Workshopping Again: New Venue, New Approach

 

It’s been some time since I’ve facilitated one of my RANDOM WRITING workshops. Even pre-Pandemic, I struggled to find a venue and to frame the perimeters of a series. After having coffee with Will Nixon about six months ago, I realized that Lissa Kiernan and I had been batting this idea around for a couple years, and that I should just go ahead and formally propose it to her, to be held at the Poetry Barn in Hurley.

In this age of transformation in Ulster County, the Poetry Barn is one of those nice additions that does much to enhance the artistic landscape. Poetry in particular has always been the red-headed stepchild of the arts, and to have a permanent facility devoted to its promotion, via workshops, book signings, and a lending library, is a fortunate occurrence indeed. Readings wander from home to home, at the mercy of capitalist whims and needs. A series will go on for a year or two, then suddenly cease when the gallery or bar closes, or when the demands of a so-called public space become too much for a moderator to bear.

The Poetry Barn has proven itself for almost six years now, and I am happy to report that I will be instigating a four-part workshop series there in July. I say “instigate” because I don’t really believe the writing of poetry can be taught. Examples of forms can be offered, triggers for memory or emotion can be displayed, but I believe that anyone in attendance already has an innate sense of what poetry is to them, and where they want to go with their work. I enjoy this group format because it’s more efficient than sending work out to various publishers and receiving little to no feedback, even if poems are accepted for inclusion.

I believe above all else that poems are a form of communication, be they literal, abstract, or tethered to a rigid form. Words are for relating ideas or emotions to other humans. If the message isn’t getting across, wouldn’t you want to know before years pass? I’ve certainly come across many poets who, instead of striving for clarity, defend the words they’ve chosen. Often these arguments go on for longer than the poem in question! If your goal is mere entertainment, smokes and mirrors without substance, have at it. I think words deserve better.

Of course, for me sincerity carries a lot of weight in a poem. The more one writes, the clearer one’s ideas will usually become. If you begin by discarding cliches, avoid regurgitating notions you’ve seen in the Hallmark card aisle, that’s as solid a start as one can hope for. And if you never show anyone your poems, I think it’s a terrible shame. But it is your choice. I understand fear of criticism, or worse, no reaction at all. But poems live their fullest lives out in the open. We live our best life as poets when we put the words out for others to consider.

Poetry has made my life delicious. It’s a portable art that requires no more of an investment than paper and pen. And I do insist on handheld writing instruments for first drafts. In this age of computer word programs, a pen will slow one down just enough to see what comes next. Paper is no commitment, by any means. Rewriting is common, and I even go back to my first drafts if I feel the third or fourth version is falling a little flat. There I’ll find a few of the original sparks that drove me to write in the first place.

My RANDOM WRITING  workshop series at the Poetry Barn is on July 7,14, 21 & 28, from 6:30- 8:30pm. Tuition is $150 for all four sessions, and there may even still be a scholarship spot available. For more information, please go to https://www.poetrybarn.co/ for more information.

 See you there?

Collaborations

 
    In the past, I have attempted collaborations with some musician friends of mine. Rather than working together, I offered them a handful of poems, and they either ran or didn't with an idea inspired by my words. Generally the results were far removed in mood and style from my original notions, although it's always been fascinating to see someone else's take and elaboration on your creation.

    Although I have prided myself on having excellent pitch ever since my elementary school music teacher, Mrs. Deutsch, told me I had it, I have never had the urge to create my own music. When I write, I hear the rhythms of the language, the flow of the words, and nothing more. I admire songwriters who can write both words and music, but they are definitely doing something different. Kissing cousins, but not identical twins.

    I still recall a one-time attendee of the Hudson Valley Folk Guild Kingston Coffeehouse who, while nervously introducing himself, remarked that he used to be a poet but that now he was a songwriter. The implication was clearly that his art was more complete now that it contained both words and music. Oddly, I don't recall his performance.

    My friend Guy and I are in the early stages of putting together a chapbook of poems by both of us. I consider this a collaboration of sorts, although the work we use will not be new. I have suggested a conversational format, with us sitting down and tossing poems back and forth until they fall into some organically logical order. It will be an experiment.

    It will also be an extension of the conversation Guy and I have had about poetry and life for the last fifteen. We've been to countless Dodge Festivals (RIP), and even more open mics and literary events throughout the Hudson Valley. We have never tried to compose a poem together, and I can't think of a truly meaningful way for me to do that with him, or with anyone. My poems are personal and rise from my memories, reactions and experiences. To mingle those images with someone else's doesn't seem to me at the moment as a way to producing substantive work.

    That being said, I do know of some amazing work that Will Nixon is doing with other poets. He's been writing collaborative poems in what I understand to be a back-and-forth process, something like an 'exquisite corpse'. They are rich, vivid and highly entertaining, but pretty far removed from my own poetic practices. In recent years, I have made an effort towards experimentation, but this has progressed more slowly than I might like.

    And in the meantime, the poems keep on coming in the old way, one line sticking in my head, urging me to get it down, following the stream of words and images trickling out of my untethered brain, until I reach the conclusion that my subconscious was aiming for all along. It's not pretty, but it generally works for me.

*Writer's Block & Therapy*

I've been seeing a therapist for about a month and a half now, due to some issues that I was no longer comfortable boring my friends with. And trust me, I did enough of that this year. So, in that time, and maybe for a while before that, I haven't written one poem. Now, there are times that I say that and go back into my files and find one or two that have somehow leaked out and avoided my conscious memory, almost like they don't count as poems. But that's not

the case now.

            As usual, I had a flood of ideas after the Dodge, and two or three of those became poems, but after that-- just silence. I don't really let these silent times bother me much, because I have learned from experience that I will come around to writing again. I am, however, contemplating the connection between therapy and writing. Is it a drain on my creative resources? Is the break my Muse is taking related more to the holidays than the biweekly sessions with a loving,

receptive sounding board who validates my essential sanity and instincts? Or is it that, because most of my poems are of such a personal nature (hopefully personal in a way that is universally recognizable and accessible), I am afraid that the therapist is my only audience right now, and my best "material" is going to her and not the page?

            There is no doubt that I was in need of an objective ear. I have been fighting depression on and off all year, the kind that won't just go away with a little yoga or Budweiser. And I don't anticipate that this round of therapy will go on forever. But I am a teeny bit anxious about writing. Anxious now to get back on the literary "horse" I rode into this blog on, and so much else in my life that's worthwhile.

            I still trust I will, but for now, I am doing the mechanical work of being a poet. I have sorted through twenty years worth of poetry, cleaned out files and thrown away multiple copies of no use. I managed to complete the application for the New York Foundation for the Arts fellowship in poetry, offered only once every two years. I read a few old Christmas poems at a party yesterday (invited to, incidently, NOT forcing myself on an otherwise jolly affair!). I went to a terrific reading on Saturday night hosted by my friend Rebecca Schumejda and featuring three talented Hudson Valley writers: Guy Reed, Glenn Werner,

and Will Nixon. I am still going through the motions.

            I have made some notes for a drawing that I'd like to begin. A sort of expression of my anxiety this year. For the many who don't know, art and writing were neck and neck in my life for many years, before I chose the language route in college. I even earned my Regents diploma in art. I still keep drawing supplies around, but rarely use them. Perhaps this quiet time is the time

to go back to that nonverbal express. Or, a time to restore visual art to my creative options.

            I do trust that I'll be writing again soon. I have projects planned. But this time of year, everything seems to be planned for "after the holidays". I am coasting now. It's OK. I'm still breathing, therapy is going very, very well, and I look forward to seeing more friends over the course of the season. All is well today.