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26 June 2005: My workshop yesterday morning almost didn't come off. I'd been to the writers' center where it was to be held at least three times before, but somehow missed my final turn-off or something and got lost (on my bike, which is my only mode of transportation except for long trips, when I use a rental car). I was twenty minutes late. Ridiculous. I was starting to think I had some neurotic compulsion to fail. But, I swear I weren't scairt, just very stupid. Anyway, everyone who'd signed up for the thing waited for me, and didn't seem bothered by the delay. Since it was the last event of the day, Mary, the woman in charge of the little (historical) house that serves as the center, assured me running past noon would be no problem. The workshop had been scheduled for ten to noon.
Seven people around my age, I would guess,
attended--one male, six females. I asked them all to say why they'd come--out of curiosity but also so as to know
what to emphasize in my talk. I learned something I think important: three or four came
to learn about creativity--for I had described my workshop not as an experimental poetry
workshop but as a workshop in creativity--using things other than words to make poems.
The others came either for no particular reason (one had come at the wrong time for a
poetry critiquing session and decided to stay for the workshop, another had just felt
lonely) or out of curiosity. I had twice before been scheduled to do this workshop but failed to get enough people to sign up for it. Needing five, I got one the first
time, three the second. So this time I had it advertised in a way I hoped would minimize
its connection to visual poetry. Tentative conclusion: we visual poets should all disguise
ouselves.
I'm not sure how much the attendees got from my presentation. They were all nice about
it, but my impression was that two or three failed to get much out of it. I think only one
or two knew who E. E. Cummings was! Only four said they composed poems
themselves. One admitted that he'd had trouble with it, for it was all new to him. But
two or three seemed to catch on to parts of it, and made apprentice poems that indicated
they'd learned something!
I gave them my definition of visual poetry, by the way, but gave them the main
competing definitions, too, and told them that few in the field agreed with mine.
My presentation still needs a lot of work. It went smoothly enough, but there were too
many slow spots. I guess it's like any act--you gotta take it out to the provinces
continually and keep discarding the things that don't work, and trying to find
replacements that do.
When I went home, I screwed up even worse finding my way. I guessed a short cut that
got me miles out of the way. It took me 90 minutes to get home. It should have taken only a little over a half hour. Alas, I'd decided not to
wear a hat, because my only good one was soaked from my early morning round of tennis. So I got a bad
sunburn on my (bald) head. Wotta life.
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