I was going to update tomorrow, after I'd had the chance to go to queer performance poetry class, and maybe the Wednesday night poetry battle (like a slam, but with pre-selected teams of poets), and my feature at Jack's on Thursday. But since you want to hear...
...I spent the weekend hanging out at Maya and Ela's beautiful apartment. We worked on poems, watched lightning storms across the valley, and watched Star Wars. (Yeah, Dad and Eyore, Star Wars. I'm not kidding.) They have an extra bedroom with a big bed, and the most comfortable post-futon couch I've ever had the luxury of sitting on.
Staying with two cooks means the eating is good, and I'm not allowed in the kitchen, which I pretend is just fine by me. No, really, it is. They're better cooks than I am and I've never had trouble rolling over for a good eggplant-avocado-fried onion-tomato-and-melted-cheese sandwich. Or sauteed eggplant with mushrooms and wild rice. Seriously. I'm more than making up for the two and a half days of granola bars on the train.
I'm making the official decision after queer poetry class tonight, but:
I think I'm going to move here.
8/18/2008
8/16/2008
Seattle 1, or Arrival
I'm so inexplicably glad to be here. Last time I visited Seattle, I had a great time, but left with a kind of certainty that I didn't want to live here. But something's changed. I'm not sure what.
My father pointed out the other day that I seek relationships that involve conflict. I wonder if that was my issue with Minneapolis - I could see myself getting lazy there.
Seattle, on the other hand, has no shortage of conflict. Plus, I'm going to a writing class on Monday night specially for queer performance poets. How amazing is that?
More later.
My father pointed out the other day that I seek relationships that involve conflict. I wonder if that was my issue with Minneapolis - I could see myself getting lazy there.
Seattle, on the other hand, has no shortage of conflict. Plus, I'm going to a writing class on Monday night specially for queer performance poets. How amazing is that?
More later.
8/15/2008
Montana 1, or Hi From The Train!
The advantage to being stopped for refueling is that there's internet! Yay!
I've discovered that train travel is by far my very favorite kind. I woke up at 6:15 this morning, after a night of cat napping, and stared out the window for a good hour and a half, completely riveted at the landscape changing subtly under the shifting sun.
And I befriended a photographer. And some small children. And apparently, many many wedding guests. Olympia, WA, get ready to be wedding-ed out.
I've discovered that train travel is by far my very favorite kind. I woke up at 6:15 this morning, after a night of cat napping, and stared out the window for a good hour and a half, completely riveted at the landscape changing subtly under the shifting sun.
And I befriended a photographer. And some small children. And apparently, many many wedding guests. Olympia, WA, get ready to be wedding-ed out.
8/14/2008
Minneapolis 4, or In Which I Become Famous
"...a wild-haired poet named Dane took the fiery crowd at Mercury on a trip to Israel, hushed them with her quiet words, and then departed with the simple appreciation of a small yellow flower."
Found: http://www.thedailypage.com/daily/article.php?article=23449
Tonight, I leave for Seattle on my first long-distance train ride. How awesome is that? I'll post when I get there!
Found: http://www.thedailypage.com/daily/article.php?article=23449
Tonight, I leave for Seattle on my first long-distance train ride. How awesome is that? I'll post when I get there!
8/13/2008
Minneapolis 3, or Things Of A Puzzling Nature
Here's a haiku I wrote today:
Minneapolis:
You rock so hard on paper.
Why don't I love you?
That pretty much sums up everything I've felt here. All the components for an Excellent Living Place are here: huge farmer's market, secure lefty politics, good poets, winter, good public transportation and the beautiful lakes/art/independent bookstores/etc. Tonight, I gave my feature at the charming Kieran's Irish Pub, and was warmly received by all 12 people. They even bought merchandise! I think I sold five or six books, and a fistful of bumper stickers. Someone even paid with a two dollar bill! I don't remember the last time I saw one of those.
Dear Minneapolis,
Where's the chemistry? I was feeling more groovy with Chicago than with you, and let me tell you, I did not expect to feel that. We've got two more days. Let's try to make this work, okay?
Tentative love,
~Dane
Minneapolis:
You rock so hard on paper.
Why don't I love you?
