious work that my church's Synod Assembly did. If you want to read my blog posts about the sexuality statements that we passed, you can to my theology blog here (for the short report) or here (for the longer report). You can go here if you want the official website of the Synod, and here for the official blog (go here for a specific blog about the vote on the sexuality statements and other first day events).

I spent the Synod Assembly watching the Bishop of our Synod officiating, and thinking of the last time that I saw him in person. It was after Hurricane Wilma, in 2005.

I was part of a different church then, one which sustained heavy damage. I pulled out all the waterlogged carpeting from the sanctuary. I was almost done when I noticed two men come in the door.

They must have been dressed in casual clothes, because I asked, "Are you the carpet guys?"

The assistant puffed up a little and said, "This is the bishop."

Oops. Like I said, I'm fairly sure they were dressed in casual clothes. If the bishop had come wearing his purple shirt and his impressive cross, I'd have known he wasn't the carpet guy.

Somewhere there's a picture of me, dirty and wet, shaking hands with the Bishop.

The Bishop looked at our damage, took notes, and left us with a case of bottled water and some tarps.

At the time, I remember wishing for a bit more help with the physical labor, as I went back to ripping up carpet and hauling it to the curb.

But later, I got a great poem out of it. I won't post the whole thing, since it hasn't been published elsewhere, but here's a taste:

Strange Communions


Jesus showed up at our church to help
with hurricane clean up.
“The Bishop was so busy,” he explained.
“But I had some time on my hands,
so I loaded the truck with tarps and water,
and came on down. What can I do?”

“Our roof needs a miracle,” I said.
“Do you know a good roofer?”

“I used to be a carpenter.
Of course, that’s getting to be a long time ago.
Let me see what I can do.”


--------------------------------

I know how I would end this poem--where would you go from here?

Why We Need More Women in Leadership Positions

Today, our Bishop gave us one bathroom break--one--during a morning of events. And it was 15 minutes long. I thought, of course, he's a man, he doesn't understand the logistics of the ladies' room, with lines that form and snake down the concourse.

So, I played with a poem idea which grew into a book idea. Could one create a whole series of poems centered around reasons why we need women in leadership? Reason #173 why we need more women in leadership positions: we need people who understand bathroom logistics and plan breaks accordingly. Write it up in poem form.

So, there's your writing prompt. Or here's another: write the previous 172 reasons in poetry form.

And here's reason #174: I grow so weary of sports metaphors for ministry, for team building, for . . . oh for everything. Write a poem. Go.

Off Again

I'm headed away from the computer again for a few days. I've been chosen as a voting lay delegate (as opposed to ordained delegates) at Synod Assembly (the Lutheran church is divided into synods by region, and these synods gather once a year to vote on various pieces of legislation and to elect leaders).

Will it be a mountain-top experience like a retreat at Lutheridge? Will it be more like a multiple day department meeting? I shall report back.

While I'm away, I plan to do some thinking about what I'd like to accomplish this summer. I can't believe how April seems to have just slipped through my fingers, and now May seems to be doing the same thing. I did get a lot of poems and scraps that might become poems written down in April. I mailed out some poetry packets. I'd like to return to my poems and think about a different book-length manuscript--more about that when I return!

Creating a Creative Community

As my husband and I drove up to North Carolina, we played with our recurring daydream of buying land in the country. Land around Newberry, South Carolina still looks beautiful to me--close enough to Columbia, the capital city, to get what we would need, but still beautifully rural in spots. Land in the Upstate (South Carolina) also looks good--close to mountains, but still underdeveloped. Sadly, the land around Asheville is distressingly developed. When I was a kid going to camp at Lutheridge, you really had to pack carefully--there weren't lots of stores nearby (and when my Mom was a counselor, back in the 50's, there was NOTHING nearby). Now, there's a SuperWalMart across the street from one of the camp gates. Sigh.

I love the creativity retreat that I attend at Lutheridge every year, and as I do with events/gatherings/people that I love, I always leap to wondering if there's a way to keep that going year round. I'm also interested in intentional communities of all sorts, and wonder if there's a way to create a community that does sustainable farming, creative pursuits, and social justice. And I wonder, could there also be a religious component (I have an abiding fascination with monasticism).

If someone wanted some of the elements, but not others, could the community still work? It seems to me that even if someone didn't want to participate, they'd still have to agree not to undercut the activities. So, you don't have to pray several times a day, but I don't want you to denigrate those of us who do so.

Now, for the more important question: how would we finance this?

I wouldn't want an old-fashioned commune, where everyone would have joint shares. I'd prefer to own the land, rather than all the founding members pooling their money together. I guess I'm an old-fashioned capitalist that way. How strange.

The most important question: could such a place be self-sustaining? We could farm and sell what we raised. We could have retreats regularly. We could offer creative workshops and day-long events.

Now all we need is for Obama to create some kind of national health care plan. Otherwise, it's likely we'll all need to keep working somewhere else for our health insurance.

Or maybe I'm dreaming too small. This Washington Post article inspired me today.

At one point, I'd have been resistant to the idea of buying land. I'd have worried that it would involve too much work. What I like about the article is that it reminds me that there's intrinsic worth in restoring the land and keeping it healthy. And now that I have a job that would really like to consume every waking hour, I'm open to other possibilities that I might not have been before. What do I want to create with my labor during my time on this earth?

Perhaps that's really the most important question.

Back from the Mountain Top

Here I am, back from my Creativity retreat at Lutheridge, near Asheville, North Carolina. What a beautiful part of the country!

People who saw me yesterday said that I looked rested and refreshed. I'll take those compliments, although I don't feel as rested as I hoped I would. My spouse and I drove to the mountains of North Carolina from South Florida, not a trip to a place that's right next door.

I always feel a bit of dislocation when I come back from travel, even when it's not a mountain-top experience. I look around my study and think, what was it I was doing before I left? And what should I work on first? Those poems that I created in April? Older poems? Should I send out one last mailing before all those journals stop reading for the summer? Write a book review?

Of course, there's laundry to be done, and I can't remember the last time I did proper grocery shopping. Maybe nobody does that any more. I used to create menus and shopping lists. That girl who did that seems like a distant cousin to my current life.

At least I don't have grading to do. That's one of the advantages to have more of the life of the administrator.