a poetry reading and simplicity

I learned a little about my self last week, and then coming into this week. How surprising. But consider this....how many ways there are to live and learn in a graduate program. Also, consider the many things that can (and will) go wrong. My solution...very simply really:

Keep it simple.

I forgot that I adopted this philosophy some years ago when I felt overwhelmed by my various chores and tasks. Simplify! It's fantastic! The reason I have felt so overwhelmed is because I've tried to fit so many different, unrelated things into my days, they all get jumbled. Things are unavoidably forgotten, priorities are skewed, and chaos ensues!

By reminding myself of what really matters, I leave extra time for myself. There is time to relax at home. To watch a movie. To have a nice dinner, or take a walk. These are many of the simple but great things we often take for granted.

With that nonsense having been said, I must comment on the poetry reading in which I participated in Philomath on Saturday. I've performed before large crowds before. I've given speeches, played music, sang, and even gave small lectures before--but I've never stood by myself on a stage and read my poetry to others.

The experience was enlightening. Imagine yourself and your craft. Now imagine yourself and your craft together in a room with people who have the same craft, and who are quite good at it! Good enough to be recognized for it, even! Now imagine that your entire perspective on the situation changes the moment you get to the podium to read because, for whatever reason, all the things that seemed to matter before....the battle of stressed syllables, the format on the page, the connotation and value of a word....none of it matters anymore.

None of it matters because when work is read aloud, we really are left with the most fundamental value of words....how they sound. We can stare at a page of Verse all day long if we want. We could mark the stresses, and make seemingly endless assumptions about the meaning of the poem. But when you hear the words spoken, it changes everything. It reminds you why people write. It isn't to obtain an appreciation of poetic form, or to trick the reader. The purpose is to move people in a way that conversation and reading cannot. It's a way of thinking.

This all sounds so lofty and idealistic in retrospect. But I know, at least for a few moments, I was reminded of why I want to write. If what I say, or how I frame my work, or introduce it, reaches even one person, I've done my job.

Did I do that? I'm not sure. The real problem with poetry readings is that, in general, the feedback you receive from the audience is instantaneous, and reflects only the most immediate reactions--which, in many ways, is the most important reaction of all. But in other, more accurate ways, the fear of performance and rhetorical success trumps all of that, and all I can concentrate on was whether or not I said the names of the event organizers correctly, or if I stumbled in any traumatic way.

I can tell this will always be the case. I can't escape the way I feel about my work. I can only hope that my words will do their job, and reach someone, in some vague way.

Did I think it went alright? Sure, I do. I was still standing at the end. And even now, I have the most odd urge to do it again...like a craving, like natural desire (oh yes, I'm going there) to speak, and let my words do, as many would say, what I have come here to learn to make them do.

Cheers,

John