That pretty much sums up everything I've felt here. All the components for an Excellent Living Place are here: huge farmer's market, secure lefty politics, good poets, winter, good public transportation and the beautiful lakes/art/independent bookstores/etc. Tonight, I gave my feature at the charming Kieran's Irish Pub, and was warmly received by all 12 people. They even bought merchandise! I think I sold five or six books, and a fistful of bumper stickers. Someone even paid with a two dollar bill! I don't remember the last time I saw one of those.
Dear Minneapolis,
Where's the chemistry? I was feeling more groovy with Chicago than with you, and let me tell you, I did not expect to feel that. We've got two more days. Let's try to make this work, okay?
Tentative love,
~Dane
8/12/2008
Minneapolis 2, or A Quick Pic
This is me "sacrificing", by the way. In every poetry slam, there is one poet who performs without being part of the competition, to warm up the judges. They call it the sacrificial poet. I got to sacrifice twice, in addition to reading at multiple open mics and competing in two side slams for unaffiliated poets (did horribly in both of them). I love sacrificing, though - all the audience and none of the pressure!
8/10/2008
Minneapolis 1, or On Being A Guest
In my last post, I called poets my mishpacha, my family. In less than a week, I've added a new stop to my trip (Salt Lake City, Utah), found places to stay in Denver/Boulder and Atlanta, shared heartbreak and history with new friends and renewed friendships that began five months ago in Detroit, or a year ago in Austin.
Poetry and poets have brought me to yet another place I'd have never traveled to otherwise, and given me the security I need to be traveling for so long.
And here I am in Minneapolis, with my other mishpacha. The ones I'm connected to by blood and legalities. The other group of people in my life that have offered me everything I could possibly want with hardly a request to motivate them. I love this family, and, like the poets, I only get to see them once a year.
So why do I feel kind of lonely right now?
B&T are about halfway between my and my parents' ages, and have two small kids. The kids don't know me well enough to really want to play with me yet - the little one shies away when i bend down to talk to him, and the big one just gets quiet and big-eyed. B&T won't let me do dishes. Yet, they're parents of young kids, so we don't really get to talk without interruption. I feel like I'm just creating more work for them, when I wish I could just jump into their rhythm and do dishes, help the kids with their baths, etc. And yet, B&T are treating me like more of a grown-up than anyone else in my family and giving me plenty of space and resources. And I appreciate that, too.
Not for the first time, I wish I wasn't traveling alone.
In other news, I sold two books at Nationals, and gave a whole bunch away. This makes me happy.
(M&P, you haven't seen this book. I didn't want to show it to you because I thought some of the poems in it would upset you, which is kind of dumb, seeing as you have yet to faint away in despair at any of my work. Ask Mom to show it to you, if you like.)
In other other news, I have a professional website now. Check it out! All the amazing photography is courtesy of my sister, who will doubtlessly one day be one of the world's most elite paparazzi.
Poetry and poets have brought me to yet another place I'd have never traveled to otherwise, and given me the security I need to be traveling for so long.
And here I am in Minneapolis, with my other mishpacha. The ones I'm connected to by blood and legalities. The other group of people in my life that have offered me everything I could possibly want with hardly a request to motivate them. I love this family, and, like the poets, I only get to see them once a year.
So why do I feel kind of lonely right now?
B&T are about halfway between my and my parents' ages, and have two small kids. The kids don't know me well enough to really want to play with me yet - the little one shies away when i bend down to talk to him, and the big one just gets quiet and big-eyed. B&T won't let me do dishes. Yet, they're parents of young kids, so we don't really get to talk without interruption. I feel like I'm just creating more work for them, when I wish I could just jump into their rhythm and do dishes, help the kids with their baths, etc. And yet, B&T are treating me like more of a grown-up than anyone else in my family and giving me plenty of space and resources. And I appreciate that, too.
Not for the first time, I wish I wasn't traveling alone.
In other news, I sold two books at Nationals, and gave a whole bunch away. This makes me happy.
(M&P, you haven't seen this book. I didn't want to show it to you because I thought some of the poems in it would upset you, which is kind of dumb, seeing as you have yet to faint away in despair at any of my work. Ask Mom to show it to you, if you like.)
