Getting Out There

treat yourself to a getaway

We work at this poetry thing. Most days we do it alone, or in silent reflection over pages of blank paper (blank screen?). We may go to our writing groups, but mostly it’s just A - L - O - N - E. We are in our heads — and that can get lonely. We isolate and ruminate. Maybe even procrastinate. We may berate ourselves for “doing nothing” of value. No poem today? How dare I have wasted all that time?

But what we all need is to change the environments in our heads. Or… our physical environments! I am preparing for my annual trip to the Cape (Provincetown) for a writing workshop with a poet I have never met, nor even heard of before. All I know is I need a freshener to my writing practice and I have picked this guy, Rowan Ricardo Phillips. 52 years old, from NY, who has written lines / phrases like this: “at the edge of my observable universe.” (from his newest, Silver.) What will I learn from him? No clue, but I will come back to this desk with a head full of ideas and strategies. I will come back with some new work (drafts). I will go whale-watching again to report to my humpback friends that I am still alive and writing. I will care even more about my writing. And about myself.

I will be more alive.

Each time I go to PTown, I pick a stranger’s voice to follow for a week, seeing where it might lead me. Last year I ventured into the world of mixed media poetry. Changed my writing life in so many ways, made it more dimensional. It is this kind of experience that sets the tone for the next “poetry season” of my writing. If we can, taking such a physical step with our writing may do that. But it is not always possible (physically getting away for a chunk of time) and it may be financially impossible too. These conferences or workshops can be pricey. If we want to experience them, planning ahead or getting a small grant could help. But there are smaller, closer to home getaways that will do the job of clearing the head, getting a new perspective on the writing life. Here is a list of possibles, listed below using the A - L - O - N - E acronym from earlier in this post:

A — assess your present mood — or frustration with your writing. Determine if you can find fresh, new, more exciting topics (sometimes we need physical noise or activity to switch on our creative side) by doing the opposite of what your writing practice entails. Do you normally write in the morning? Do you normally write in a quiet setting? Do you usually write on your computer?Do you use pen only? Pencil only? Do you normally write privately (not out in public)? DO THE OPPOSITE. Sometimes a small change can turn on the switch for your writing. Don’t underestimate this. WARNING: it may feel strange or even uncomfortable at first, but will definitely help to give your writing a boost.

L — learn about a new aspect of writing… is there a form you’d like to try or a topic you have not quite dared to explore? Find a mentor, class, or workshop, online or in person (preferable) where you can explore that.

O — occupy a different space … find a “new” spot to write. Once I took a notebook and drove to a rest area (with picnic tables) and spent a few hours observing the people who came and went there. The place overlooked a cove and was off the beaten path, but had traffic sounds which became the music behind what I wrote and an array of causal visitors. I did not interact with anyone, but watched and imagined. And wrote. I once wrote a poem (draft) during a symphony concert! I have written in food courts of malls, waiting for a doctor appointment. Notebook.. don’t leave home without one!

N — nothing can be the something you need. Huh? Sometimes you might begin with a rant about how empty your writing is. Write what you know is fine, but what about trying new topics and write what you don’t know? Write a persona piece, masquerading as someone else. Female? Try writing the male side of you, or visa versa if you are male. Try beginning your daily writing with I don’t remember or I never knew or It’s not like me to. You will amaze yourself with what these phrases will open for you. What is missing? You will find it this way.

E — exit. Get out of Dodge. Vamoose the scene. Exeunt stage left. Hit the road, Jack. Take a powder. Split. If you can, physically go to a workshop or conference or festival and open yourself to the unknown. IF you can, this is a special way to leave your expectations and static mind behind. It is HARD sometimes to arrange this leaving. If you are still working, have kiddos or a spouse, live on a tight budget, this can be a deal-breaker. BUT… prior planning will help. What about a child care swap with another writer? How about requesting time off the job WAY in advance? Plan meals ahead for the family/spouse so life goes on easily for them while you’re away. Save up all year for the cost of travel and the workshop etc. Apply for a small grant or use your birthday or Christmas money (ask for workshop $$ instead of a present!). Find a workshop that is nearby yet still “away” so it is more doable/affordable. Attend those that require only your time, like local festivals. Most areas have these. Remember too that getting away does not mean an extended period of time (though it can be). Maybe it is a day-long event, or a weekend. Time away from your normal routine immersed in writing is valuable in and of itself. YOU deserve that.

BONUS: the definition of a flâneur is one who wanders a place seeing what is hidden to most. I say this is also the definition of a poet. Be a flâneur.

Below are three poems about various wanderings.

Flaneur of London

He reads the notes in the margins of the city, 
scribbles graffiti on the walls of the sky, cracks 
open every bottle of wine.   

On the bridge over the Thames
as I hurry from Embankment,  a voice 
interrupts the verse I’m constructing
in my head as I walk:

‘allo, Queenie!

It’s Steven, rough sleeper and critic.
He says I look first rate today.
In the pocket of my coat, trashy b-grade novel, 
half sandwich from Tesco, Earl Grey tea.
baggie of kibble for Woofer, his shepherd.
 
I’ve stuffed a poem in the book at page 73. 
Tomorrow he’ll tell me that line 17 is a fright, 
that I need to revise. He'll ask for new poems.

By night he wanders Embankment, 
whores and thieves 
doing their deeds in darkness. 
Steven, flâneur of the Thames, 
eyes lowered, invisible, carries no notebook, 
recalls the details to share over the tea
I bring him on Tuesdays, the good wine 
I slip him on Saturdays. 



Flâneur II        

Every path has its secrets.
Squint, promise not to look        
straight ahead, see
doorways lit by candlelight 
or curses,
walls with notes hidden
seven bricks over, three down
from the second window. One 
open eye will find the loose mortar.

Every beach has its secrets, open 
to what the sea knows. Hear the call
in the dark of the moon.
Open your fingers and dig:
two dunes from the fallen tree,
five inches down. In a metal box
secret letters of lovers, sealed 
for twenty years, unclaimed by the sea.

Every secret has its accomplices: 
ears open to listen, mouths closed to telling.



Seaside Flâneur

She is not anchored, 
not at home except on the beach, 
in the roil of surf and wind. 
She is all sand, sky, spume that rises 
beyond the jetty. 

No longer young enough 
for even a sidelong glance by young men sailing 
frisbees along the strand, 

she is a seaside flâneur, sees their hidden game, 
how they pose, turn 
each move into bait for the gene pool, 
sees the preen of every tanned girl’s stretch 
and turn in answer to their call. 

She remembers the scent of summer 
on her legs, back, what was once 
hers: a hand smoothing oil 
on her thighs, the space between
her breasts, feels warm lips 
against her hair — 

In her head, Acker Bilk’s swooning clarinet:
Stranger on the Shore.

Please share your ideas/strategies for the writing getaway in the comments below. We really are in this together.