Unconventional Poetry Reading Opportunities

This seems to be the season for poets to be on the move going hither and yon for readings; Sandra Beasley always makes travelling for poetry promotion sound heavenly (go here for an example). Sandy Longhorn has a great post about her recent poetry reading and how it came to be. Once upon a time I would have felt jealous. Now that I've had some seasons of doing my own poetry readings, I'm less jealous. After all, I could go on the road to read too, if I wanted to do a bit of organizing.

When Pudding House published my first chapbook in 2004, I knew that I wanted to get out there and promote it. I wasn't exactly sure how. So, I thought about where I have friends and family--I could travel to promote my book, but cut down on expenses by staying with friends and family. Added bonus: I got to see friends and family, and they were happy to come be part of the audience. It's comforting to know that there will be friendly faces in the audience.

And then, once I'd chosen locations, there came the hard part. How to find reading opportunities? I Googled the most obvious possibilities: reading series and book festivals. I realized that almost every community seems to have some kind of book festival. And so, I got to the hard work of applying.

I applied all sorts of places, even places where I was fairly sure I wouldn't be accepted, like the National Festival of the Book on the Mall in D.C. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I had always assumed that smaller, regional book festivals accept everyone since they have so many participants, but based on my limited experience, that doesn't seem to be the case. But my searching for book festivals led me to some other possibilities.

When I was at USC, the Women's Studies department was always doing interesting things, so I wrote to all the Women's Studies departments that worked for me geographically. That search didn't lead me to readings, but it led me to non-university women's centers, which did lead to a great opportunity.

I discovered that the Women's Center of Jacksonville was having an art exhibition that tied in to the themes of my chapbook. And so I wrote them and asked if they had thought of having a literary component. They wrote back to ask if I'd come to do a poetry workshop and said they would also organize a reading, which I'd share with some Jacksonville writers. I said sure. It was a fabulous week-end.

Many blogger poets lately have been having cool sounding readings in conjunction with art museums (read Kelli Russell Agodon's post about the event here and Susan Rich's post about creating the event here). I've always thought that museums made natural partners for poets. I'd like to begin thinking about some kind of proposal for a local museum.

I also wrote to every state that has a Center for the Book. Here in my own town, the Florida Center for the Book has offered amazing readings and workshops, like the ones I attended with Marge Piercy in 1999 and in 2001, Richard Jones. During these times of budget cuts, those centers might be grateful for a local poet who can organize a multi-poet reading.

I also thought about schools, which have been the primary places where I've seen poets. So I wrote to a variety of English departments, which didn't net me any invitations. I wasn't surprised in a way; after all, back then, a lot of English departments had the kind of budgets where they could invite more famous poets.

Of course, I should have really written to people that I knew, but most people that I knew weren't teaching Creative Writing classes. How could I be a visiting poet for my colleagues that taught Composition or Literature?

An experience I had later answered that question. In 2007, I had a reading at an arts festival at my college (in Newberry, South Carolina) and then 5 days later, I needed to be at Lutheridge (near Asheville, NC). Obviously, I didn't want to drive back to Florida and then north again in two days, but I felt like I needed something to justify staying. So my grad school friend and I collaborated.

She was teaching a British Literature survey class, the second half that covers the time period from the eighteenth century to the present. Some of my poems revolved around literary figures like Keats and the Wordsworths. So, I did a hybrid kind of presentation: I read my poems, and I did a bit of teaching about the biographies and the literature that inspired the poems. I handed out my poems and the poems that inspired them. It was a great experience. The students stayed alert and interested. They had questions. They said that I had made them think about literature in a whole new way--but of course, they were Southerners, raised to be polite. Still, it was a great experience, which has made me wonder about other ways to be a visiting poet than the traditional Creative Writing classroom experience. If we've been to graduate school and been the least bit social, we probably have a network of friends teaching a variety of classes across the country. When I taught a heavy load, I'd have been happy to host a writer friend who was willing to cover his/her own expenses (since I've never taught at places that had a budget for bringing in outside speakers). And students benefit from the experience in ways we can't always anticipate.

