This morning I let Galway Kinnell's reading of the Duino Elegies pour through me. I didn't try to hold them. I just let the river of words sweep me into the great sea of collective unconscious, mortality, death, and longing. I am shaken. It was as if Rilke returned from the dead to speak to my heart, hijacking Kinnell's voice.
How does he do that?
How does he use language to lull me into some almost hypnotic trance only to choose a word or phrase, a line that arrows its way to strike a bulls-eye in the hollow of my throat. It leaves me gasping, drowning in my own heartache.
Rilke. He undoes me. I need to write about butterflies and puppy dogs if I'm going to be able to breathe again.
Poetry as Prayer, Poetry as Curse
"prayer is always aware the darkness is close at hand." and "There is a thin line between poetry as prayer and poetry as curse." -Hadara Bar-Nadav
Words are a way to solidify intention -Tara Betts
Meanness never makes sustaining art -Matthew Dickman
The talks and the readings are only part of the magic at Dodge. The people you meet, talk with, discover as family are another.
Tonight I met a long-lost-never-met-before friend. (Hi Diana!) She joined my friend Sue and I for dinner and we had such a wonderful evening of conversation, laughter, and sharing that none of us noticed we took the shuttle outbound instead of inbound to the Performing Arts Center and ended up late to the evening readings as a result.
It didn't matter. The long, rambling, full of laughter conversation was just right. Balm for the mortal heart, calm for an overflowing mind.
Tomorrow this diaspora will close down its tents, pack its bags, and leave town, words scattered in its wake. And it will be a long two years until it comes again.
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