My take on our poetry workshop
Maria wonderfully captured the poetry workshop we attended recently through the Burlington Public Library: Lynda Monk’s welcoming and positive approach; prompts that inspired our writing; our collective “affirmative noises” throughout the session.
Like Maria, I had also hesitated attending, but not for the same reasons. I don’t have a “prejudice against poetry”. I dabble from time to time and submitted my Your House is Not My House poem as pages for a Restless Writers meeting not that long ago. I also don’t hate journalling. While I may not journal every day, I am an “out loud” thinker, and when no one wants to listen, my journal pages are always willing.
I hesitated to participate because my brain prefers the ordinary. On the evening in questions, she said, “You’ve worked a long day. You’re tired. Wouldn’t you rather settle in to a night of watching Derry Girls episodes? Plus, you’ll have to do the dishes if Maria is coming over.”
But Maria had texted and offered to bring wine. So, what was I going to do? Say no? That’s funny. And I’m glad she did – come over, I mean. Not just bring the wine. (That said, Riesling on a Tuesday evening is a nice treat.)
For me, the gift of Lynda’s workshop was allowing in quiet and connection. It was a needed opportunity to tell my work and home brains to take 60, go commiserate about me over their own glasses of wine, and let me enjoy mine.
Lynda talked about how visceral poetry is. That it cuts to the essence, reveals the unspoken and digs into the senses. She shared this quote by Allen Ginsberg, “Poetry slows me down and brings me back to myself.” For me, on that Tuesday, I didn’t realize how fast I’d been moving until I followed Lynda’s instruction to close my eyes, listen to her recite Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese poem and write down any words or lines that stood out to us. That’s when I felt my breath deepen, and my body settle into her voice as I became drawn in by the verse.
And in that open space, she invited us to paint our own pictures through the prompts she provided. “I dwell in the possibility of…” “Silence is like…” or to fill in the blanks, using Jane Kenyon’s Otherwise poem as a template. Some participants chose to share what had sprung up in their writing. Usually, I’m one of them, but on this night, I was with the others who chose to simply listen and absorb.
To me, poetry is about presence and play. Experiencing it and then toying with the words, the shapes, the sounds, the spaces. You can choose the structure of a haiku or dance freely with your own use of the page, colour, fonts.
Toward the end, Lynda summarized our experience in the “5 Things to Practice to Free Your Inner Poet”:
- Breathing
- Stillness
- Listening
- Receiving
- Giving
These were the reminders I forgot I needed. Through this workshop, I expanded and found new creative energy. Maria opened up her imagination.
I encourage you to give yourself the gift of a writing workshop. Many are free or inexpensive and offered by local libraries or authors looking to inspire other writers. Maybe pick one that isn’t in your usual wheelhouse. You can certainly take one alone, or better yet, invite a fellow writer who never comes empty handed.
When it was done, Maria and I shared what had resonated with us from the workshop. We also shared some of our own verses inspired by the prompts. Maria, who is skilled at bringing levity to the heavy, wrote a a melancholy piece about a solitary meal, mixed with a little gratitude for her cat.
“The cat and I ate dinner,” she recited stone faced. “Not the same dinner. We both had tuna.”
I burst out laughing at her unexpected ending. Maybe you had to be there, but it was hilarious and one of the highlights of the evening! After finding a tissue to wipe my tears, and saying goodbye to Maria, I pondered what may be my next poem: I dwell in the possibility of wine with a friend.
Cheers!
Andrea
bjas
Sharon
Maria
Restless Writers 