I've noticed that some academic conferences have become more open to literary readings. In 2005, a group of us read work that used the history of the early U.S. as inspiration. We read at the annual conference of the Society of Early Americanists, a group of historians. When I first started thinking about reading at conferences, I thought about major conferences, like the AWP. But the world is full of regional conferences, many of whom would be open to all sorts of possibilities, if you can put together a proposal. This website has tons of academic conferences which are looking for proposals; it's almost overwhelming.

Now the clear problem with my proposals is that they don't necessarily pay. But I didn't go into poetry hoping to be rich; that's why I've continued to stay in academia. I've found that if I have a poetry reading lined up or a paper presentation, it's easier to get time off from work; you might even work for a place that would pay your travel expenses. But even if you don't have a travel budget at work, much of this travel could be tax deductible, depending on how you organize your financial life.

I know that poetry won't pay the mortgage, but I'm happy to have it in my life. I see myself as sort of a poetry Jehovah's Witness, traveling the country with fliers that I press into strange hands, reminding people of a mystical reality shimmering just beyond the horizon of daily life.

Writers' Retreats and Monasteries

Sandy Longhorn has a great post about how she came to be a recent visiting poet. I admire her bravery and tomorrow, I plan to write a post about other ways we might arrange for readings and campus visits.

Today, however, I want to write about writers' retreats. Over on Facebook, a friend asked several questions about Mepkin and how I came to go there. This post answers those questions, especially the theological ones, which may not appeal to readers here. Kathleen Norris fans will want to read that post and this one.

This is the time of year when many of us find out that we didn't get accepted for NEA grants and other opportunities, like writers' retreats. I remember carefully putting together an application to go to Hedgebrook, and I was so sure that they would invite me. But then, they didn't, and I felt that crushing disappointment.

In later years, I've come to realize that there are other options besides the ones listed in Poets and Writers. The problem with the most popular writers' retreats, of course, is that everyone is applying. Perhaps we should go to some of the regional literature and/or writing conferences and use them as a chance to write in a nice hotel. Or we could create our own retreats. Most church camps let people come to stay in the off season, although prices can be as steep as a resort, and the facilities may not quite match the price.

Most people don't think about monasteries as places to stay for a do-it-yourself writer's retreat. Most people assume that you have to be Catholic or committed or a religious freak to be admitted. But that's simply not true. Most monasteries have a variety of programs, for people who want to stay a week-end to people who want to stay for life; many religious orders take a vow of hospitality, which means they welcome everyone (although they may have limited facilities, which means they fill up early). Many of them simply ask for a donation, unlike fancy retreats, which may ask you to pay hundreds, if not thousands of dollars. You will likely to be welcome to eat meals with the residents. You will likely be invited to be part of the services, although your attendance won't be required. For possible locations, go here and here.

Some things to think about: the lodgings are likely to be simple, perhaps Spartan; you may have just a bed and a desk and you might even have to share the bathroom. You likely won't have things like televisions and radios, since many monasteries value times of long silence; you may not get cell phone reception, and wi fi is slow coming to rural areas, where many monasteries are located. The meals will likely be delicious, but vegetarian. If you're the kind of person who wants a hunk of meat with every meal, you may feel deprived. You won't have a front desk at your beck and call; monasteries presume a certain level of self-reliance.

In short, you're not going to a spa.

However, you'll get some opportunities that you wouldn't get at a spa. You can attend services, lots of them, throughout the day. Even if you're not religious, you might find them beautiful. The success of the Chant series of CDs in the 90's shows the appeal of this ancient liturgy. Some monasteries have magnificent libraries. Many monasteries are located on extensive grounds, through which you can take long walks. You might find that you're the kind of person who gets a lot done without the online distractions. It's a spa for the soul.

