April 8, 2008...5:42 pm
Confession Tuesday amid the flurry of NaPoWriMo
The Anxious Journey, by Giorgio De Chirico, 1913
1. I’ve decided not to attempt a daily published poem. I have to like what I put up on my blog, at least a little. There are only so many De Chirikus, Rothkos, and Pollocks the world needs to read. Besides, that Pollock, while no great work of art (my Pollock, not the real guy), actually took a long time to write, because I had to use all fifteen words in each line. My intention is to continue writing a poem a day, but I’m only going to publish a few.
2. I’m in love with Giorgio De Chirico’s painting all over again. When I discovered his work in college, I immediately wanted to quit life and embark on a full-time sleep expidition, traveling to the mysterious land of shade, stone arcades, and lonely shadows, running and walking in a paper doll world. Instead I went to Madrid for a year and never slept. Madrileños rarely sleep–they’re fueled by cigarettes, espresso, late night pub crawls, and a siesta when they can get one.
3. I met Natasha Tretheway at a poetry reading for The Best New Poets of 2007, which Tretheway edited. I made a bit of a jackass of myself, I’m ashamed to say. We made eye contact after the reading, and when I shook hands with her and told her how much I loved her collection, Native Guard, my eyes filled up with tears. So for some bizarre reason I felt the need to explain my tears, and said, “your poems resonated with me, because I have lost my mother too.”
She immediately responded with a sweet, “oh!” of sympathy.
And so not to cause her pain, I said, “but not in the way you lost your mother,” and then I imediately changed the conversation to tell her how much I enjoyed the CD that comes with her collection. She has a lovely reading voice. Listen to her read her gorgeous poem Myth, from her latest collection.
Now, I guess I should confess that it’s true I’ve lost my mother, but she’s still alive. She doesn’t speak to me, is all. I don’t want to get into the whys of it. That’s fodder for plenty of poems. Anyway, I still cringe when I think about last Saturday, at least that part of it. The readings were amazing, and it was exciting to meet the poets afterwards. I’ll write a separate post for them.
To read more confessions, visit The Confession Booth at The Polka Dot Witch!
10 Comments
April 8, 2008 at 4:32 pm
I have had many moments like yours meeting people that I admired. I think that some of them might have a restraining order out on me! ha ha!
I understand why you don’t want to publish your poems every day but they are so good and the fact that you can write them each and every day of the month is so amazing.
I envy all my poet friends.
April 8, 2008 at 5:58 pm
Reading your confessions is a highlight to my week. You are so clear and expressive.
I understand the desire to “not publish every poem”…and am tempted to do the same (for the same reason) but I would not write if I didn’t have the impulse to post. I also figure not that many people will read every poem of mine. Very few, in fact. Oops, my confession looped into yours. Sorry.
I am impressed that you introduced yourself to Tretheway. I think I would have been completely inept (I never know what to say) . You spoke with her.
Moms are extremely tough. I’m glad you have your writing and poetry.
April 8, 2008 at 9:05 pm
This confession is wonderful, I so get it, it would be the kind of thing I would do too and be sitting here cringing, without the need I should add……I will go check out her reading, and I think you should not worry at all about the poems you have been posting, I am always in awe of your talent, your ability to imagine beauty into being.
April 9, 2008 at 12:17 am
Hey Cristina,
Envy your meeting Tretheway and I feel your embarrassment. I put my foot in my mouth often. I bet you’re not the first admirer she’s met who couldn’t quite say what she really meant.
And by the way, every time I visit your blog, I feel washed over with creativity and your dreams. I can’t remember most of my dreams, they’re almost never pleasant, but your dreams are always art. Your life experiences have colored your work wonderfully.
April 9, 2008 at 2:26 am
Sorry, I had to laugh when I read about your famous poet faux pas (although, I don’t think it’s so bad!). I would have done the same thing. I did, actually, sort of. I met Adrienne Rich at a reading right outof grad school. I gushed. I said I wanted to be a writer and she said something kind of snippy like, “You have to write to be a writer…” or something along those “humiliating, put the recent giddy grad in her place” lines.
Oh well. At least you were real! That’s the important thing!
I really enjoy your confessions. Somehow you make it feel like I’ve known you forever.
I was thinking of not posting, but I, too, like deb, worry that if I don’t post, I may not write.
April 9, 2008 at 11:12 am
great reflections! i’m very impressed you have the brain power to do this so passionately with all the energy napowrimo takes.
and i’m very moved by your moment with the poet. i don’t think you should label it negatively. i think it’s a confession you should examine and consider as a place of insight.
and deb’s right — and she’s done a good job of reminding me of this, as well — mother-stuff is extremely tricky and complicated. figurative dying and literal dying: i don’t think they’re so different so don’t judge yourself so harshly. (you’ve done a good job trying to get me to be nicer to myself. i’m sending that energy back to you. but only some of it. i want to keep some.)
April 9, 2008 at 2:21 pm
Thanks, Witchie. I do need to stop cringing at myself. Natasha (how cool, I can call her Natasha) was so natural and interested. I will try not to feel ashamed of how open I am at times.
April 9, 2008 at 2:22 pm
Susan, I feel the same way about BES’s. And the Last Piaster!
April 9, 2008 at 4:42 pm
Christine, I was also struck by the whimsy and honesty of the meeting with Natasha Tretheway. And, of course, then curious to see how her mother died, I followed the link. And that added even more poignancy to your tears and your trying to move the conversation along.
OMG, as I was typing that, I had my eyes up on the avatar of the commenter above this one and just realized, That’s you! Cool! My God, girl, you look much younger than I had pictured.
April 10, 2008 at 2:14 am
yb,
It was an awkward moment, in a few ways!
As far as my photo goes, it was taken while I was at the beach, about two years ago. I pretty much look the same, except my hair is longer (there we go with the hair again!) and maybe a bit grayer, but not much. It depends on the light…. I’m 47, and I look 47, but I’m healthy and happy, so that makes a difference.
Leave a Reply