Poet/Person in Progress

Just a short dispatch from the mountaintop, along with a recommendation for your listening pleasure.

So … here I am back at Sewanee¹ for my second summer cohort. I’ve already attended over six hours of class this week, plus I got to listen to two amazing women share their work last night at an author event. Today I’ll be returning to poetry workshop where I’ll be receiving feedback on a brand new poem that I wrote yesterday, and then I’ll share my own thoughts on the poems of my three classmates.

I can’t speak for the other women in my class, but this thing I typed up yesterday doesn’t even feel like a real poem to me yet. It’s just a little baby of a thing that’s still growing and developing, sprung from two prompts we preformed in class on Monday. I’m not used to letting anyone in so early during revision, so I’m anxious to hear what their suggestions for improvement might be, as well seeing what words or phrases already grab their attention.

The first prompt came from a poem called Again a Solstice by Jennifer Chang. It’s less than thirty lines, but it says quite a lot, and ends with an amazing question that sort of breaks the fourth wall:

What does it even mean to write a poem?

Our professor asked us to answer that question for ourselves, in only three lines, just like Jennifer does. Here was my answer:

I used to think poetry meant prayer, but now 
I have to ask who it is I'm praying to. 
Used to be God--now I wonder if it's just me.

We read several more poems that break the fourth wall, before ending class by attempting to imitate Ross Gay’s poem feet, in which he dares to ask the reader: “but do you really think I’m talking to you about my feet?”

I’ll have to let you know if that one ever turns into a real poem, but for now I want to talk about not living at home for six weeks, in order to become a better writer.

I’m forty-nine years old. I have three adult kids and have been married since I was twenty-one years and twenty-seven days old. My main occupations for the last twenty-seven years have been that of Wife and Mother. I’ve done lots of writing and reading on the side, but never felt like I had permission to give myself wholly to it, unless it made me money somehow. I know, I know—that’s not what art is for, but I’ve been sort of smooshed and flattened by two powerful forces most of my life. You might recognize them by their technical names, capitalism and patriarchy, but my experience of their impact on my life is akin to being trapped between two pieces of glass, like a lost little bug.

So despite the fact that it costs a lot to participate in this program, and despite the fact that it takes me away from my home and family for a month and a half, it sure feels better than not being allowed outside or in for nearly three decades.

Yes, you can still carry a child’s backpack, even when you’re an adult.

Maybe that’s too dramatic. I’m still thrilled to be a wife and a mother, and I’m not trying to stop being either of those things, but it’s also nice to remember what it’s like to just be Janna for awhile. She’s the girl who picked John Barber to marry after all, and he’s turned out to be the exact partner she needed all this time. After all, he’s the only one who could have helped her create Sam, Laurie, and Benjamin (the three most amazing humans currently alive on this planet). And he’s the one who’s not afraid to make jokes about her having a torrid affair with a hot young grad student while she’s gone. He even said he’d forgive her, at least once. Which almost makes her want to make him prove it —almost.

The thing is, even though there are ways in which the world operates that I would never have chosen, I still have a lot of agency in my life, and I’m tired of operating like a victim of circumstance. Like Billy Joel says, “I still belong.” In fact, I think we all do, so I’m going to do my best to try and live that way instead.

Old Friends and New Recommendations

I’ve been friends with Adam Whipple for a long time now, and we’ve exchanged many stories, poems, and essays since he invited me to that first writing group way back in the early 2010s. Adam’s one of those talented people you love to hate because he’s so good at so many things, but today I’m just going to talk about his music. Adam’s latest record is called Crows Potens: an outcry, and if you don’t know what that means, you’re in good company. He tried to explain it to me, but I think it’s one of those titles that becomes clearer after you encounter the music. We bought this album on vinyl a few months ago, and once I listened to it that way, I understood the project much better. Part protest, part lament, part good old fashioned hymn-sing, this record seeks to heal the brokenness of our current moment by appealing to beauty, slow living, and neighborliness.

I’ve gotta get back to my homework now, but I’m so glad you stopped by to read my words today. See you back here again in a couple of weeks, unless I decide to reach out before then.

1. I recently discovered there’s also a Suwanee, Georgia, and that they spell it differently. Guess when you steal words from various peoples with unwritten languages, not everyone is going to end up spelling them the same. It’s fun to say either way.