We asked the poets to write w/ personification (World Alive!)
Last night, last night
I was w/ the poets.
I took some time and wrote a poem for my city and spent a few minutes w/ work I’ve been distant from, work I wrote when I first moved to Portland and was still playing pretend w/ fiction. My mom wants a novel! But I am w/ poetry now, am w/ poetry still! I sat w/ the rain and I wrote, went to work, felt good about it.
We had prompted the poets this month to write using personification, essentially. Benjamin had the idea and presented Lumiere from Beauty in the Beast for context. What I love about doing this thing w/ Benjamin is that our heads and our hearts are so aligned, tuned in to each other, big big picture big big love, decisions made easy. We have a list of prompts going and most of them need further definition than how we come to describing them. We have trouble being succinct but that’s not the worst problem to have. This month, the prompt was titled World Alive In hopes of inspiring folks to animate their world.
For the first time, the Workshop was hosted at Novel, the new book and bar in town, the perfect fit. When I showed up, Don MC was closing out her tab at CBG and Benjamine’s car had broken down and the Rat rescued them, were on their way. I was first to represent, an hour before doors. There were three poets there before me - a lifer of Lincoln’s, a familiar face w/ a what’s pronouns band tee, and a first timer w/ piercings and patches, a “collector of moods & expert in side quests.” Notebooks were already out.
I came in w/ the chaos I have been carrying around for a while and was welcomed. MC came in, rosé and all black, carrying the cardboard box of the sign stand. We assembled it on the floor by the bookshelves, were sure to make our uncertainty funny, and got it up quickly. Benjamine and the Rat came through not long after, Benjamine in a bowler and the Rat in sequins. M came in w/ a long lace skirt and white boots. Walt in his flannels always and SP w/ hot pink beret over her gray curls. The Bartender was one of us, B in his bandanas and jerseys. The room kept filling up. The Portland Cryptid arrived and the New Boy and then faces I hadn’t seen around before, names I hadn’t learned yet, poets I hadn’t yet heard. My nerves were lightning and I felt insane but I was having fun here at home in this new space.
Benjamine conducted the orchestra of energy diligently, letting me float a bit and meet people from the floor the way I like to do. It’s a funny thing to be around a lot of people quietly writing together, thin precious magic. I encouraged conversation w/ those who were willing, both productive and frivolous.
A lot of my advice for poets is more, give me more. I ask them to spend time w/ a certain image or feeling, to ground us into the piece. The performance of reading out loud is so much more in the air than the privacy of reading silent and in your head. I told one poet writing about the sea to get wetter. And another poet writing of a friends’ suicide to show us Chicago’s Rat Hole. And when they read, I listened. When I listened, I felt the poem’s growth, felt it’s glow a little brighter.
We collected names in a hat like we normally do to compose the list - Benjamine was first and I was 11th, everyone else all around and in between. Mostly everyone read, save a handful, and it took us to 8:45, the evening alight and alive. The Bartender cut the music for us and the other half of the joint kept to themselves. Our voices competed w/ grinding coffee beans and cocktail shakers rattling, the everyday sounds of the third place when the sun sets. We told the poets to aim their voices towards the spotlight to hear it bounce off the walls w/ intention, to cover us in it. Then we promised a mic and a small speaker for next month, OK’d by the Owner w/in moments of asking. Thank you MC, for asking.
I N T H E R E C O R D I N G
Benjamine shared an example poem by Annie Dillard titled Day at the Office - the example they brought to me when they thought of the prompt. They read this to the crowd as we were gearing up to begin and the room was still loud loud.
I had a sample poem that I picked out the other night after getting home from a SPACE benefit, found it in my copy of Ada Limon’s The Hurting Kind, entitled Privacy. I loved this one for its simplicity and elegance. It also provided contrast to Benjamine’s example. Where Dillard’s piece seems to look around the room and personify it all, Limon’s piece lingers on a pair of crows and spirals in on them.
In all my doubt this month, my spirituality has taken a hit or two so this piece spoke to me on that level as well. The way we, as people, as artists, make symbols of our world and try to piece it all together. I’m thinking of A’s relentless analyzing and searching, I’m thinking of the things I believe of my life. I’m thinking of the crows in my yard cawing No, no! Or is it Go, go?
I didn’t end up sharing the Ada Limon poem at the Workshop, careful of overstaying my welcome in the brightly lit corner by the stairs at the book bar. My poem had gone on a little long that morning,; I felt no need to say more than necessary. And when it was my time to read, I felt into each corner of the room - each gap between each book on each shelf. I felt restless w/ no microphone, balancing notebook instead of phone, finding my pacing along the way. I don’t know how long my piece ended up being, but I didn’t want to cut it down quite yet. I have come to really love this piece and I don’t think I would feel that way if I hadn’t had the opportunity to share here. When I don’t know what to write about, I write about Portland.
There were moments when all I could hear was me and moments that drowned me out but I hope each poet had caught moments when it was just their voice in that room, their words alive.
We thanked the crowd over and over, over and over. We are still thanking the crowd from here, thank you, thank you. Of course, we were the last to leave, picking up after ourselves and saying longer thank yous, longer goodbyes. I don’t know whose idea it was but there is karaoke on Wednesday nights at the Jewel Box (formerly The Bearded Lady’s Jewel Box) and hey, look at that, we’re on the West End and it’s right across the street. I said, come on everyone, we’re using our voices tonight!
✺ In the spirit of the Internet, if anyone would like to participate virtually in the Workshop to some degree, please get in touch w/ me somehow and we can develop that together.
The Workshop III, a podcast