School's started. Blah blah blah. I have a seminar to lead two weeks from now. Blah blah. On
this book. Blah Blah. My birthday's in less than a week. More blah. Now when I'm dehydrated I get under eye bags. That's brand new. That's recent aging. I only noticed it a couple weeks ago and now I'm obsessed. I couldn't tell you what the rest of my face has been looking like the past few days but I know every pore in the under eye area far too well. (Untrue, obviously.)
I have to work on my birthday. AAAHHHHHH!
That hasn't been the case in forever, if ever. I've always been in school or had a weekend birthday as a working bee. I'm teaching a test prep class that's only once a week so I can't exactly miss it.
I'm not going to tell my students it's my birthday because if I do and they aren't appropriately big-hearted, I'll hate them.
Oh and an update. Remember that Poetry Peepshow thing I did last weekend? Well, it was more of a poetry booth. "Wanna hear a poem?" "Sure."
And then I read them a poem. (I came with 3o-odd poems but read the same 5 repeatedly. Short funny ones. Or hard-hitting. Those were the ones that worked in that context).
People were gracious. Some really liked them and asked for more. Particularly memorable was this tall-ass copper. He was all, I only have time for something short. Then he asked for another! And another!
In the beginning of my slot when I didn't know any better, I read poems that excited me. One in particularI'd read to some writer friends and they'd responded positively so I figured it would be a good go for "peepshow." Well well well. After this group of lines:
the hair of a cloud is spiked
meringue stiff peaked edges white
yes,
cloud tops are craggy and i am very aliveThe lady I was reading to wrinkled her nose at me as if I had farted.
Reading poetry to random people at a very commercial arts festival was one of the most humbling experiences I have ever had. NO LIE.
I felt so
vulnerable. And stupid, kindof. Like, here I am with all these poems. A years worth of work (not quite, I didn't print the whole manuscript). No, more than a year. Because I've been writing forever and everything builds to what one currently has, no? Anyway, a lot of heart and guts and brain was sitting there in the form of those poems and people can listen and leave and wrinkle their noses and leave and stare at me quizzically and leave and fuck--this is my life!
Tears in my eyes right now. NO LIE.
And why were some of them so fucking surprised that I wrote them? The world is so racist and it will never change, I don't believe it.
My friend Lo (white) who also did the peepshow said people had also asked her if she'd written the poems she'd read. But did they also give her that "Oh!" face. That,
you did that face?
Maybe. I don't know.
Near the end, this gentle-faced guy asked how he could support me. Those were his words. Wow. What a question. I just gave him my blog address.
Hi!
That was to him.
Now for everyone:
bye!