Back on 2/19/04, when I was posting from my bloghome away from bloghome because the server I’m on was down, I stuck in a mention of applying to an advanced poetry workshop at the New York State Writers Institute, founded by local and Pulitzer Prize winning author William Kennedy (whose path I used to cross on occasion back in another life [when I had a life] where we had mutual friends).
Well, Happy Birthday to me! I just got a call that I’ve been accepted in the workshop.
OK. Yes, I’m kind of nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. It’s going to mean I’m going to have to focus on writing poetry for a while, shift gears from mindlessness to mindfulness. My oh my! Now, where did I put that Mind. I know it has to be around here somewhere — maybe with that set of keys I misplaced last year. Or maybe stuffed between the cushions of the couch where, mindlessly, I sit and watch mindless TV each night.
I hope that I can remember how to skin the surface rather than just skimming it. Blogging (at least for me) lends itself so well to skimming — a few quick posts, some skimmy comments here and there, then back to crocheting and “Judging Amy.”
But that’s not how poetry happens for me. It has to brew under a silent and open night sky. It has to boil and roil, ferment a little, the silt sifted out, the skin slipped off, the bottom revealed by the stirring. Time. It takes time. And it takes mind. If I can find it.
I sure hope to Eammon Grennan that I find it before I have to walk into that room full of “advanced poets” on April 1. If I can’t, I’m going to really be an April Fool’s joke.