This morning at breakfast I told my friend David that I was really excited to return to the loving embrace of all my friends in South Bend but I was also concerned for them. He laughed. It's like the feeling you get after you've been abducted by aliens, you try to go back to your real life but you're just weird now in ways that really freak out your loved ones. Anyway what I'm saying is that I hope you all still love Sade P.V. (post VT) as much as you loved Sade P.V. (pre VT). See they're already essentially the same.
I'm not saying that I've Jekylled out on y'all but I feel like a geode turned inside out. As far as expression goes there's more blatant sparkle and glint. That's just my perception. Yours may differ. It doesn't matter right now, because I'm going to tell you how Vermont has rocked my face off in the past week. My face is okay don't worry it only sustained maximum awesomeness. Highlight reel!
Arnold Kemp's lecture and everything about him. So let me try to be intelligent and intelligible about this. Meeting this artist (who sculpts, and writes, and paints, and draws) and sharing my work with him colored my week amazing. It has been an integral part of my formation as a poet in Vermont. I enjoy his work, hearing him talk about his work, the sense of self revelation hand in hand with cloaking and masking the self. It inspires reflection. He has a series of photographs of his aura taken by a psychic over the course of twelve weeks. I just don't have words for how cool he is. We sat at the Lovin' Cup Friday and I shared my poetry with him, in his feedback he reminds me of Cornelius: generous and able to lead me within the words I have chosen or not chose, always providing reference and bibliography to other poets I can learn from.
Thursday's Excursion to the Snowflake Museum Can I just ring in the gospel of snowflakes? Will you think I have lost my mind? The Snowflake Museum is in Jericho, VT. So it was Shannon who suggested this field trip and because I possess such a can do attitude I had to make it happen. I made plans to borrow Annie's car, a cute scion and Shannon secured the directions. I wrangled other people into joining us. Arnold, Caroline, and David (who was released from his office duties just to join us). I drove us. I was nervous because I'm self conscious about my driving having never driven above a speed limit of 40 or 45 mph. The speed limit was 50 which isn't too much of a difference. Driving in Vermont is a breathtaking experience, everything is green. Trees rising up in rows on either side of the road for stretches and the mountains appearing after a dip or curve. We rolled into Jericho and walked past the rushing river gorge to the Old Red Mill, a national historic site. We walked in anxious to view the magical snowflake museum, the Bentley Exhibit. Wilson Bentley photographed snowflakes. He would set up his equipment outside catch the snowflakes on a black wooden tray, then place each snowflake under a microscope to decide if it was worthy of photography shooting it with his camera if it was. This is a big deal. Well it is to me. I felt overwhelmed in the two small rooms that housed the exhibit. His gloves resting on his camera, the microscope he used, the collages of photographed snowflakes. I stood up close to them, because I love standing close to art. There was an air of impermanence. As if, if I stood to close, breathing on them too long they would melt. In the photographs you could see they were an instant from just that. I didn't want to leave I was concerned that once I turned to go they would dissipate under the heat of forgetting. But they are frozen in my mind and forever. They are almost immortal or at least notorious. For the endless configurations of frozen water falling from the sky, Wilson Bentley photographed over a thousand snowflakes. It made me feel very alive, and very appreciative to be alive and I never really expected that from snowflakes.
B Sides and Karaoke. There was a more casual resident organized reading scheduled for Saturday. Some of the visual artist read poetry, the visual art showcased was impressive as always. I read things I had worked on since Tuesday's reading. After the reading it was time for Karaoke! I had been waiting for it all week! In order the songs were:
Crimson and Clover: Joan Jett
Helter Skelter: the Beatles
Can't Take My Eyes Off of You: Lauryn Hill
Don't you Want Me: Human League (in a duet with local Dave)
Unforgettable: Nat King Cole
Happiness is a Warm Gun: the Beatles
It was epic. Best part of the night was Shannon saying "oh Sade you're totally legit" and "don't you forget it motherfucker." I was still awake when the sun came up. I slept a couple of hours before brunch. And have been pretty useless most of the day.
Sunday's encounter with the "possible" Summer Lover. What's his deal right? Le sigh, that's his deal. What a dark broody baby. Not baby in a diaper but baby in a Beatles' song. Anyway I always happen upon him unexpectedly at (of all places) the Lovin' Cup (the Lula's of Johnson). He swaggers in with a book bag to do homework or sometimes I swagger up to get a change of scenery, to write outside my studio, to smell coffee. I walked over to the cafe after grabbing Chinese with Justin for lunch and there he was sitting on the porch doing math homework. I provided a welcome distraction. After he finished his homework we moved inside and I read him poetry. He is from Ohio. He's studying creative writing at Johnson State College. Did a two week residency at VSC but we never talked while he was here but through email when I was organizing workshop. He flirted (or flirts) with me at the Hub. And because I didn't really believe it, I had to get outside confirmation. Vanessa who I've made friends with and who works at the bookstore confirmed. So this is not imaginary flirting. I just wanted to make that clear. He quotes Shakespearean sonnets from memory. He's a writer: plays, fiction, essays. He says the first time reading my poetry he thought "this woman should be writing fiction." Obviously I have never thought that about myself a day of my life-- I mean I only ever want to write about adventure that's all. So this is adventure. "Sexy as hell," he's talking about my poetry, of course. Also not my general response but okay. He is brazen, shameless. He, uh, could know his way around a pair of lips. He wants to be pen pals after I leave Johnson. He is intriguing. He could be a sheepish wolf or a fox about to break the neck of a hen. And for once I am in no way interested with the trajectory, where this is going to end, slightly curious but with detached interest. What things mean, the dissection of every feeling: boring, exhausting. Whatever happens. Focus on fun not expectation. To quote Rebecca Black, "fun fun fun fun fun fun fun fun!" It's amusing, bemusing to meet someone more cloudy and mysterious than myself (I am not mysterious at all and a giggly sunbeam next to this slightly melancholy, albeit mischievous, baby). I am ever the skeptic, unsure whether I should believe a word he says, not because he's a liar but... you know. We have plans to hang out this week, so we'll see.
A Note on Tattoos. The tattoo isn't real. I'm sure it will wash off in a couple of days. I got it from the cutest little boy in the bookstore. I assume his name is Dylan. He had a stack of them and one matching mine on his right arm.
It's the summer great? Honestly I can't believe it's been so amazing. I will miss this.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
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