We all arrived safely yesterday afternoon and enjoyed a welcome dinner together at Nara Sushi. After that, we all went back to our apartments. I stayed up talking with my apartment-mate, cleared up a few things on my computer, and went to sleep.
For a few hours.
I woke up at about four and, after I realized I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, started drafting a poem in my head, which I then wrote out on paper because it gave me a better pallette for the spacing. I showed it to my apartment-mate before she left in the still-early morning darkness for our studios.
I also came to the studios on the early side and we visited a bit. She graciously swapped chairs with me to make it easier for me to have head and neck support. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to write more, but, looking out my studio window, photo above, I was able to write another section to the poem I started earlier.
It is one of those angsty, personal poems reflecting on my current health and worries. It might never make it even as far as workshopping, but I apparently needed to write it. It’s the first poem I’ve written spontaneously since the tinnitus and other symptoms started in March. I have worked on some revisions and wrote a new poem in a workshop with Abby E. Murray, but, otherwise, hadn’t been feeling creative in that way.
So, yay, for having written something new, even if it is not viable as a work for sharing.
Later today, I’ll be travelling to North Adams, Massachusetts to begin the 2024 Boiler House Poets Collective workshop-in-residence at The Studios at MASS MoCA (Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Arts).
It’s been lovely seeing the enthusiasm among my fellow poets as we’ve been doing our final preparations. Unfortunately, due to my current health complications, I’ve mostly been feeling apprehensive.
I’m used to spending long days and evenings during residency writing, editing, visiting the museum, workshopping, and eating/socializing with my poet-friends, but this year I have scaled my plans back significantly in deference to my current struggles with tinnitus, blurred vision, neck pain and stiffness, balance problems, fatigue, and brain fog. I’ve planned to do creative work in the mornings when I’m most likely to have mental clarity, spend most of the afternoon resting, and re-join the group for the evening.
This plan might work – or it might not. I need to be careful to listen to what my body is able to do that day and adjust because, if I push too hard, I risk the next day being a total loss.
I am not putting pressure on myself to generate new work if I don’t have the mojo to do so. There are plenty of poems that I could work on revisions. There’s also a lot of submission work I could do, which isn’t especially creative but does involve careful attention to detail.
It’s not that I haven’t had life complications at past residencies. I’ve done them during the final years of my parents’ lives when I was involved with their care and after their deaths when I was in the early phases of grief.
This situation feels different, though. While my brain was working differently when I was highly stressed or grieving, I still recognized what was happening in my head. The brain fog is more difficult. I need to divert part of my attention to processing what I see and hear and to how I move in order to keep my balance. My thoughts are slowed down and I easily lose my train of thought. I’m accustomed to mulling poems in my head before I sit down to write but it’s rare now that my brain has the power to generate a creative seed and allow it to germinate.
I think part of me is afraid that this state is my “new normal.” Without a diagnosis, treatment is elusive. We are working on that but it’s frustrating that I don’t have my accustomed level of mental acuity to bring to the process.
I’m also sad that I haven’t been able to workshop poems for months here with the Grapevine Poets and that will continue this week with BHPC. I miss seeing others’ work in progress and hearing the discussion about possible revisions. It’s a reciprocal relationship among the poets and very valuable for someone like me who came to poetry later in life without formal training in craft. I miss being able to do it, even though I always feel that I get more than I’m able to give in feedback to others.
As you can see from the graphic on this post, we will be doing a public reading on Wednesday, October 9 at 7 PM at the Bear & Bee Bookshop. I am determined to do that as well as I can. I am reading first when I’m most likely to have the needed energy. I chose poems and wrote out the welcome remarks I need to make so that I don’t babble or forget what I need to say. I haven’t practiced as much as I probably ought to have but will make sure to do at least a couple of run-throughs before Wednesady evening.
You may be asking why on earth I am still trying to do the residency in my compromised state. I am committed to the Boiler House Poets Collective and my current role as liaison to The Studios. Still, I wouldn’t be able to do this were it not for my trust in the BHPC members. Last year, we planned for members to take on different aspects of organizing the residency and everyone has stepped up to do their part and more. I am able to carpool with my local BHPC members so I don’t have to drive. I know that any of them will be willing to give me a hand, perhaps literally if I need it to help with my balance. I absolutely could not do this without their support and I appreciate it.
I’ll try to get some posts in from the residency to let you know how things are going. Prose is generally easier for me to write than poetry so maybe that will work out. Maybe not.
Early this morning, I sent out a couple of (hopelessly above my level) submissions of my revised, full-length poetry collection, which centers on the North Adams, Massachusetts area.
I had mentioned in my National Poetry Month wrap-up that I would be working on revisions after feedback from April Ossmann. Unfortunately, my revision work got sidetracked by my still-mysterious medical condition, but I’ve been chipping away at it on days when my brain fog allows. It’s been difficult for me not to be able to workshop some of the revisions with my Grapevine Poets friends, but I decided the manuscript had been out of circulation for more than long enough that I had to skip this step.
