Loving what’s local

A behind the scenes look at running a poetry collective

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my work running a local poetry group.

It’s not my actual work — my full-time job is elsewhere and requires other skills. No, running a poetry group is volunteer work that I somehow found myself mysteriously stumbling into a few years back. I was hesitant at first, as I’d never done anything like it before, and I wasn’t really sure I wanted to take on more projects. That actual job of mine keeps me quite occupied.

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But I stepped in and filled some empty shoes.

And when I did, some amazing things started to happen. First, I began dreaming. I dreamed of a website, which, with some support from members of the group, I was able to get up and running. Next, we moved on to publishing a poetry anthology.

BPS anthology cover for website

Third, we started running a poetry contest. And lately, we’ve been expanding our online presence through social media

Before I knew it, I was the point person for this little poetry community of ours. I found myself organizing poetry workshops and library bookcase displays, and speaking at other, local events as the rep for our poetry group.

And along the way, I realized:  I love it.

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Running a poetry collective is creative because it brings people together — people who might not otherwise have met. Like a good online dating site, we bring people together to do something they love: in our case, discuss poetry! In an era where we are all hyper-connected to our cellphones and devices, I somehow find myself behind the scenes of this great bunch of folks who willingly come together to sip a coffee or tea, all the while discussing some great poem they’ve read or even better, they’ve written.

And the amazing thing about it? It’s inspiring. Discussing and sharing ideas with like-minded folks can move us to write new pieces or see things in new ways. At least, that’s my experience with the poetry collective I run.

And lately, these folks in our little poetry group have been sharing the love.

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I’ll chalk it up to February, the month for Valentine’s. Because for the past several weeks, these poets from our collective keep thanking me for all the work I do. Sure, I do a few things like send out reminders and ask for monthly blog posts from members for our website. And yes, I ensure that the coffee shop where we meet is ready to receive us, as well as a few other administrative details.

But being the “boss” of the group? Well, it’s a bit of a labour of love.

So, for this month of February, I wanted to share the love by giving this behind-the-scenes look at running a poetry collective. Spread the love by checking out some great poetry from my lovable, local, poetry family at: https://brooklinpoetrysociety.com

Happy February!

 

Winter, writer

It’s easy to begin the new year with a blog about new prospects, resolutions, new hopes and aspirations, especially as we all look forward to this new decade. But I want to begin this year’s blog, this new decade with the idea of winter. Real winter — the kind that brings double-digit, sub-zero temperatures. The kind that makes you look out your kitchen window and think: I have to shovel again?! That kind of winter.

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Why would I want to think about that kind of winter, you may ask? Why start the new year and the new decade writing and thinking about the depths of snow and cold?

It’s because winter is a fallow period, a time when the earth and all the plants and animals are meant to rest, and I want to consider that especially as it applies to writing.

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If in nature winter is a time for shutting down, for saving energy, can it also be a time for us? for building up our reserves? As a writer, this may feel like a frightening prospect — aren’t I supposed to be writing every day? Aren’t I supposed to be producing those 500 words, or that finely edged and nuanced poem?

Maybe.

Or maybe winter is the time to watch the snow, to sit and think. To be.

So this winter, I’m looking at the next three-month writing period as a time for quiet reflection. I envision it as a time to pick up left-behind loose ends, to examine them in an afternoon light that reflects the blueness of an icy snowdrift, and as an opportunity to see new crystals sparkling there. My winter writing this year will intentionally be a period that allows the snow to gather, that allows me a kind of breathing room. A time to rest.

Before we know it, the snow will melt. (It will. I promise!) Before we know it, the muddiness of spring will awaken our hopes for something cleaner, fresher, alive. Before we know it, the projects and deadlines and to-do lists will sharpen our focus, sharpen our discipline as we sit at the computer or pad of paper, scribbling.

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But before any of that happens, I hope you will consider joining me this winter, this new year, in what is for me, a new idea: winter as a meditation, a pause, a stillness. Winter as a time to collect, to germinate new hopes, new dreams. Winter, writer: a toast to the quiet energy within.

Where’s your voice?

When I was young, I used to take singing lessons. I had a romantic dream of singing in musicals, especially ones like West Side Story. In my fantasies, I would, of course, play the role of Maria, the star-crossed teenager, styled after Shakespeare’s Juliet. If I couldn’t be Maria in West Side Story, I would have accepted my close second fantasy, and play the role of Maria in The Sound of Music. (Yes, perhaps it was only a fascination with characters named Maria.) Although my voice lessons progressed well and I participated in many local Kiwanis musical competitions, and sang in choirs well into my university years, I wasn’t gifted with an exceptional voice that would lead to a career as a vocal star. Continue reading “Where’s your voice?”