And if you can't get away for a chunk of time or can't afford it, don't neglect the possibility of a one day do it yourself writer's retreat in your own town. Kelli Russell Agodon has an inspiring post where she tells us how her friends did one. If you're in the mood for solitude, tell people that you're leaving town for the week-end and turn off the ringer on the phone. Get groceries at the beginning of the week-end, and then let yourself enjoy a retreat at your own house.

Some of us don't even have that option, I realize. Children, pets, significant others, and housemates have their own demands. Even so, we could carve out a smidge of time. Smidges here, smidges there, and soon it all adds up. I think it's important for humans to have some down time, both daily smidges of down time, and larger chunks, where we have time to reconnect with our deepest desires.

Happy Birthday Sesame Street!

On this day in 1969, Sesame Street premiered. For fascinating insights on what the show's creators tried to do, go to today's posting on The Writer's Almanac. I love that the shows creators were trying to give disadvantaged children an advantage through the use of television. They knew that kids were going to be watching television, so they tried to create television that would nourish the intellect, while also being fun enough that children would actually crave the show.

It worked spectacularly. I should know. I was one of the earliest viewers. If I didn't see the very first show, I tuned in soon afterwards. I loved it. I was four years old, and I'm sure my stay-at-home mom loved it too, because it gave her a chance to grab a nap or to get a head start on dinner.

My parents read to me every day, so it's hard to know what fostered my early literacy most. I do know that by first grade, I could read beyond grade level. I remember a writing exercise that frustrated me. I wanted to use a word that ended in a silent e, but I knew we hadn't learned about those words yet, so I couldn't decide whether or not to risk it. I remember risking it, and the teacher getting mad at me, but that might be a false memory. Would a teacher really have been angry at a precocious child?

Why yes, that has been my experience throughout my schooling. Do what the teacher expects and get gold stars. Stretch the boundaries and get letters sent home. So, I quickly learned to read the system, so to speak. I've had some teachers who were more adventurous, and I thrived. With the ones that wanted to play by a strict lesson plan, I could deliver what they wanted quickly, and then turn to my own reading, writing, and life of the imagination.

Sesame Street fostered that sense of wonder, a world where your friend could be a big bird, a world where various classes and races mingled. I might even go further and argue that our own semi-post-racial world is due to Sesame Street. Some of the most beloved human characters on that show were Latino or African-American. It's what the social scientists tell us: it's harder to discriminate against whole groups of people if we've met individual members of the group. Sesame Street made the viewer feel like we knew those people.

I've watched the show periodically throughout the years, and it holds up well. After a hard day at work, my spouse and I have even been known to actually choose to watch those PBS shows. They're amusing and delightful, even when we already know the lessons that they're trying to teach.

What Can Monks Teach Us about Creativity?

I'm back from Mepkin Abbey. It was a wonderful time, although it was freakishly cold. I scraped ice off the windshield yesterday! Well, that's not exactly true. I started the car, turned on the defrosters, let the car run while I loaded it with all my stuff (really, I pack as if there's going to be a nuclear war, and I won't be able to make it back to civilization to scavenge!). Still, it's never been this cold when we've been at Mepkin.

My English major friends and I were talking about how people react when we say we're going to an monastery. Some people are curious, but most react as if you've just mentioned you're headed off to the one remaining leper colony in North America. Or at least the first time you tell people they react that way. By now, most of my friends and colleagues seem to unsurprised that I'm headed out. I suspect that they think that one day I might not come back. Except, of course, that I'm female, Lutheran, and married--a woman of many commitments, like that marriage, and a mortgage.

I plan to write a series of posts over at my theology blog about the different ways the monks can instruct us. But they have lessons for us that aren't just spiritual. I'm always amazed at how much more I get done at the Abbey. The schedule is pretty full: 6-7 worship services (all of them at least a half hour long) with lots of walking back and forth to the chapel. Mepkin Abbey is a sprawling property, so we walk 10 to 20 miles a day. Yet I still get more reading and writing there than anywhere else.

It's not because I'm neglecting my friends. We have long conversations, the wonderful kind where we talk about our lives' trajectories and what we think about them. Even in this time of political turmoil, we didn't spend much time talking about the elections. We did talk a bit about how hard these economic times are, even though we're all lucky enough to have safe jobs.

