#1 sharing space #AWP22 with an SF legend #samuelrdelaney #Afrofuturism
#2 viewed liberty’s crack
#3 amazed at the power of objects: cups & saucers & spoons
China Wedge (1994) by Mei-Ling Hom
My Philly firsts
Poetry Warriors & Other Such Heroes
My wife & sister both said on separate phone calls that I sounded good this week, sounded like I was floating. We can blame the floating on the Cave Canem summer retreat I attended outside of Pittsburgh this week. A hard (not soft) break from work, untethered – no Blackberry, no webmail in the cloud. This type of letting go is usually unexpected when in a position of partially being the glue to an operation. (check in, check email, answer back, call back, if you’re unlucky dial into a conference call 3,000 miles away – but I couldn’t possibly call my retreat a retreat if I stayed on the work grid.) I did use a grey ethernet cable to jack in and set my “out of office” message up on day 2.
The Unexpected – #1 sleep deprivation
I came prepared as a first year fellow to write & write. I just didn’t know how writing would go. I am a slow flow-er. I have written one or two poems as exercises in 30 minutes, and that one or two flash pieces have actually been published without a lot of heavy handed editing. Usually doesn’t happen that way for me. Partially because I haven’t been disciplined enough to set a regular date with myself and push a timer button to work my writing out. But at Cave Canem the right before bed or hang out on a bench to 4 in the morning fellowship reminder is “10 at 10 in the bin.” A poem a night, 10 copies printed and ready for a three hour workshop by 10 am the next day no matter what time you went to bed 11 pm (hah!), 2 am (maybe), 3:45 am (too often.)
The Unexpected – #2 mentored craft talk
I came prepared to see Cave Canem founders Toi Derricotte & Cornelius Eady, the 2012 faculty Thomas Sayers Ellis, Nikky Finney, Terrance Hayes, Angela Jackson, with guests Amiri Baraka & Nikki Giovanni. I did not come prepared to be with the faculty; I did not come prepared to hear loving gestures in their questions signaling (you might want to take a closer look at this part.) In one case Terrence asked out the starting gate “why is this a poem?” in a tone that suggested we would engage in a brief (welcome) philosophical discussion on the elements of poetry. Truth is the tell was – nice job bro but this thing here on the Buffalo Soldier on the western border is a personal essay… I did not expect Nikki Giovanni to ask to come sit in our workshop, then ask me a question “Til Pharoah and Tell Pharaoh, is that what you meant?” On the solid, secure in my work but a little star struck, I answered, “yes” not a bit unsure if my telling Nikki & the class til meant until and tell meant say something about something. Reading between the lines, those soft faculty questions were a telegraph to the deeper craft talk they often danced around in terms of going all in or not – perhaps you should make that more clear so your reader knows it ain’t a typo.
The Unexpected – #3 star struck – black poetry rock stars & legends
Yes, I brought cash to buy books for signing. My only disappointment was not having enough greenbacks to buy one of each! And the readings – I made sure to get front row seats so I could be, see, & hear everything these wonderful poets had to share.
Amiri asked, “where you from?” (a question I think he asks everyone to break the awkward ice when signing a book for a complete stranger clearly in the state of AWE.) “LA originally but I live in San Francisco,” he responded with a wicked chuckle. “LA is an awful place. Don’t know why anyone would want to live there.” Underneath, I agree with a smile and walk away from the extended line with a signed copy of Razor.
The Unexpected – #4 City of Asylum Pittsburgh
I had not heard of the City of Asylum in Pittsburgh & sister organizations/projects before Cave Canem. Thank you Toi for your involvement on the board & connecting your fellows to the mission of this important work providing housing to writers in-exile.
The Unexpected – #5 tears, terror, ferocity dancing at 2 in the morn, teaching a few samba moves.
And now, writing this post on US Air’s Go-Go network – I hope the unexpected will continue in the pages of my writing journal.
Thank you Cave Canem!
Blue Door
I’ve always wanted a blue door.
My front door is painted black.
Not green or orange, but jet black.
There is nothing on my door to ward off an evil eye.
No knocker to say you’ve arrived.
My black door is cool. But it’s not blue.
The Art of Self Adornment – Henna
I snapped this in Marrakesh; our guide pointed to the small crowd in a nonchalant way at the same time trying to be informative as a zookeeper is informative about the mating rituals of monkeys. It was his tone, the undertone if you will, describing this thing that women do – henna. These women were in line mind you; their henna hand art was for sale. I wanted desperately to let the rest of the group go on while I got mine done, but this would have been gender-line crossing heresy. Our guide would have never understood my desire to do this womanly thing. It would have been embarrassing (not to me…).
Missing Morocco
I miss Morocco. The breadth and call five times a day. The men who almost look like me, their hair like mine. I miss the push of the street, the meat, the vegetables, the village dust. I miss the mint tea, the no protein for breakfast but perhaps a little yoghurt and an egg. I miss the rose water in our riad, the fear/excitement of not knowing a language (are you Berber?)