paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- on their way to nowhere I am in serious poetry boot camp. I have doubts and feel uneasy about this being a poet thing. In moments of weakness I don't know that I can say that about myself. But secretly it is what I want, so I push myself to get rid of the layers of protection in which I have dressed myself. Mostly for my own ease and to pass through the ranks as someone who doesn't count in the same way as others. Because I am really not like that.... I am really not so incredibly unformed. So I am staying in serious poetry boot camp with a professor who is a famous poet both on campus and in the world. All of the young women in class idolize her and talk about every detail they can manage to bring to the conversation about her. What would they say if I have had beer out of the same pitcher? If she knows that I am a terrible bowler? If our history so far is to disagree but wear similar outfits and pick out the same sessions of conferences to attend. The truth is that I am every bit as impressed with her as the young women. I go home and tell Quinn the big moments of class -- tales of her self-confident ways, her funny comments and outlandish remarks, her dedication to fashion a band of poets from her students. She pulls back the curtains a bit so we can see out into the world. But the window is smeared with sticky stuff and grimy handprints. Just the sort of barriers that remind me how many have passed this way before. On their way to nowhere? 12:02 a.m. - 2003-01-17 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||