Hello, world. Spring is unfolding outside of my window, and I’m learning how to enter a new season too. Starting is always the hardest part of anything, isn’t it?
I’ve been writing a lot of poetry lately. A lot. (Scroll down for some recordings of that poetry). I scored a whole stack of notebooks off of Marketplace, each waiting their turn to be filled with ink. I’m in a season of returning to myself, and a big piece of this is in re-discovering my own voice.
I’m also finding other voices that inspire me, too.
It’s been many years since I made the No Coast slam poetry team, many years since I created poetry chapbooks and travelled around the midwest doing shows, many years since I submitted my writing to various places and saw my name in print. But I’m remembering how much joy it brought me. I’ve wanted to be a writer (been a writer) my entire life, since I was a little kid scribbling in notebooks.
I write to understand myself, and I share to be understood.
I also share to understand others, to find the intersection of our shared realities and realizations. To taste our similarities and marvel at our differences.
Last winter, I submitted poems for the Driftless: an Anthology of Voices from Where We Live. Two of my poems were chosen for publication, and I’ve done multiple readings at bookstores and art galleries with other incredible writers since.
This winter, my poetry was featured in an art show! (Scroll down for photos and video of the performance)
Jac Tilton was a Dubuque, Iowa-based artist who said “that creativity spans the disciplines.” His widow, Chris, has been honoring his life and work with gallery shows. She decided that Interesting Marks exhibit at Voices Studios would be his final show. And she wanted this celebration of his legacy to be something incredibly special.
Chris invited collaboration from writers and poets within the Dubuque Area Writers Guild. I was invited into her home to see Jac’s work, drawing close to the artwork echoing something inside my own heart.
I ended up writing two poems sparked by paintings. Excerpts from my poems were hung next to the artwork. I was nervous when I walked into the exhibit opening on March 6th, unsure what I’d find.
It was incredible. My poetry hung alongside other authors’ work, perfectly curated to fit the artwork. It was an undercurrent, a conversation, as you gazed at the artwork and read the featured excerpts. The gallery was crowded, and I had to softly elbow my way in to see glimpses of my own work.
My gem-hearted friends Tony and Royal had kept me company to check it out, my own courage wavering. Okay, I thought, this isn’t too embarrassing. I’ll invite others too.
Two weeks later, on March 20th, I stood in the same room. Many new and long-loved faces trickled in, coming to soak in the Interesting Marks; Interesting Times special event. The entire first floor filled, a few friends even putting chairs on the stairs landing to find a space to sit.
The evening was in two parts:
The first, our poetry in collaboration with the artwork. We stood by the pieces, letting the audience fill themselves on the artwork itself while words poured out. We read the full poems, not the excerpts hanging on the walls.
The second part of the evening shifted focus, inviting the authors to share work centered on current issues. Poetry and storytelling can be a balm in turbulent times, a call to better paths, or a shared scream of frustration. Sometimes, it’s all three at once.
“Jac was a strong advocate for immigrants and social justice, and he believed deeply that the arts serve as a conduit for giving a voice to those who are often unheard and underserved.” Stephonie Schmitz, curator at Voices Studios, in a letter to the Dubuque Area Writers Guild
Proceeds from any art sales that evening went to the Presentation Lantern Center, a place of “welcome, peace, and possibility.”
I didn’t know what the evening would be like, but I opened myself to enjoy whatever it turned out to be.
Dale Easley is our leader of the Dubuque Area Writers Guild, a gifted author, and a retired emeritus professor of environmental science at the University of Dubuque. He helped orchestrate the evening, telling me that I am opening and closing the night. Gulp.
I read my two first two poems, themes of Salvage and Repair cast against the steady artwork of crumbling buildings.
At some point in the middle, the evening was interrupted by a fire alarm.
Nobody knew what to do, smelt smoke, felt alarm. But we all piled into the courtyard when the firemen came. They seemed bashful when they first walked in, so many eyes suddenly turning to them in a confused welcome.
I love the Voices Studios courtyard. The murals make you feel like simultaneously a tiny speck and like an integral part of current ordinary history unfolding. I love that feeling.
When the firemen gave the all clear, we poured back into the gallery. The evening stretched long, but electricity filled the room when I closed with My grandmother was an unwanted child from the Driftless anthology (see video below). Multiple people came up to me afterwards with tears in their eyes. Aftershocks still rippled in our chests.
It was a powerful evening to both experience and get to be a part of. I ended the evening with friends at Brazen, the fresh and local menu constantly changing. I’d only ever been there before with one person and on special occasions. It felt good to layer new memories, to find new threads of laughter and beauty, and see different friendships blooming around the table.
Salvage [recorded poem]
Repair (Nebraska Barn) [recorded poem]
My grandmother was an unwanted child [recorded poem, from Driftless anthology]
I wrote this following poem “Nightcap” the next day, still enchanted by the evening. Press play to listen below (or enjoy the handwritten scribbles).
I decided I wanted more of this in my life. More writing poetry, more sharing it bravely, more trying things I’ve never done before.
Will you join me? Subscribe, comment, connect <3
It was such a magical evening, I’m so glad you shared your words and your spirit with us. You are so powerful!