Texasplayboys

Considering that I grew up in Spain and received an oh so proper British education of classical poetry and literature, it’s a tad amazing that I did not attend an actual poetry reading until just last week! How flabbergasted I was to realize just how much I’d missed…

Until the age of 19, I was immersed in poetry and literature, analyzing and symbolizing it to death. Mr. and Mrs. Long were Oxford and Cambridge scholars, of the old school of Shakespeare and Milton, among countless others. They introduced me to such beautiful writing and began my literary education. They are to this day remembered fondly by all who were lucky enough to attend their school in Mallorca.

Yet maybe somewhere along those early days, I forgot to simply enjoy reading poetry and having it fill my senses. Poetry affects us all in different ways, but hearing it now as an adult, I can feel it deep inside, touching parts of me that I’d forgotten existed. When I was a student, poems became a writing exercise that you were told to read and search for their deeper meanings. I was always able to invent such expressive (and may I say rather impressive) paragraphs about the symbolism, but I wasn’t able to simply enjoy the poems. I can hear the lines of the former Laureate as if they were written to me…

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

From Introduction to Poetry, by Billy Collins

Once I was out of school, poetry became an enjoyment again, and I loved certain lines of poems which would become engraved in my mind, resounding with their beauty, the way they flowed, or sometimes simply because they so perfectly described the way I’d felt at some point in my life. I’d be amazed that a stranger could have written MY feelings in HIS poem… How had he known that I’d felt just like his poem described?

My love for poetry was somehow set aside as life happened to me: marriage, children, work, divorce, the absolute joys (!!) of having to date again, lots more work, and then teenagers!! It wasn’t until a chance and very fortuitous encounter with a local poet just three weeks ago that I rediscovered my love for poetry. After sharing many of our favorite poems, I found my mind expanding again, my love for poetry and literature returning from that far away distant place it had been hiding.

My classical British self was introduced to American writers, some new, some who’ve been around for years. I think Mr. and Mrs. Long would approve. In fact I can feel Mr. Long looking down on me and saying that it’s about time!

I attended my first poetry reading, called Poetry, Pages and Scribes, hosted by Ber-henda Williams at the Southfield Public Library in Southfield, Michigan last Thursday. They meet the first Thursday of every month and people are asked to sign up and share their writing for about three minutes. They also feature a local poet at the end. Unfortunately I was not able to stay for that part, but I plan on not missing it the next time I go.

Ber-henda Williams was a warm, lively and engaging hostess, reading some of her own poems, both in English and Spanish. She invited the first time “virgins” to share their poems, encouraging the crowd to cheer them along and make them feel welcome.

It was here that I heard my first slam poetry. I enjoyed hearing its rhythm and passion, the way it grabs your attention from its first forceful line to its resounding finale. Whether or not you agree with its message, its strength and power cannot be denied. All of the slam poets had such stage presence and their words gripped the audience so that not even a breath or whisper could be heard. At times, I even felt myself holding my breath.

There were many poems read that evening, and I wish I’d known I’d be writing about them later. I enjoyed them all immensely. Some were very personal poems of feelings towards loved ones. Some were amusing poems about the trials and tribulations of daily life. Some were sweet and simple. Some ironic and delightfully tongue-in-cheek, making me laugh wholeheartedly. Some were poignant memories of youth and lost love. But all of them came from the very heart and soul of their writers, and in different ways touched the hearts and minds of the audience.

The event was well-attended and though only about ten people shared their poems and short stories, there were many more people present just to listen, maybe some who were not quite brave enough to share yet. I admired the courage of all who shared their writing, something so deeply personal and meaningful. All I know is that I felt the warmth of the people present, the love for poetry, and I felt this instant need to go write!! Maybe not a poem, but a story, an article, a memory, a feeling. So as to share it with these strangers, these friends not yet met.