Thank you, Silverton Poetry Festival

On Friday, Jon and I drove through a subdued landscape of open fields and sprawling farms bathed in late afternoon light. In our often overwhelmingly consuming lives of medical school and writing-for-a-living, it was a rare and delicious treat to be traveling together in daylight on a weekday toward an evening of community and poetry.

We arrived at the open, gracious home of Kathleen and her laughing-eyed husband where we squinted into the blessed sun on the back deck and got to know our Silverton Poetry Festival host Steve, President of the Association Michael and his wife Carol. Within a few minutes, the two other featured readers, Penelope Scambly Schott and Karen Holmberg arrived and joined us.

I must sound like a broken record, but I am routinely astounded by how much I love my Oregon writing community. Prior to life in Portland, it was a rare occurrence to admire a poet's work and also enjoy their company. In Silverton, I was reminded of how very wealthy I am with the double-blessing of people + poetry that I want to be up close and personal with. Every single person on that porch and around that dinner table was a person I wanted to know better and listen to at length.

Silverton felt like a glove I'd never realized I'd lost. It fit just right. I felt held and safe and warm. I had an impulse to wander barefoot down its streets in my nightgown, drinking a lemonade. The reading was held in a beautiful, intimate church with light and spring air pouring in from all directions. Beside the podium, a painting of a red chair piled with books and pens painted especially to commemorate this year's festival.

The first time I ever read my poetry publicly, I was pretty sure I wouldn't make it out alive. My breathing was so constricted and my hands so shaky that I wasn't even able to raise a bottle of water to my lips and take it in. I remember nothing about that reading other than that I was clearly still living at the end, for which I was grateful.

In contrast, fifteen or so years later, stepping up to the podium in Silverton was the first time I ever had the feeling of actually belonging up there in front of an audience. I had poems that I am proud of to share, and I was so thrilled and grateful to share them. I trusted myself to do a good job, and I trusted my audience to take the ride with me. My voice felt strong and sure. I was feeling the poems deeply as they came through me in spoken words.

A few poems before finishing, as I was reading I Make You a River, a man's cell phone rang. I smiled and paused as he fumbled for his phone, giving him time to silence it. I know the humiliation of forgetting to turn my phone off very well. No biggie. But when the man took the call and started talking I really didn't know where that left me. Should I try to talk over him? I giggled, then giggled some more, and kept on reading as the man shuffled out on his single crutch, still talking. In all my years of attending poetry readings, I've never seen such a thing! I have no idea what the protocol for such an interruption might be, but I sure did enjoy improvising.

Listening to Karen and Penelope was like breathing in a feast of wine and fruit and cheese. I hung on every word as worlds of image and sound and profound human truths rose up before me and carried me out into my own knowing. I don't know if I've ever been so present or connected as a listener at a reading.

Afterwards, Ella-Marie introduced herself and nearly knocked me over with the gale force of her enthusiasm. "That line about the poem being the hinge," she said. "That's it! That's how poetry is! That's exactly how it is!" This is the gift of poetry: Ella-Marie taught me something about my own poem and poetry at large by sharing what resonated for her. Thank you, Ella-Marie and everyone who has ever taken the time to receive my words and feed them back to me. Your listening creates a mystical expansion beyond where I can travel alone.

Thank you to Brittany, who introduced me to the Silverton Poetry Association (and who has captivated audiences there for the past two years) and thank you Michael, Steve and everyone who worked so hard to create such a fine poetry festival and a very special evening. And thank you to Jon for traveling far with great enthusiasm to share this evening with me. And for interrupting my many-decade cycle of participating in the events that matter most alone. Bathed in grace I am. With gratitude, always. 

Comments

[dale]

Sounds lovely! I've always had a soft spot for Silverton. Such a gentle-feeling town.