Thursday, July 10
When I initially fell asleep last night, I was getting a decent night’s sleep. This was a pleasant surprise. However, I woke up at 4:00 a.m. Not because of congestion. Not because of the usual restlessness. But because I heard a poem echoing in my head.
I was experiencing what is called Bardo. It’s a sacred time. That’s usually when you know you are writing something of merit, especially as far as poetry goes. It’s the Bardo – the Tibetan idea for luminality, a psychological, neurological, or metaphysical subjective, conscious state of being on the “threshold” of or between two different existential planes – between sleep and our waking, busy hours.
In my head, I kept hearing the beat of an Indian drum. A poem came to me, and I gave in to it. I couldn’t just lay there idle without giving in. I couldn’t roll over and go back to sleep. I had to sneak out of the cabin with my little notebook and pen, and head to the lady’s bathroom outhouse to sit on the bench next to the showers so that I could write in light. There, I wrote the lines of the poem that had been repeating in my head, like the beat of a drum. It was actually to the beat of a native drum. I wrote down the lines to a poem about Old Chief Joseph. I called it Bones, and I worked on three revisions before I headed back to the cabin to try to sleep for just a little while longer.
The adolescent hawk from yesterday afternoon landed in this poem, by the way.
I went back to bed, but I didn’t get back to sleep. So, at 6:30 I decided to get up and take a shower. I went to the dining hall just after 7:00 a.m. to work on more poems. I hand wrote a revision to a poem I had been working on for several months, on again and off again, including while I was here at Fishtrap. The poem was called Rhododendrons, Florence. Florence, Oregon, that is. The coast.
It was my intention to read it for the Open Mic session this evening. I then wrote out my latest revision of Bones and made fifteen copies for the class. After breakfast, I walked to the workshop. I sat down and enjoyed the sharing of our class. I passed out my copies and read the rhythmic, musical Bones to the class. I got really great, positive feedback. My friend Beth was especially encouraging. I felt really good about this poem.
After lunch, Peter sat down with me and read my poem, Rhododendrons, Florence. He gave me a couple of really great suggestions that really made the poem sing. I also took the time to take the class’s suggestions to rewrite Bones. I wasn’t sure if I would read both poems at the Open Mic session this afternoon.
Instead of an evening Open Mic, this day’s session was in the afternoon. This was because the weekend gathering portion of Summer Fishtrap was beginning this evening, with a program including a reading a music from Kim Stafford, and a reading from Luis Urrea. I was really looking forward to that. Meantime, I waited my turn to read. I wore my straw cowgirl hat with a cluster of yellow flowers for luck. I was number ten on the list. I was nervous. I don’t have a problem with public speaking, but with my congestion, I was feeling off.
Still, I read as clearly as I could. I had to stop in the beginning to clear my throat, my congestion was closing me up. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat and spoke more slowly. When it was done, I felt relief. I was done. I didn’t feel like reading Bones. I appreciated the applause and was happy as I walked off the podium.
After, I was outside for a moment, for a breath. I saw a precious baby deer with its mother. It was tiny, with its snowy spots and it kept trying to shimmy under its mother’s belly, trying to nurse; but, the mother would stomp her back leg with authority, as she was busy grazing, herself. As she moved through the woods, her babe cautiously followed, sometimes getting a surge of independence and walking off on its wobbly little legs. It was darling.
This evening, the Gathering opened with Kim Stafford, moving on to Luis Urrea. It was wonderful……
Beth and I walked to Russel’s. She bought our round of hot cocoas. This evening, I got lots of praise for my reading, which really made me feel good about myself, about my work. We only stayed for about an hour. I was exhausted. We stopped by the cabin where her twelve year old son was staying with his best friend and his grandmother. Beth kissed him goodnight and we were on our way. I was a little frightened about the roaming bear.
But, oh the stars! This place just shimmers with the beauty of the summer night sky. And the conversation, we speak so easily. I was happy to have a new, literary, kind friend.