I sent it today to a couple of places that were closing at the end of the month. They are not on my list of target publishers but are places that I want to support. If I’m going to send them money, I might as well send my manuscript rather than just a donation.
I’ll try to send out some more submissions soon. I will continue to sneak in some more revisions, too, especially if I can manage to get enough energy back to be able to workshop again.
Yes, it’s been over a month since I returned home from the Boiler House Poets Collective residency with The Studios at MASS MoCA (Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Arts) in North Adams but I am finally getting around to a wrap-up post. I did post a couple of times during the residency, about Marika Maijala and our reading at the Bear & Bee Bookshop, although that was a far cry from most of our years in residence when I would post daily. Things were very busy, so posting took a back seat and this past month has been loaded with other commitments, such as the launch of the Third Act Upstate New York working group and the first concert of the Madrigal Choir of Binghamton’s 45th anniversary season. I also needed time to reflect on the residency and what it meant for the future of the Boiler House Poets Collective.
Until this year, the Boiler House Poets Collective reunion residencies had always had at least half of the participants being members of the original group that met in 2015 as the first group of poets in residence brought together in a collaboration between Jeffrey Levine of Tupelo Press and The Studios at MASS MoCA. For 2023, the number of participants went from eight to ten, with only myself and Kyle Laws planning to return in 2023. (Sadly, last-minute health complications prevented Kyle from joining us, so I was the lone “original” in 2023. I’m hoping to have this be a one-time occurrence.)
I had inherited the role of liaison with The Studios but also wound up acting as an organizer for this year of transition. I was determined to assemble a full complement of ten and to provide for all the elements that had been part of past residencies, including studio time, museum visits, daily workshopping, a group project, a public reading, and discussion/social time (often accompanied by food and drink). Because, in prior years, we had always had a core of originals, adding in new participants from among our poet-friends as slots became available, we hadn’t felt called to define who we were as a group. I thought, at this juncture, we needed to be more intentional about our identity and our goals. I let people know that we would be having an organizational meeting near the end of the residency to talk about what was important to us and what our plans would be going forward.
I admit that I was really nervous about how things would work out with so many people who had never met each other. For the first time, we had a member who was not herself a poet. In 2022, the BHPC residency overlapped with the residency of Nancy Edelstein, whose work centers around light. With that inspiration, I had designed our group project around the theme of light, inviting each person to contribute work that had to do with light. I had expected a group of poems but the amazing thing was that people began to notice light in new ways. One of our members was inspired to take photographs showcasing light and shadow. We were able to share our light-themed work with each other. It’s not yet clear whether or not we will produce some conglomeration of these that is shareable with the public. If we do, I’ll be sure to share it here.
Another thing that was new for BHPC this year was that we workshopped some pieces that were not poetry, including an essay, scene from a play, and excerpt of a radio play. It was interesting to expand our literary horizons. While we expect to remain grounded in poetry, it’s good to have that flexibility to serve our members’ needs.
I felt that the group had a good vibe from the time of our opening night dinner when we were first together but I was nervous for our organizational meeting when people would be assessing how things had gone and if they wanted to return in 2024. I was thrilled – and a bit teary – when all but one person immediately said they wanted to return next year; the remaining person hopes to but lives across the country, creating a lot more complications than those of us within easy driving distance. People enthusiastically volunteered for organizational roles, including inventing some duties I would never have thought of on my own, so that I will be able to concentrate on just doing the liaison role. I even have a deputy who is shadowing me and can take over if I’m sidelined for any reason. This new constellation has embraced being a collective in a wonderful way and I am immensely grateful.
On a personal level, I appreciated how supportive people were of my work. As regular readers here at Top of JC’s Mind may recall, I grew up in the North Adams area and have two manuscripts, a full-length and a chapbook, that I am submitting to presses and contests. I’m at a crossroads with the full-length collection. I have a contract offer from a hybrid publisher but I’m not sure that is the way I want to go. One day over lunch, people were listening to my concerns and offering suggestions, which were very helpful and have led to my scheduling a manuscript consultation with a professional editor next month. I’m hoping that will help me clarify the path I need to pursue.
I also appreciated that people took my work seriously. One of the poets said that my poems were important in preserving the history of the area. That was so gratifying to me, even though I seldom dare to think in those terms. I do think about those poems as being ones that only I would write, given my perspective as someone who grew up there but that has lived elsewhere most of my adult life. It’s a sort of inside/outside perspective that would be difficult to replicate in quite the same way. I don’t tend to think that my following the dictum to “write what you know” would seem important to someone else, so it was nice to hear. It makes my search for a publisher and my wish to have the book be as strong as possible feel more weighty.
So, I have joyfully marked the dates for the 2024 Boiler House Poets Collective residency on my calendar for next October. I’m looking forward to being among this remarkable group of women again, but I’m also grateful to know that, if something happens that prevents me from being there, the group will go on without me.
