2003-12-08 - 10:30 p.m. - a "poet's" debut

I put "poet" in quotation marks because I still don’t quite feel qualified for that description. Perhaps that is why I am teop – a backwards poet. In any case, I made my debut at a coffee shop this evening. Every second Monday of the month, my friend, Dan, hosts a poetry reading as well as music and singing. I missed it last month because I was at a rug auction buying a rug for my living room. And I think the previous month our teacher’s union was holding a rally prior to the school board’s meeting since we still didn’t have a contract.

But I digress…I was there tonight, and read one of my own poems. The only other time I read a poem of mine with any particular audience was at a party years ago where I knew almost all of the people. At the time, I had only written one poem and never even considered myself a backwards poet. It was just a piece inspired by a story told to me by one of my closest friends who was working in a battered women’s shelter at the time. I don’t have it at my fingertips or I’d include it here for posterity.

But I do have the one I read tonight. As I waited to go up, I started to get nervous. It’s funny how the symptoms of nervousness are the same – the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach, the heart starts racing towards an unseen finish line, and the mind starts questioning its sanity. "Be in the NOW and there’s nothing to be nervous about…", I was telling myself. Easier said than done when I know Dan’s going to invite me up next.

He knew I had Billy Collins’ "Questions About Angels" collection with me and invited me to read one. I can do this – I can read a Billy Collins poem. Reading someone else’s work isn’t half as nerve wracking – I had read some James Tate at the first of these gatherings I attended a few months back.

As I started to read, the owner of the coffee shop who was behind the counter reading, shouted, "Louder". I apologized for my scratchy voice as a cold has taken up residence in my throat for the past month or so. I feel fine but my voice is a gravel pit. Nevertheless, when the owner of the shop makes a request, you do your very best to fulfill it. I told everyone I’d make believe they were my 5th period freshmen class and used the level of voice I often have to use with them. There were no more complaints about volume…

I read Billy’s "Instructions to the Artist", and started to settle a bit into my own skin. I was making eye contact and trying to read it smoothly with some inflection in my voice. When I finished, there was polite applause; I smiled and then took a deep breath. "I’m going to read one of my own," I said. I told them it was also a set of instructions to an artists, but for how to depict me. Here it is:

Dearest artist,

Lay down your brush and set aside your paints.

Your tools of comfort will not be needed.

My request is something three-dimensional.

It will take you to a new realm,

stretch your talents,

expand your horizons,

and thus fulfill my goal as an educator.

You are to create me as a sculpture,

small in stature yet

still captivating the eye in its uniqueness.

Use a globe for my head; the elements that form me are on loan from this planet.

Rose colored beakers filled with water shall be my eyes

showing my analytical and optimistic views.

Throw in bioluminescent fish to add some sparkle

and make sure the water is blue.

Glue on a mouth made out of small mirrored tiles

reflecting the viewer whose presence creates the smile.

My ears can be CD’s – my musical passion,

and my nose made of PlayDo – one of my favorite smells.

Use a model of DNA to form my body

It’ll be a bit twisted, but that will suit me just fine.

Design my arms from paper doll cut-outs, connected hand in hand,

and on each one write names of my family and friends –

those who have supported me and welcomed my embrace.

Make my hands small with piano key phalanges;

attach a passport to one, and fill it with stamps from my travels.

My feet are to be made from the roots of two trees –

Red Maple from Rhode Island, and Douglas Fir from Oregon.

All the other details, I leave up to you,

but seek not perfection – that is so far from me.

If instead you step back and see something quirky

that brings a smile to your face and warms your heart,

then congratulate yourself for you have found me.

********************************************

Applause broke out and I gracefully smiled as I stood to go back to my seat. My heart was still beating fast, and my face was flushed red, but the butterflies were still – the feelings of love and acceptance stoked their fluttering wings until they were at peace. As I sat down, my friend whispered into my ear, "you outdid the master."

But I thought to myself, I’ll always be the backwards poet….teop.

30-something - 2005-03-01
the holding back the the flow of tears - 2005-02-20
song survey - 2005-02-15
song for the day...or perhaps the year... - 2005-01-25
something new - 2005-01-24
">next