In other other news, I have a professional website now. Check it out! All the amazing photography is courtesy of my sister, who will doubtlessly one day be one of the world's most elite paparazzi.
Madison 3, or The Departure Post
The poets brought me here, and it's poets who will help me leave. The Minneapolis team was kind enough to offer me a ride out, which leaves in a few minutes.
Nationals was like taking a bath of really hot and really cold water that don't quite ever mix. Some parts of it were magical, and beautiful and full of writing prompts, and other parts made me feel like my insides were breaking. Rachel McKibbens is my new favorite poet. I have places to stay in every city I'm traveling to, officially. There's a new stop on the tour: Salt Lake City, Utah.
Poets, you are mishpacha, every one of you.
Nationals was like taking a bath of really hot and really cold water that don't quite ever mix. Some parts of it were magical, and beautiful and full of writing prompts, and other parts made me feel like my insides were breaking. Rachel McKibbens is my new favorite poet. I have places to stay in every city I'm traveling to, officially. There's a new stop on the tour: Salt Lake City, Utah.
Poets, you are mishpacha, every one of you.
8/08/2008
Madison 2, or A New Poem That Has Come Out of Nats
Guidebook for My Daughter
Don't be afraid to cook extravagant meals on nights when you're home alone.
Feel safe when you see spiders, for they are your kin.
Always use more hot sauce than anyone else at the table.
Push your voice to its farthest depths and hold it there until it stops struggling.
Smoke gas station cigarettes.
Paint a picture of who you want to be at eighty years old. Now draw a halo over it.
Wear boys' underwear and roll your button-downs past your elbows.
Reclaim Mozart and Mendelssohn, for they too are your kin.
Forgive your mama, for she knows not what she does. Tell her you will still brush her hair at night when you come back to visit.
Learn to find the pockets of home in foreign tongues.
Sing hymns like spiderwebs and bequeath them to star-laced hurricanes.
Don't hide when the lightning strikes.
Walk through the forests like barefoot thunder;
call on your grandmothers before you plead with their gods.
Test the limits of your skin
with safety pins and too much sunshine.
Fuck on your own terms, even if that means
you have to seduce him,
learn the weak places on every human body just in case,
let your body dictate boundaries like a heel
dragging through dirt to make a finish line and tell him:
this is where you stop.
Learn to speak eyebrows and fingertips,
use questions like chisels.
Carve those around you until you fit.
Stand on two feet when you kiss
your first lover so you can catch her
when she falls for you. Because you,
my daughter, you are irresistible.
Don't be afraid to cook extravagant meals on nights when you're home alone.
Feel safe when you see spiders, for they are your kin.
Always use more hot sauce than anyone else at the table.
Push your voice to its farthest depths and hold it there until it stops struggling.
Smoke gas station cigarettes.
Paint a picture of who you want to be at eighty years old. Now draw a halo over it.
Wear boys' underwear and roll your button-downs past your elbows.
Reclaim Mozart and Mendelssohn, for they too are your kin.
Forgive your mama, for she knows not what she does. Tell her you will still brush her hair at night when you come back to visit.
Learn to find the pockets of home in foreign tongues.
Sing hymns like spiderwebs and bequeath them to star-laced hurricanes.
Don't hide when the lightning strikes.
Walk through the forests like barefoot thunder;
call on your grandmothers before you plead with their gods.
Test the limits of your skin
with safety pins and too much sunshine.
Fuck on your own terms, even if that means
you have to seduce him,
learn the weak places on every human body just in case,
let your body dictate boundaries like a heel
dragging through dirt to make a finish line and tell him:
this is where you stop.
Learn to speak eyebrows and fingertips,
use questions like chisels.
Carve those around you until you fit.
Stand on two feet when you kiss
your first lover so you can catch her
when she falls for you. Because you,
my daughter, you are irresistible.
8/05/2008
Madison 1, or The Arrival Post
I made it to Nationals courtesy of the Ozark team, which picked me up in the middle of a gigantic lightning storm at O'hare International Airport, and then fed me and gave me a nice cool place to stay for the night before heading out to Madison this morning. Already, I'm crazy excited - there are good poets everywhere, like a family reunion of prophets and jesters.
More later!
More later!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)