July 11, 2021 by Amy
On Poeming
I have skimmed the vast galaxy of poetry on and off my entire literary life, but to be honest, I never felt like I truly understood it and I never developed what I’d call an appreciation for it, beyond the general idea that poets are mystical, magical creatures who bend words and ideas in ways the rest of us simply can’t. The extent of my own poetic efforts culminated in writing a series of snarky haikus with two colleagues during Poetry Month a few years ago. Enjoyable but not exactly worthy of sharing beyond our little trio.
Then Amanda Gorman happened. Maybe because I was already an emotional wreck on inauguration day (a turmoil of feelings of relief and long-dormant hope and pride for our country’s first woman, Black, Asian vice president…I had ALL the feelings) I tumbled head over heels into the world of poetry. Gorman knocked me to my knees, sent my soul soaring, and ignited an interest in poetry I’ve never felt.
Within days I found myself subscribed to a poem-of-the-day email from The Academy of American Poets. (10/10 Highly recommend.) Some of the poems I do not understand at all. That’s okay. Some of the poems make me cry. Some make my heart sing. Some give me so much to think about that I have to just sit at my desk and soak up the words for a few minutes before I can move on. Often, I’ll read through a poem carefully only to read the poet’s thoughts behind its creation and realize there are many more layers hidden right there. Then I go back and re-read it, diving deep.
I am what you’d call a novice poetry appreciator, I suppose.
I am convinced that doing this daily practice is actually helping me strengthen and hone my own writerly skills, even though I am not a poet. (Beyond the snarky haikus, that is, which I’m pretty sure don’t count.) It’s all words, right? It’s all words mashed up in new, unexpected, gorgeous and groundbreaking ways. Words that make my synaptic nerves fire with excitement. I swear I can feel the electricity in my brain. It’s like yoga for my mind.
After several months of daily poem ingestion, I found myself nearing the deadline of the St. Louis Writers Guild annual poetry contest. In a fit of brazen audacity, I penned a poem. Because I’m not entirely stupid, I shared it with my writing partner before submitting, and she helped me further refine my piece so that it more clearly said what I wanted to say. Then I took a deep breath and submitted.
The judge this year is Jane Ellen Ibur, St. Louis Poet Laureate. That title alone threw me through a loop. This wasn’t just anyone reviewing entries…this was a freakin’ laureate. I comforted myself by saying that participating at all was a victory for me. I’m so not a poet, after all. I considered the $10 entry fee a donation to my beloved Guild.
And then…and THEN…I got Honorable Mention.
You would have thought I won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry. (Is there a Pulitzer Prize for poetry? I don’t know. Whatever the highest honor for poetry is, that’s how I feel.) Because, friends, as I have shared, I am not a poet.
Or am I?
Is the definition of a poet simply “one who writes poetry?” I’ve been told for years that the definition of a photographer is “one who makes photographs” and that the definition of a writer is “one who writes.” This is what well-known and highly published writers and photographers tell us mere mortals to keep us trying, I think. Still, I’d rather believe that than the opposite, so I continue to cautiously title myself “writer” and “photographer.” And now, I suppose, “poet.”
I have instructed my family to please refer to me as The Honorable (Mention) Amy. Or The Honorable (Mention) Mommy, depending on the relationship. It’s not sticking, but at least I tried.
My excitement is waning a little as we creep closer to the day this week where I’m supposed to share my Honorable Mention-winning poem with others, friends and strangers alike, at the St. Louis Writers Guild Open Mic. On Zoom, as we are wont to do these days. (I wonder if I can enjoy some liquid courage before logging in…although I’m going to guess that slurring words on Zoom is just as obvious as doing it in person. So, probably not a good idea.)
Anyway, friends, if you want to see (or hear, rather) my poem, please feel free to join us at the Open Mic. It’s Tuesday, July 13 from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. You’ll get to hear actual real poets read their work, too. I won’t post my Honorable Mention-award poem here as I would like to submit to other publications to see if it hits anywhere so this might be your only chance. Or, you know, you can email me and I’ll probably just share a copy with you.
Try writing a poem today. Try reading a poem today. Do all the poemy things.
This post’s photo has nothing to do with poems. It’s just one of my daily images from this week.
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