August 12: "The Trouble with Poetry," Single Day Artist Residency, Daughter's Dream

I spent today off grid.  Literally.

I took the day off work.  That's right--I had a four-day weekend.  I can't remember the last time I've done this.  Maybe around Christmas.  Anyway, one of my poet/artist friends invited me for a Single Day Artist Residency on the Yellow Dog River.  That's what she called it.

I got there around 10 a.m.  We spent a lot of time talking and writing and print making.  My friend and I discussed the trouble with poetry.  And poets.  And the world, in general.  Two middle-aged artists solving the great mysteries of life.  

Billy Collins reveals some poetry secrets himself . . . 

The Trouble with Poetry

by: Billy Collins

The trouble with poetry, I realized
as I walked along a beach one night --
cold Florida sand under my bare feet,
a show of stars in the sky --

the trouble with poetry is
that it encourages the writing of more poetry,
more guppies crowding the fish tank,
more baby rabbits
hopping out of their mothers into the dewy grass.

And how will it ever end?
unless the day finally arrives
when we have compared everything in the world
to everything else in the world,

and there is nothing left to do
but quietly close our notebooks
and sit with our hands folded on our desks.

Poetry fills me with joy
and I rise like a feather in the wind.
Poetry fills me with sorrow
and I sink like a chain flung from a bridge.

But mostly poetry fills me
with the urge to write poetry,
to sit in the dark and wait for a little flame
to appear at the tip of my pencil.

And along with that, the longing to steal,
to break into the poems of others
with a flashlight and a ski mask.

And what an unmerry band of thieves we are,
cut-purses, common shoplifters,
I thought to myself
as a cold wave swirled around my feet
and the lighthouse moved its megaphone over the sea,
which is an image I stole directly
from Lawrence Ferlinghetti --
to be perfectly honest for a moment --

the bicycling poet of San Francisco
whose little amusement park of a book
I carried in a side pocket of my uniform
up and down the treacherous halls of high school.

Collins is right:  the trouble with poetry is that it encourages the creation of more poetry.  When I read a poem that grabs me by the throat, I want to pick up my fountain pen and journal and start writing.  Being around other writers and artists also makes me want to write.

After lunch, my friend and I did some erasure poems--that's when you take a page from a book or newspaper or magazine and literally remove words until you end up with something completely new.  After that, we did a couple writing prompts.  Finally, we ended with making art prints of ferns and turtles.  

In the afternoon, my daughter sent me a text message.  She'd just received an email from Central Michigan University telling her that she's made it to the final stage of her application for medical school.  She has a Zoom interview next Friday.  

It was an amazing way to end a pretty amazing day.  Art and poetry and great conversation and my daughter getting one step closer to her dream.

Saint Marty is feeling very blessed tonight.