Safe for now. We're all in higher education, which begins to feel to me a bit like the newspaper industry of the 90's. I feel like the institution is under threat, and we just don't even perceive it yet. More on that in a later post perhaps.

Mepkin Abbey is in a fairly remote location by the Cooper River in South Carolina. It's near Charleston, but I can't get a cell phone signal and there's no Internet. I get a lot done when I can't log on.

Now I'm not one of those anti-technology people. I love being able to look something up instantly. I used to keep a list of things to look up the next time I was at a library. It's wonderful to have so much information available. I love the community that I feel online. I often go to one poet's blog and find myself inspired to write poems I wouldn't have written without their blog postings. I feel more connected to old friends because of Facebook--it works better for most people than writing letters or e-mails did.

But I am not as careful as I need to be about not letting the Internet suck away all my free time. My time at the monastery reminds me of how much I can get done when the Internet is not available. Last year I assembled not one, but several manuscripts. This year, I made lots of notes on a variety of projects and wrote pages and pages in my journal.

The other thing I realize when I visit the monastery is how much time I spend staring at a screen. Monks have a variety of beautiful vistas, both natural and human-made. Monks surround themselves with art of all kinds. Perhaps I feel more inspired at Mepkin because the Abbey has been purposefully constructed to offer inspiration. I could do that on a smaller scale in my life: more walks by the ocean, for example, more seasonal displays on my mantel or tables to remind me of the passage of time, more sounds that aren't NPR, changing the art that surrounds me--these are just a few of the possibilities.

As we enter into the hectic pace that often comes between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I want to do more to hang onto my introspective, meditative state.

Off To Mepkin Abbey--Back to Blogging by November 10

It's that time of year again, time for lots of travel. This time, I go off by myself to Mepkin Abbey. Years ago, after reading Kathleen Norris, a group of friends decided to investigate Mepkin Abbey. They had such a powerful experience that they implored me to come. I did, and we've been trying to meet there every year on a regular basis.

Although it can be a grueling/boring drive, I never regret it. It's a feast for my eyes, as I get to see scenery that's so different from South Florida. I get a lot of writing and planning done. On a drive there in 2006, I had a view for how my short stories could fit together into a volume of linked short stories (a feat I'm still tackling). Last year, I put together a book length manuscript of my poems with a spiritual theme (that manuscript is currently at Steel Toe Books, since they had a call for manuscripts with a spiritual theme). Last year I also put together a manuscript that I called my working woman chapbook--I went on to rename it I Stand Here Shredding Documents, and regular readers know that it's been accepted by Finishing Line Press.

So, I'll look forward to seeing what comes out of this voyage. I should be back to regular blogging by Nov. 9 or 10.

The Morning after Election Day

There have been years when I've been so interested in election results that I've stayed up late; I wanted to know the direction of the future before heading to bed. Ah, youth! Last night I went to bed because I got so tired of the constant interruptions by our local newscasters who breathlessly announced races still to close to call. Really? Nothing definitive has happened since ten minutes ago? Leave me alone and let me watch The Biggest Loser.

I know people who have managed to retain their youthful righteous indignation when it comes to politics. Not me. I survived the Reagan years, where I fully expected a nuclear war. My students look at me as if I am a clueless dope when I say such things, but I was not the only one constantly scanning the horizon for the mushroom cloud.

I've seen regimes come and go; sweeping changes one year are swept aside two years later. I've been more enthusiastic about some candidates than others, but these days, I'm hoping for the best but not taking any of it too personally. I still agree with Martin Luther King that history arcs towards justice, and I don't expect to live long enough to see the full transformation, but I see the arc, and it thrills me.

I also know that life can throw us a lot of sorrow that we're not expecting, so I'm not going to get myself worked up over sorrows (political or otherwise) that haven't come yet and may never arrive. I'm happy to have my health, a job that I like, my mental self intact--as poet Jane Kenyon says in this poem, "It might have been otherwise."

