Baron Wormser

Though I imagined he might have a royal emblem stitched on his shirts or something, he turns out to be a nice, intense middle-aged man.

He doesn't use the usual Iowa Model in the workshops. Instead, he has someone else read your poem, then he asks questions of the class (you have to be silent, of course). Where is the narrator in this poem and what, if anything, has happened to the narrator. Why is this a poem and not an essay? Where in the poem does the ending begin? And so on. Very intense and articulate. The class responds to this very well, though occasionally someone will slip back into "Well, I feel the image in this line should . . . "

I like his style.

We're doing one poem of each member each day. He said my poem of the day was more expository writing and that I should reconsider it as an essay. I was stunned because I would never have thought of that in a million years. It was not a criticism of my language or skill but just a different perspective. I can't wait to see what happens with tomorrow's poem (which is a poem and not an essay. I think).

Even though our poems are for workshop I've been surprised at some of the work. Some people simply cannot get to the heart of the poem, are not skilled enough in the use of language to make it say what you think you're trying to say. JBH always said you have to risk something in your work -- if you're not risking something don't bother writing. This is far, far easier said than done, but at least it's the right direction. But so many people use clever language and turns of phrases to skate over the emotion in the poem, as if language was a way to avoid any risk whatsoever.

And what can you say to those people? We all have our defenses and our own good reasons for staying out of those dark risky places -- but I don't think you can ever do good work, especially in poetry, if you don't get down to those dark and risky places. The skill in using the language is crucial, of course, but secondary to the risk.

Of course, I've had two whiskey and waters and can expound all night about poetry as if I were some sort of expert in all matters of art.

It's a beautiful night here, chilly with a half moon hanging in the sky.

My birds are at home, asleep by now. I wonder if they miss me -- there's not really any way to make a pet understand that you'll return to them when you have to go. They become accustomed to the daily absences, I think, but when a flock member "disappears" what is the parrot to think? In the wild, a disappearance means that the flock member is dead, lost, gone, never to return.

And what must they think when you return -- out of nowhere -- as if nothing has happened? It must be a shock, and good reason for the punishment they mete out on you. I wish I knew some way to make them understand.

Well, I think the thing to do now is go back to my room and have another drink.

Learning Something New Every Day

I've often wondered about parrots being used as service animals; now my questions are answered! I'm going to send this to my friend who runs PEAC, too.

http://aunaturalbirdnotes.blogspot.com/2008/08/of-pampered-parrot-rescue-and-parrot.html

Arrival in Vermont

Second day at Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier, and it's cold! Here I packed nothing but tee-shirts and shorts and insisted on a fan in my room (dorms are not air conditioned) because it was supposed to be hot, and it's been raining and cold.

Not too much has changed in the 19 years I've been gone. Same beautiful town, dorms are in Dewey Hall instead of Noble, and the food is infinitely better.

Baron Wormser will, I think, turn out to be a good instructor. He said last night we weren't going to follow the typical Iowa model but would be using a more Socratic method, and that another classmate would read our poems out loud -- we wouldn't be reading our own work. I think these are excellent ideas and I'm looking forward to it.

Called L last night -- she got into the house okay and said she stayed about an hour. She said Charli bit her and Nicholas (probably) bit her. I apologized as if they were my children and hadn't been raised to be polite. Lord. She kindly reminded me that she has cockatiels and works as a vet tech and knows perfectly well that birds bite strangers -- that I needn't apologize. She's birdsat for me before, so she isn't exactly a stranger, but I'm sure they also remember her from the vet's.

I'm planning to sneak off after lunch, get a cab, and go downtown. They're not serving wine at the evening readings like they used to, and I could use a drink after a full day of this stuff, which means going to the state-operated liquor store. I'll miss a couple of lectures, but they're ones I'm not interested in anyway.

Wretched Wednesday

What a crappy day at work today. But I did not get up and quit, and believe me I came close.

I'm mostly packed and ready to go -- just a few last-minute things tomorrow. And of course I must spend a lot of time scritching birds tomorrow night . . . enough to last a week.

L will be birdsitting and I know they'll get lots of attention, but still . . . .

Back later!

Lawns

My mother bought an electronic lawn mower (Neuton) several years ago, then gave it to me. I used it a few times and loved it, but my back yard is all uphill. Really. You can't push the mower up because of the angle and you can't let the mower go down because of the angle and you can't mow sideways because the mower turns over.

So I hire a cute young guy from the neighborhood to do a half-ass job of keeping my lawn mowed for $20.00 -- just enough to keep the neighbors from complaining.

This weekend mother decided she wanted the mower back for the summer, so I easily found the mower in the storage shed. But I couldn't find the two batteries, key, and recharger that went with the mower. Anywhere. I turned the house upside down, scoured the storage shed and the little back building. Even checked the trunk of my car. Could not find them.

Mother took the news well, considering there was no point in having the mower without the batteries. I offered to give her money so she could buy a new battery but she refused. I told her to look around, that her fresh eyes might see them better than mine.

We went out to the storage shed and there -- beneath the boxed Christmas tree -- was a box marked "Neuton," containing two batteries, key, and recharger. I'd forgotten that I put everything in a box and had been looking for the separate batteries.

WHEW!!!

We loaded everything into her little whore red sports car (yes, that's the color), then went inside to cool off. She began talking about how she loves true crime and court TV on cable, then started talking about some missing child named Kelly who had a psychotic liar for a mother and a suspicious grandmother.

I reminded her that I don't have cable (I refuse to pay for more TV). She said that was good because there were things on cable I shouldn't see. Now I'm 56 years old and I've seen just about everything and lived through it. I thought she was talking about sex, but no. She said, "You're too easily swayed by all those science programs."

Yes, dear readers. I'm too easily persuaded by logic and evidence. I had no idea I needed to be shielded from science.

For those who don't know my mother, this is her religious fundamentalism showing. She believes and is "easily swayed" by everything in the King James bible, but science is a different matter.

sigh . . .

Otherwise, a so-so weekend. Had a lot of quality time with certain parrots who live in my house, had M (the young college woman) over to clean said house Saturday morning, made the obligatory trip to Wal-Mart, and began packing for Vermont.