Tonight was all about poetry in the Bryant Park reading room. And I was more obnoxious and snobby than usual … which is funny considering how much I don’t think of myself as a poet. I was annoyed with one woman who showed up with a raft of poems, expecting to be granted the opportunity to read them all during the workshop. Yeah. As if.
But enough about my intolerance. As with the last two workshops, I had a great time. Miranda McLeod is an excellent facilitator. She so clearly loves writing and loves that we all want to be writing, and I was really touched by her complete generosity as a listener. Her ability to find something golden even in writing that makes me cringe, to critique with kindness and support blows my mind. I’m sad that tonight was her last workshop.
I wasn’t exactly feeling inspired tonight as far as actually getting some words down on the page. Not sure why. I think my brain is really crowded right now. But I wrote a couple of poems all the same.
the ice-hot rush of the chase
that chase could be all
guttering flicker of light
my heart stutters — open, closed
Yeah, any surprise that it’s a tanka? I’m not totally loving it, but I like it well enough. And then I went a different way.
float of her gauze dress
says summer, says free
invites eyes and smiles
turns his head
says everything here is exposed and hidden
It’s not quite where I wanted it to be, but I can live with it.