Please join members of the ’23 Boiler House Poets Collective for a reading 11 AM Saturday, September 30 at The Bear & Bee Bookshop, Holden Street, North Adams MA (in person only).
My poem “Grandpa’s pipe smoke lingers on the stoop” has just been published in Issue 3.2 of The Purposeful Mayonnaise, a Canadian-based bimonthly literary and art journal-platform. The theme for this issue is “Home.” It’s available for free download at the link above. Make sure to view all the amazing art and writing, including an interview!
My poem is part of my currently unpublished full-length collection that centers around the North Adams area and my family’s experiences there. I wrote it during the 2019 Boiler House Poets Collective residency at The Studios at MASS MoCA.
Its original title was “122 State Street.” For those of you who know North Adams and who would like to be oriented physically, the location is right before heading over Hadley Overpass toward Main Street.
This poem is about my maternal grandparents’ home when I was in the lower grades of primary school, over fifty years ago now. Remember that your comments are always welcome here at Top of JC’s Mind.
My apologies for the infrequent posts as of late. There has been a string of important events and I haven’t had much time/brain for posting, but I did want to get the word out that I am back at The Studios at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (MASS MoCA) for the annual reunion residency of the Boiler House Poets Collective.
We have three first-time members joining us this year and there have been some renovations at the Studios. With ever-evolving COVID protocols in addition, things feel somehow new as we make our way together, taking the opportunity to re-vamp our usual routine.
I’m very excited that we will be doing our first public reading in several years on Friday, October 14, 2022 at 4 PM at the Artist Book Foundation in North Adams. If you are in the area, come join us for a sampler of the work of eight members of the Boiler House Poets Collective!
Today is the last full day of the Boiler House Poets Collective reunion residency for 2021. It’s always amazing to be back here at MASS MoCA together but the experience is heightened after having to cancel because of COVID last year.
I am in the same studio as I was in the Tupelo Press workshop/residency that first brought us together in 2015. As I was looking back at my blog to get the exact dates of that residency, I decided to re-visit all the posts from back then. I was surprised that I processed as much as I did at the time, while realizing how much I had downplayed the amount of confusion and fear I was feeling.
If anyone is so moved to join me in this walk down memory lane, the posts start here.
On July tenth, there was a rare island of normalcy.
Or an almost normal version of a rare event.
I participated in a live poetry reading in conjunction with the Empty the Inkpots exhibit at the Vestal Museum. The reading was part of the Summer Art Festival, a collaboration of the Museum and the Vestal Public Library. Several of the poets from the Binghamton Poetry Project who have work included in Empty the Inkpots read from the stage/deck at the Museum with the audience arrayed in scattered chairs and benches and on the lawn. It was the first time in many months that I have participated in a live-and-in-person poetry reading. It had been even longer since I had had to read with a microphone. The amplification was useful because the museum is near a busy roadway.
I chose not to read the poem I had on display, which is about the early months of the pandemic; it is available at the link above. Instead, I read three poems from my manuscript about the North Adams, Massachusetts where I grew up. “Conveyance” appeared in the spring 2021 anthology of the Binghamton Poetry Project. The other two poems, “North Adams Public Library” and “Monroe Bridge Mail”, are currently unpublished so I won’t share them here.
I was very happy with the reading on a number of counts. First, there were people in the audience who came at my invitation, including one who saw my Facebook announcement of the event. Second, though I was nervous before, I was reasonably comfortable during the reading, even managing the microphone adjustment without much trouble. Third, the reading was well-appreciated by our audience. We had six poets, with diverse styles and viewpoints, represented. We read in alphabetical order. Uncharacteristically, I was not first, which was helpful for me. I like to read early in the order, but I’m better at reading second than first. I was also grateful that the most experienced poet and performer was last as it gave a strong finish to event. No one should have to follow J. Barrett Wolf at a reading!
Lastly, I was pleased to receive personal compliments after the reading from family and friends, some of whom are also poets. What was most heart-warming was that a woman that I did not know came up to me afterward and told me how much she enjoyed my poems and asked where she could find my work. Of course, I don’t have any books of my own out, but I was able to give her my paper copies of my poems, which included my bio for the exhibit and the address for Top of JC’s Mind.
The reading was an island of normalcy not only because of the pandemic but also because most of my time these days has been wrapped up in dealing with the care of my 96-year-old dad who is currently in a rehab/skilled nursing facility after a fall and ensuing complications. It’s why it has taken me so long to post about the reading.
It’s also why, for the first time in years, I am not registered for the current sessions of the Binghamton Poetry Project. I am usually visiting my father in the early evenings. Even if another family member is available to visit, I can’t predict if I will have any creativity/brainpower left late in the day.
It’s made the reading that much more important as a reminder that my poetry life is still there, waiting for me to go back to it when things are more settled.
Joanne Corey 