Here's my poem that tills similar soil, although it focuses more on the otherwise state than Kenyon does. This poem was recently published in The Healing Muse. It's part of my series of poems where I imagine Jesus moving through our modern lives (going to spin class, playing putt putt or softball, helping with hurricane clean up).

Transfiguration Sunday on the Cancer Ward


He waits with them because who knows
better how disconcerting
it is to discern one’s disjointed bones
dissolving into water. He remembers
how it feels to be forsaken.
He remembers feeling life flow out of him,
only a husk of his former humanity remaining.

Here, he can’t do much.
In a world of free will, cancer cells can multiply,
bright sons of the morning who would rather reign
in hell than serve in heaven.
Here on the cancer ward, he can’t do
much, but he does what he can.

He brings ice chips and water to those annoyed
by their drought desert mouths.
He offers consolation to the woman who complains
that she can see all her bones through her translucent skin.
He offers tales of transfiguration,
and holds out the hope of resurrection.
He reminisces with those who are too far
gone to remain on the earthly plane much longer.
They trade tales of what they’ll miss most:
crisp sheets on a fresh-made bed,
long lingering meals,
birdsong in the morning,
the change in light that signals a new season,
homemade bread,
the soft rains and gentle sunsets,
a perfect bottle of wine.

Our Institutions Are Made of Gingerbread

Well, I did manage to write, even with my sister and nephew here. I blogged regularly, worked on a paper proposal which I submitted to the College English Association (their annual meeting is in St. Petersburg this year--the city in Florida, not Russia), and worked on an article for The Lutheran. An editor read this post on my theology blog and wanted me to write something like it for the magazine. Hurrah! I realize that she could still reject it, but it's nice to have been asked to write on spec. When I think of how often I've sent essays to magazines . . . and now, out of the clear blue sky, I'm asked to write an article.

I've always admired Kathleen Norris, and her book, The Cloister Walk, is one of my all-time favorites. Years ago, I would read the acknowledgements of her books and try to figure out her writing trajectory. How did she become the writer and theologian who created those books?

How much time we waste trying to figure out the trajectory of others. I'll admit that it has some minimal importance. But what life has taught me is that technology will change all of our trajectories in ways we can't anticipate now. From what I can tell, Kathleen Norris was published primarily in small journals before rocketing to the best seller list. These days, those journals don't exist. I suspect blogs and other online resources have filled the void. What will be the technology of the future?

If only I knew. Here again, I should take a lesson from the past. It's fruitless for me to try to forecast the technology future. I need to focus on creating the best writing that I can, and to keep my mind open to new technology directions--I'll learn as I need to learn, and in the meantime, I can keep the focus on where it should be, the writing.

If only it was that easy.

I also need to be alert to cross fertilization. This week-end, I was writing out a variety of possibilities for a title for my academic paper. I left those word sketches on the desk, and a few hours later, my spouse said, "I like where you're going with this latest poem."

I asked for clarification, and he said, "The office building is made of gingerbread--cool idea."

My paper proposes to look at the way mid-century female poets used the fairy tale and compare with the ways that female poets currently use fairy tales. I will argue that the predominant difference is the use of the fairy tale to explore the modern office. I used a shortened version of that title. I hadn't thought of it as a poem prompt--but now I will.

If I had been a good citizen, I'd have spent time thinking about voting. Here in Florida, we have a lot of constitutional amendments, which I find dizzying. In my younger years, I'd have diligently studied them. Now I'm older, and I resent being asked to effect legislation this way. Don't we elect state senators and congresspeople to do these tasks? They're the ones with time to ponder all the implications.

Plus, I've lived in Florida long enough to see that each of these votes on constitutional amendments comes with a host of unintended consequences. We vote for smaller class sizes. A good idea, right? But we don't figure out how to pay for those smaller classes. Sigh.

But I will go and do my civic duty. I don't expect to have to wait in line. It won't be that onerous. I'll stand in line and think of the gingerbread structures and all the ways that metaphor could fit for our variety of institutions.