God of Poetry: A Writers' Retreat

 

 

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.

Spring Writers' Retreat 2013 with Ian LeTourneau

 

 

 

Spring Writers’ Retreat 2013 with Ian LeTourneau

 

I don’t know what I don’t know about writing poetry.  That’s annoying.  That’s also the way it is. 

Receiving feedback on my poems teaches me how to improve them.  However, one of my challenges in learning anything is this: I am a visual, tactile learner.  Hearing comments is helpful, but seeing them written is better.  Better still is sitting with someone who can tell me how to improve what I’ve written and show me how to change the poem around; show me on paper. Then I “get it.”  I see, I learn.  I can capture the concept in my mind and retain it.

 

The SpringWriters’ Retreat offered by University of New Brunswick provided the opportunities I needed.  In addition to time learning from and socializing with other writers, I submitted ten pages of my writing to share and to be critiqued.  Each of us did.  I read my poems aloud and then made note of the comments on my work, from Ian LeTourneau, the instructor, and from the other writers.  Any feedback given was positive and constructive.  No personal attacks or personality issues were permitted.  After everyone had commented, I had a chance to ask questions or make my own remarks.  We spent all day Saturday rotating turns reading our work and listening and critiquing.

An added bonus for me was receiving written feedback from three writers.  I took these pages home where I could study their suggestions.  These three didn’t make comments and leave it there, they wrote notes explaining to me why something worked well or didn’t work.  Those explanations were gold.

On Sunday, I met one-on-one with Ian LeTourneau to ask questions and to receive advice.  He explained in thoughtful detail a concept I had misunderstood.  He suggested a book for further study.  His feedback was encouraging, yet realistic and truthful.  I left with new lights on in my mind and optimism about my writing journey.

Prior to the retreat, I had received the copies of the other writers’ work.  For two days, I poured over their words, making notes on what worked and why, what wasn’t clear, what made me green with envy, and most challenging, what didn’t work and why.  To my surprise, I learned more from the discipline of having to write why something didn’t work in their submissions, than from making the easier comments on what did and why.

It’s been over a week since I attended the Spring Writers’ Retreat.  I’m still processing what I learned.  I’m grateful to have been in the company of writers for three days, for their casual conversations about their own writing, for their questions and their critiques. 

It was a fine way to learn what I don’t know about my own poetry writing.  

I'd go again in a minute.

 

 

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A Writing Retreat

 

 

Hello again. 

I haven't been blogging as much as usual because I have been preparing to go to the Spring Writers' Retreat offered by the University of New Brunswick.  Each participant has sent in 10 pages of their work, which have been circulated to the other students and the instructor for review and comments prior to the retreat.  I've done lots of writing, reading and note making. 

This week has already given me a couple new opportunities to receive feedback on my poetry: a brief one-on-one meeting with a well-respected writer and editor; and participation in a writers' group meeting.  Both have been rich in advice.

For example, an "expected phrase" or "expected word" means I have used a cliche, like "whirling wind" or "a beautiful day."  These aren't bad words, just not great ways to paint a picture for someone else to see.  Poetry is meant to freshen the world.  "To freshen" means to use words in ways that offer new and different perspectives, on something we see in ordinary ways, or we don't see at all.

I discovered that I need to develop a better reading voice.  I kill my own work by reading it poorly.  I am sharing a story or an experience in a poem;  I am not reading the newspaper out loud.  I read too quickly without stopping to breathe.  This robs a listener of the benefit of the pacing in the piece I've created, and of a chance to process the words.  I am so nervous that I'm choking my words and my poetry.  Others read with a firm and disciplined modulation, with intensity of feeling (though not over done), and with a different timbre from their regular speaking voice.  There is an aura of  "This is important. Listen while I share this experience with you.  This is how I see the world.  Can you see it too?" 

It helps to be told, "This word or phrase or structure does work, or doesn't work" and more importantly, to be told why.  It helps to hear other poetry and to recognize why and how it is working.  It helps to stay away from envy of the poetry written by someone else.  This is a hard bit for me.  I recognize good poetry; I am thrilled and awed by great poetry. I make myself remember that even those writers had to learn, to try, to write bad poetry as well as good in the learning process.

And that's where I am, in a learning process.   

I leave for the Spring Writers' Retreat this afternoon and return on Sunday late in the day, another step on my writing journey.  I am both excited and terrified.  And isn't that the creative combination I need to crack myself open,  to see the world in fresh ways?

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