God of Poetry: A Writers’ Retreat
We break
bread, share wine,
a
get-acquainted preamble.
Evening
relaxes
sun-sweet, after
hard rain;
we gather
outdoors for your poetry reading.
From damp
adirondacks, we listen;
a
semi-circle of homage
and
blackflies. We lean in,
ignore spasms
of itch.
The lawn,
resurrected
as bog, washes
our feet.
We murmur
entreaties:
“May there
be
enough grass
plastered
on toes to
protect them
from feast.”
You stand.
A father’s
gentle voice
reading
stories to children.
You choose
four poems;
do not want
to overwhelm.
Our fingers
reach
to touch the
hem of your words.
You finish. No sound.
Our heads
bowed.
Then you
swat a blackfly
on the back
of your neck
and say,
“We have to
suffer for art.”
Laughter,
applause;
we run back
to the inn.
Alone in our
rooms,
we each pray
before sleep:
“May our
stings and spilled blood
become
the stigmata
of poets.”
I attended
an excellent retreat for writers and wrote this tongue-in-cheek poem about our
first evening together, after hearing some participants respectfully and
affectionately referring to our instructor as the “God of Poetry.” He may or may not be a god, but he was
helpful to me, taught me much about how to write and gave gentle, direct
feedback. Perhaps, they are
correct. Being god-like encompasses kindness,
teaching by example and helping people where they are. Oh yes, and having a sense of humor.
Words and
photo are copyright © 2011-2013 Carol Steel.
