Poet in Paradise: Impressions of A Writers" Conference - Conclusion

After a restless night worried about my poetry reading I was up and about by six in the morning. This was to be the day, finally, when the poets would take center stage at the Faulkner conference. I wanted to make a good impression so I put on my best jeans and a clean shirt. Then I got all my luggage ready for my trip home just in case the conference organizers wanted to run me out of town after my reading. I even checked out of the hotel before the day’s programs so I could make a rapid escape.

The day opened with the usual breakfast spread of croissants, fruit and so forth. Since I was so nervous I had skipped the free morning meal at my cheap hotel. But I couldn’t pass up those fresh, warm croissants. The first speaker on the agenda was a young author who talked about an early twentieth century writer named Zweig who killed himself after a successful career. It wasn’t exactly an uplifting topic but it was interesting.

Next was an author who has written a book that posits that there is an ongoing World War in which the principal combatants are China and the rest of us. The book is “World War C” and the author was funny and extremely interesting in spite of his disturbing premise. He was followed by a Norwegian poet lady who had a near death experience a few years back and who has been “channeling” poems from a spirit guide since that time. The segue from world war to spirit world poetry was a little jarring but not unusual for this conference. I only wish the poetry coming out of that spirit world was of higher quality and not so close to the world of Hallmark.

We moved deeper into real world poetry with the presentation of a paper about W. B. Yeats, one of my all time favorite Irish guys. The young PHD delivering this paper was really good and very knowledgeable about her subject. I wished that she could have gone on longer, not because there was so much more to say, but because we were getting closer and closer to the time that I’d have to stand up in front of this audience.

After a brief intermission the next panel discussion began. On the panel were three highly regarded poets, all members of the academic world, all widely published and all quite capable of ripping my work to shreds. Before the discussion started the runners-up in the poetry competition were asked to sit up front so that we could take part more fully in the proceedings. My days as an edge of the room lurker were ending. The two other runner-up poets, a woman from Maryland and a younger woman from South Carolina, seemed as nervous as I was. The discussion commenced. The subject was “Poetry as an Avenue to the Soul”. Holy cow! Deep philosophical discussions combined with poetry are a real opportunity to sound like an idiot. I resolved to keep quiet. But I shouldn’t have worried. The poets on the panel took the whole thing pretty lightly, made some very fine observations and then read some of their own work. The winner of the competition was on the panel and he did a really fine reading of three of his poems. The other two poets were equally erudite and skilled at reading their stuff. And then they were done. The first runner up, the woman from Maryland, was called to the podium. She was shaking with nervousness but she did just fine. Then it was the other young lady’s turn (ladies first) and she too was very nervous but did a really nice job. Now it was up to me.

I got up to the podium and looked around. Seated to my right and left were three poets who have all seen their work in books, anthologies, magazines (yes even the New Yorker) and broadcast on NPR. In front of me sat academics, authors, editors and a few students. So I made a little joke about how losers in New Orleans were treated much better than losers up here in the northeastern states. The people laughed and that was helpful. I started my poem and in a couple minutes I was done. There was enthusiastic applause. I floated back to my chair and collapsed in relief.

Only one more ordeal remained and that was a meeting with the contest winner and one of the other poets for a critique of my work and some advice about getting published. This meeting was in a private room and people say things in private that they may be too kind to say in public. But it turned out that these people were kind, even in a private setting. Some questions about my techniques and structures were asked which I defended pretty well. Then we had a lively discussion about publishing where I learned that I’m doing what the other guys have all done. Write stuff, enter contests, send work out to magazines and journals and watch the rejections pile up. Don’t expect to make money with poetry but do the best work possible and have a good time doing it. I was happy with that.

Now it was time to head home. I went back to my cheap hotel and waited for the airport shuttle bus. As I was sitting there I began to write, mentally, a new poem and the little articles that I’d put on my blog. The trip home wasn’t too harrowing. There was one problem with a broken airplane in Charlotte but even that didn’t dispel my good mood. My lovely wife eventually found me at the Baltimore airport and we made it home around two o’clock Monday morning. It was a fine and fabulous trip which I’m so glad I could make. My dear wife made it possible and I thank her so much.

Now, ya’ll go have a fine day.