I’ve always wanted to do a writer’s residency, but for a number of reasons, the timing just wasn’t right. And maybe I just wasn’t right. But as a teacher, one [arguable] luxury is summers. The past 2 summers, I have worked and trained and planned on through my summers–all things school, but never writing.
This is what most teachers I know do.
But my poet-self has been badly stifled to the point where I had to finally acknowledge that my professional teacher-self burn-out had infected all aspects of my creative self. In the spring I took some steps to help ‘seed’ new growth and new effort. But this summer I decided to fully devote to completing a manuscript–one based around an idea I can’t let go of:
A fake history of my imaginary self.
The Wichita Art Museum has graciously made me welcome as a resident writer this summer. While in this space, I write about anything and everything that I want to–and sometimes I write ekphrastically to pieces in the permanent collection. I’ve posted one poem down below if you want to scroll past my other notes and prompts.
What does it mean to be a poet in a museum?
To be a poet is to get lost in the minutiae, to follow each trail the mind wanders; it is to be still when everything else is in motion.
To be a poet in a museum is to watch people watching art. It’s to wonder at their wonder. But it’s also to make friends with the artists, to wonder at who they were when they created, to imagine how they felt when inspiration took hold, and to be present in that experiential moment between museum guest and the artwork.
There’s a liturgy within a museum that makes this holy space. To be part of that space means hushing monkey-mind and resting. And then listening with something that I’ve been too loud to tap into; maybe my shadow-self has ears.
Prompts: What does April consider when she moves through WAM?
Where do you linger? Where is your gaze drawn? Where do you pause?
Imagine the piece you have paused for is the exact view from the artist’s gaze. What are 5 thoughts that the artist had?
What story is embedded within this piece? What is the artist attempting to communicate with you?
How many shades of blue can you find? How many words for blue can you brainstorm? Could you describe the color blue to someone who has never seen it?
Artists rely upon a visual vocabulary to communicate intangible concepts and symbolic ideas. What symbols do you recognize, like old familiar friends, when you walk around the museum today?
Have you seen something that you don’t like? Do you feel guilty? Do you attempt to make sense of the piece, like somehow the fault lies with you? At what point do you give up?
Visit Vanessa German’s The Beast: What does the ingredient list for YOU include?
* “Kesoo” (1977) by artist Natvar Bhavasar (1934-present), permanent collection of the Wichita Art Museum
Thursday Sitting in the Corona of “Kesoo”*
Like sunshine through eyelids Like warmth and safety Like movement through tallgrass Like matchstick just before the flare Like soft touch in darkness Like cracked pepper Or saltwater brine Or smoky bourbon Like the memory of breakfast and food and taste so inadequate Like humming without melody Just the confirmation that I heard you Like Marconi Union while sitting on a backless bench in the middle of the Wichita Art Museum Like that time we stretched out on the sidewalk to feel the heat come up through our clothes Like the steering wheel sat too long in the sun Like that time I told her I would never do that to her as it was done to me, Like a vow.
You can follow more of my adventures on instagram @aprilinwichita.
We’re nearing the end of our journey in poetry together with only a few days remaining. Remember, you can share your work in the comment section or via email at aprilpameticky@hotmail.com.
Prompt #23: Secrets
Secrets can be powerful or life-altering. Sometimes they are little things, silly, quiet moments we don’t share with others. Secrets can also be weapons. Play with this idea and see what you come up with
Many of my fellow writers are spoken-word artists. This lends itself to a completely different style of writing with poets paying close attention to how things sound aloud.
As you are going through your day, listen for words or phrases that jump out at you. Perhaps it’ll be a co-worker that mouths the same platitude each day: “If you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean.” Or maybe it’ll be something else you hear on the radio, something that seems ordinary at first, like “high today of 75.”
And to help you, I thought you might need a couple of samples:
A wooden framework on a post, with holes for the head and hands, in which offenders were formerly locked to be exposed to public scorn as punishment.
tr.v.pil·lo·ried, pil·lo·ry·ing, pil·lo·ries
1. To expose to ridicule and abuse.
2. To put in a pillory as punishment.
We are using that 2nd idea of “pillory,” to expose someone to ridicule and abuse (perhaps as punishment?)
I know, there are those gentle writers that will hate this prompt because they would never want to say a mean thing about anyone. But the tradition of pillorying someone dates back before Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.
We all have that person we secretly despise. Write a poem about that person, either as if you are speaking to them, OR as you imagine they might think. Write a poem with that figure as your central character.
Caveat: It may be appropriate NOT to share this poem in the comment section below—especially as someone else might be able to identify this person. We want to tap in to that angst for great writing, but we DON’T want to hurt or embarrass anyone else.
In The Palm of Your Hand: The Poet’s Portable Workshop by Steve Kowit, 1995
“Poems are often generated by memories that haunt us—memories that suddenly return out of the blue, or memories that are familiar companions and part of the fabric of our lives—memories that are too precious and sweet not to be recorded, or that are so painful they cry out to be exorcised. … Many inexperienced poets also imagine that the language of poetry must be ultra-romantic and theatrical, but a poetry which is too richly embellished with hyperventilated language, inflated sentiments, and abstruse verbiage is in grave danger of sounding artificial or just plain foolish.” (8-10)
Go back in time and describe a memory. Similar to earlier encouragement, avoid sentimentality. Don’t try to give meaning to the event or explain WHY something occurred. Concentrate instead on what happened, walking yourself honestly through the memory, avoiding over embellishment or exaggeration.
April Pameticky 