I first heard about the Poetry Postcard Festival in 2014; I have several friends who participate every year. I never joined, largely because I was afraid to put up money and then not actually follow through with it. But since I didn’t get to attend any poetry festivals or go on vacation this year, when I saw in Submittable that the 2020 registration deadline was closing soon, I decided to give it a shot. This was a chance to connect with other poets, and to maybe get some postcards from places I’d never been.
I didn’t actually struggle to get my poems out in the month of August. In fact, sitting down to write a tiny poem became the highlight of my month. I gave myself prompts by drawing a card from my Emily Dickinson tarot deck. I then had to tie the theme of the tarot card to the theme of the postcard. I knew that the reader on the other end would never actually see the tarot card I used, but my goal was to write each poem so that you wouldn’t need to know what had prompted me to start it. Usually I wrote my first poem of the day before walking Astrid. I would sometimes write three or four in a day if I was feeling especially inspired.
I also developed an affection for vintage postcards. When I started PoPoFest, I had a sizeable stack of postcards, most of which had come from my various travels. Some, though, were vintage postcards I’d found in antique stores. I found that I had the most fun writing poems for the old-fashioned cards, and when my stack ran out halfway through, I ordered two dozen vintage postcards from an Etsy seller to get me through, with enough to spare for next year. I also found myself especially charmed by the vintage postcards I received. One of my favorites is an old postcard of a Tokyo hotel. Since I had to cancel my trip to Japan this year, that card had an air of serendipity to it. In a time when I’ve been unable to see my friends or attend in-person poetry readings, receiving tiny poems in the mail brought a regular sense of joy and gratitude to the long, stifling days of Texas summer.
Some people in my group were ambitious and got their postcards out early, so I started receiving mail in July. Some people didn’t get their postcards out by August 31st (some people in my group had to deal with the fire situation), but I actually loved how the postcards trickled into September. I felt like it extended the celebration of poetry.
I loved being part of PoPoFest, and I am definitely going to sign up again for 2021. Hopefully we’ll have gotten through this pandemic by next August, but I’ll still cherish the sense of connection that this festival brings.
I’m writing this from my partner’s family farm in rural Illinois. It’s pretty easy to stay socially distant when you’re 40 miles away from the nearest grocery store. Astrid did great on the drive, and I can’t tell you what a joy it is to leave 105-degree heat for 85. I love summer, but I feel like Texas has gotten hotter the past few years. On my first morning here, we saw a mated pair of bald eagles flying over the farm.
Give her a stuffed toy, a cozy bed, and a kolache. She’s a happy dog!
Just before I left, I signed my contract to teach my first workshop with the Loft Literary Center! When I saw the call for course proposals this spring, I decided to jump at the chance. I’m thrilled to announce that Hawks Don’t Circle: Accuracy and Expansiveness in Nature Poetry is now open for registration! And since their offerings are all online this fall, you can take this course no matter where you live. Don’t live in Minnesota? Intent on maintaining social distancing? Wondering how you can connect with the wilderness in your own back yard? I’ve got you covered!
I first encountered the Loft back in 2013. I was exploring the possibility of doing an online MFA, and trying different online writing courses to see if the format would work for me. I was awarded a scholarship to take Bent Forms: Exploring and Exploding Formal Poetry with Paula Cisewski, and that class still resonates with me. It deepened my appreciation of poetic form, and the writing prompts yielded some rich work from all of the students.
In early 2016, I pitched a course to the Loft. It was one I’d taught before, but back then I was a greener teacher with minimal experience pitching courses and workshops. My proposal was declined, and then I got busy with my MFA, and then I spent nearly two years in MFA recovery. But although the pandemic has taken so much from all of us, in a way it’s also brought me back to some things.
When I submitted my application this spring, I knew that even if my workshop proposal didn’t get accepted, I knew I had definitely grown as a teacher and a proposal writer over the past four years. Putting together an application I was satisfied with, knowing I’d done my level best, was its own reward.
Of course, I was still thrilled to get the acceptance email. While I’m not giving up teaching technical writing anytime soon, I am thrilled to be moving back into the world of creative writing again. Wherever you are, I hope you can join me in September.
I cut my thumb deeply yesterday, but thanks to super glue and butterfly bandages, I avoiding needing to go to the ER for stitches.
That I’ve gotten diligent about sharpening my knives every month. A dull knife would have caused way more damage!
Michi Ramen has an option on their to-go menu where you can swap out the meat and swap in two ajitama. As someone who adores ajitama, I’m thrilled!
I appreciate that my neighbors all understand who gets sidewalk space and who has to step into the bike lane to maintain social distancing when we pass each other.
David Meischen, Scott Wiggerman, myself and Wade Martin at the Georgetown Poetry Festival in 2014
Though his time on Earth was far too short and his departure far too sudden, Wade Martin was a wonderful poet, collaborator, road trip companion, literary citizen, and human being. I was so lucky that he was a part of my life, and that we got to work on three years of the Texas Poetry Calendar together. I am grateful that I had a chance to be his friend.
My grandfather, Rev. Paul D. Whipple, did not suffer when he passed away last week. He had a good 96 years on this planet, and was able to be healthy and active for most of them.
I returned to writing practice (writing for the sake of writing, without aim of project or publication) after a long hiatus, and it feels so right.
I’ve decided to go read every unread Natalie Goldberg book on my shelf until they’re all done, and so far I’m really happy with this decision.
Would walk barefoot down a path of glass to reunite with your estranged beloved?
Add up all the unkind acts you commit each day. The unfairly maligned spiders crushed in their quiet corners. The outburst at a child disproportionate to the infraction. The yellow light you run too late, delaying someone’s right of way. Trace the lineage of your spite, see how easily the trail goes cold before you reach the source.
Would you walk barefoot down a path of glass to save an office full of hostages?
You’ll look at me askew when I say: think of all the microbes you kill when you eat a spoonful of yogurt. Think of how an apple screams when you bite into it. Think of the roots ripped from the earth so tubers can become soup. Your almond milk is using up all the water in California, and when the apocalypse comes, your high horse will be butchered for meat.
Would you walk barefoot down a path of glass for anything other than your own martyrdom?
You can write off action films for their translucent plots, gratuitous explosions, bad science, pro-capitalist agendas, and glorification of brawn.
But do we need the hero who walks on water and comes back from the dead—
Or do we need the hero who should have died four times and didn’t, and walks barefoot down paths of broken glass because he knows that to live in a human body means to break it, and that to live in this world is to commit violence.
