I was recently asked to judge a regional poetry contest along with the
great Howard Kogan. I eagerly accepted, although my own preferences in poetry
are so peculiar that I really should not have. I expect that Howard’s level-headedness
will cancel out my impulsiveness, and all submissions will receive a fair
shake.
However, as part of
the bigger picture, I’ve noticed a trend. Earlier this year, I was invited to
become a part of a screening committee for the local arts center, representing
the literati of my city. I’m also now on the board of CAPS (Calling All Poets),
a Beacon based group that hosts a monthly open poetry mic that is streamed
online around the universe. My longtime nickname, “Diva,” has inspired a lot of
faux scraping and bowing over the years, often by my chronological elders. I am
wondering if lately perhaps the notion of some sort of elder status has imposed
itself on my poetic career.
It may be that merely
by hanging around long enough one attains a sort of eligibility for committees
and the like. I have lived in the Hudson Valley for 35 years now, and have been active in
the poetry scene here for almost that long. For 10 years I hosted the annual
Sylvia Plath Bake-Off, a now defunct midwinter love letter to the late poet
that in later editions included a baking contest in addition to an open mic. As
friends and family began to exit the planet, I lost my taste for morbid mockery,
even as it may be creeping back as a way to stay sane in my later years.
I’ve participated in readings from Cape Cod to Waterloo Village, and
all points in between. I’ve published a bit of work here and there, but not
nearly as much as some of my fellows. I’ve put out a few handmade chapbooks
along the way, even before computers and home printers made that self-indulgent
act far too easy.
Now that I think about
it, I was a judge for a contest put on by the Stone Ridge Poetry Society back
in the late 1980s, a one-day affair they called “Day of the Poet.” My friend
Don Levy was one of the other judges, and I believe we both qualified because
we’d previously been winners, or at least placed. “Day of the Poet” was
brilliant. In one day, three rounds of readings were held, each smaller than
the last, and then finally a winner wast chosen. Judging was based on
performance as well as words. It was efficient, enjoyable, and even left room
for musicians or truly established poets (hello, Ed Sanders!) to round out the
activities. It’s a concept that bears repeating. Hmmmm… maybe I should bring
that up at the next board meeting. Any board meeting.
Have I crossed the
line from ‘new voice’ to ‘elder statesperson’? Is there a line at all? Is it a
good thing to be asked to judge the work of others? How do others judge me, let
alone my work? All good writing prompts. But then again, the fortunes in
cookies are often excellent prompts. And I suppose the answers to be above
questions might be as easily obtained. So much for wisdom of the elders…
