Happy National Poetry Month. I want to share poems this month because April is National Poetry Month. We need poems, words, and art more than ever during these challenging times. Onward!
Below is a story (and a poem to follow) from 2011, when I was in Key West for a writing conference and fell in love with Billy Collins’ words.
I hope you are well and in great company. Feel free to hit reply to respond privately. Let me know what’s going on in your world. I’d love to hear from you.
Maureen xo
FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY AND ON BEING HUMAN
I had the privilege to see Billy Collins perform on stage. The year was 2011. I attended the Key West Literary Society conference, and Collins was a visiting speaker. I sat mesmerized in the front row of the gorgeous historical Cuban heritage center, San Carlos Institute, as Collins read “The Fish.” This humorous anecdotal poem is not his most famous, but it was a Food conference, and the content fit. Note: Anyone who knows me knows that title alone was enough to hook me (and if you’re new here or to my world, I was a freelance seafood writer and an aspiring salmon cookbook author during that time). But the thing is, it wasn’t just the poem's title; Collins was a dry, funny yet stark orator—an eclectic combination for sure. That’s what I want to do, I remember thinking. Then, in the third line of the third stanza, he referenced my hometown of Pittsburgh, and I entered the crush stage.
Larry and I wandered through Bahama Village to Santiago’s Bodega a few days later. Collins was at a two-top with a friend (did he order fish?), and I nearly fangirled him like a teenager would rush Taylor at a Swifty concert. But I was no teenager, and Larry encouraged me to hold back and let the man eat his meal. I conceded. You see, I’d approached Judith Jones and Madhur Jaffrey at Joe’s Coffee earlier in the week. I’d bought Jaffrey’s book, At Home with Madhur Jaffrey: Simple, Delectable Dishes from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka, A Cookbook, but missed her cookbook signing. I wanted to say hello and let her know I was excited to try some of her recipes. Approaching felt daunting. Jaffrey was a gorgeous and accomplished chef and author. She wore a brightly-colored blouse that bounced off her creamy cappuccino skin and chocolate-colored hair. Jones was a legend in publishing at Knopf. She rescued The Diary of Anne Frank from the reject pile and championed Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. For decades, she was a tiny, bird-like woman with an infallible, powerful reputation as a top editor at Knopf.
I was a boisterous forty-something hopped up on caffeine. My brain said, Do it, do it, do it. What can go wrong? I slid off my counter stool, strode to the table, cleared my throat, and said “Hi!” my voice croaked.
I was met with steely eyes that said How dare you interrupt us?
They nodded.
I muttered something about the book then backed off, stunned and humiliated. What was that?
Looking back, I recognize my impetuous nature and intrusion into a private conversation. Especially over coffee in the morning. I ran a coffee shop for ten years; I know exactly how people can be over their cuppa.
I don’t know if Collins would’ve dissed me over tapas and wine as the women did, but my ego said otherwise. As Larry and I nibbled on appetizers, I sized Collins up, but not stalker-like. More like stealing glances, imagining his process. Collins seemed busy in his head, committing the scene to memory—roosters squawking near the front door entrance, the dark wood walls, the air perfumed with olive oil and garlic.
One of my favorite poetry books is Aimless Love by two-term Poet Laureate Billy Collins. I admire his wit and approach; his voice is casual and observational. There’s an everydayness to his poems that strikes me as approachable regarding how I want to read and write poems. It’s a book I read when I have a few minutes in the early morning with my coffee. To learn how to write poems, I also reference Tania Runyan’s craft book How to Write a Poem: Based on the Billy Collins Poem “Introduction to Poetry.”
I decided to try to emulate, or maybe mirror is a better term, his poem “Report from the Subtropics,” found in Aimless Love. I followed Collins’ structure and cadence, replacing his words with mine. It’s not an unusual method for learning to be a better writer, but let me know your thoughts.
Dispatch from Western Kentucky
For starters, there’s no more ice
to examine on the sill from a morning window in my office.
And no salt to scrap off the bottoms of my boots
stubbornly stuck in the treads where you pick the crystals out with a holly bush twig.
And once inside, no infernal blast rises through the floor vents
like a hungry ghost devouring its ration of energy.
No icicles to study
dripping from the gutters.
No blanket to swaddle around my shoulders
while I wait for my honey lavender tea to steep.
Instead, I pad across the cool tile floors
in flowing, soft cotton dresses devoid of tags, belts, or buttons,
announcing freedom.
The morning sun greets from the east side of the house
blessing the dewy herbs.
Then bakes the brown shingles that complement the pale rose bricks
lined up and stacked like soldiers.
A protective fortress.
Then, the sun drops behind the tree canopy, a whisper of relief.
But the birds with their red feathers.
All they do is dart to and fro, in and out of the green landscape
awaiting the seed, they know I’ll provide.
But as I open the back door they flee in a flash
as if they knew all along
my insecurities and the name of my first heartbreak.
Stay curious. Stay safe. Make an impact.
Love the poem, my friend! You make me want to get back into poetry.