Poetry of Resilience: The Asheville Wordfest

"After A-bomb dropping, all the trees and grass were burned. In the atomic ruins one tree sprouted. Green, green leaves. People were encouraged to survive."

Yasuhiko Shigemoto from the film, "The Poetry of Resilience"

Finally, I come to the end of what I lovingly, tongue in cheek, call my book tour. The time for retreat was over and the time to participate in the Asheville Wordfest had arrived. The first evening I attended a documentary called "The Day Carl Sandburg Died" by Asheville film-maker, Paul Bonesteel. The film was a great way to start Wordfest. I was, of course, familiar with Sandburg's work. I had visited his last home, Connamera, in Flat Rock, NC many times when I lived in Asheville. It's a beautiful spot for contemplation, reading poetry, writing.

Yet, when I watched the film, I realized how little I really knew about the man, the poet, the activist who was in many ways, a more modern version of Walt Whitman. He wrote and fought for the working man all his life. His love for the everyday American trying to get by through two World Wars and the Depression was evident in Bonesteel's film and the poetry and words that he used to highlight Sandburg and his work. It was a fine way to start a NC poetry festival. I recommend "The Day Carl Sandburg Died" to everyone who has loved his poetry and books, or wants to familiarize themselves with how poets are a necessary part of the change that needs to continue happening in America; indeed, in the world.

On Wednesday, I was delighted to hear my friend and fellow poet (and musician) Keith Flynn play with his Holy Men at a reception for the arriving poets and writers. He and Quincy Troupe perform in a combination of wonderfully wild music and poetry that is a delight to sit back and enjoy. Keith is also editor of the Asheville Poetry Review and has several incredible books of poetry published, as well as CD's available to the public.

Thursday night's feature was another film called "The Poetry of Resilience." These poets were true survivors: of the Holocaust, of Rwanda, China, and the Middle East, including Iran and Iraq. Exiles from their own countries, these brave poets write of their time in prison, of the incredible losses they have suffered and survived, of their need to write, read, and tell their stories in hopes that those listening will help them change the brutality of a world and her peoples constantly at war. This was both a disturbing and inspiring film; not for the faint of heart but made for hearts with the courage to speak out against oppression and needless aggression. Academy award-nominated, "Poetry of Resilience" is a film for all peacemakers and poets and should not be missed.

(Poets, writers, friends: Mendy Knott, Jan (Redboots) Barnett, Britt Kaufmann, Kam Parker.)

I read on Friday alongside my friend, Britt Kauffman, who had graciously taken my place as host of Eve's Night Out, an open mic celebrating women's voices, when I left WNC for Arkansas. Britt's new chapbook, "Belonging," is beautifully written and is a heart opening journey through motherhood, childhood, and gardens. I highly recommend it.

A young poet named Luke Hankins shared the stage, as well. His poetry was some of the most thought-provoking I had heard in a long time. The poetry speaks of personal struggle with God and the understanding of God expressed in language I've certainly never heard a young man deliver with such doubt and joy in spirituality. I felt as if I'd been in prayer for 30 minutes, in the presence of a troubled, yet holy monk. Beautiful!

My reading went well, and I saw many writing friends I had not seen in ages. It was a reunion of poets and writers, lovers of the word and peaceful activists for change. They understood the word "resilience" and in fact, practiced it in their own lives as well as in their work. I felt so grateful and honored to be a part, to have been invited to participate by the beautiful, determined poetic soul that is Laura Hope-Gill, the woman who initiated and runs the Asheville Wordfest. I was welcomed and even thanked for the part I had played in jump-starting the creative spirit in some of the writers present. Nothing feels better than that kind of praise because its value is so visible in the faces and words of those women who share their hearts' work with their communities.

Friday night features included Brian Turner, author of "Here, Bullet," his book of poems that includes one entitled "The Hurt Locker" from which the film took its name. Holly Iglesius and Paul Guest were also featured readers. Saturday was devoted to creativity in families and they gathered near Pack Square and at Spellbound Children's Bookshop to write and paint, scavenger hunt and poetry slam. That night at the YMI Cultural Center, world-renowned poet, Linda Hogan took the stage. There were many more poets, youth slams, and open mic readings; too many for me to attend them all. It's a jam-packed event and almost everything, and I mean everything except the films, was free and open to the public.

It's a beautiful event in a beautiful part of the country filled with fabulous poets and people who care about the Earth, about peace, about nature and kids and truth and justice. You can easily plan your spring vacation getaway around the Asheville Wordfest and you won't go wrong. One day, I hope to be invited back as a participant, but until then I will plan my visits around these 5 days and nights of inspiration and celebration. Go to www.Ashevillewordfest.com to learn more about this event.

(Top Photo via Flickr.com)

Writers Can Go Home Again

Writers are often battered with quotes from well-meaning teachers trying to protect their sensitive egos. "A prophet (or writer) in their own home will never be understood." That one may have more than a grain of truth to it. Another one (and this one-liner is widely dispersed among young adults everywhere) is "You can't go home again." This is simply not the case. You can always go home again, but you must be prepared for the fact that you won't be the same person who left. Your perceptions and how you experience what is now your past have changed. If you are a creative, it's even more likely that you have changed faster than the place you called, or call, home.

I encourage writers to go home again if for no other reason than to quicken the pulse of memory. During my retreat time in Asheville, my home for over 13 years, I drove my little Corolla down to Burnsville and out along the South Toe River where I used to live. Spring in those old Black Mountains is breathtaking. The familiar curvy two-lanes, the swinging bridge, and the Toe River brought back so many memories of being newly in love, buying our first house together, planting the first small garden in rich river valley soil. I could still feel the ice cold currents of the river at my waist where I caught rainbows, browns and brookies on a fly rod.

I drove up Merry Bear Lane, a small drive Leigh and I named, to get a glimpse of our old home. I ignored the "No Trespassing" sign because I just had to have a look. Do not try this at home. Depending on where you lived, you could be badly bitten, or worse, shot. But I knew the same neighbors lived there and would recognize me, so I crept up just enough to see the house. There it was, the cabin we had turned into a cottage, the chicken house we built together. All the trees we'd planted were so much larger now than I remembered. The Pisgah National Forest rose behind the little house to a peak I once would climb to get a view of hazy blue mountains. When one of my old neighbors walked out of what had once been our home, I felt my heart wrench in my chest. Yes, they had bought it some time ago.

I won't say that it's not painful to go home again. It can be. We must foster the attitude that we have moved on. I know, for instance, that what I once had is not worth trading for what I now have. One is no better than the other--it is, after all, one creative life and that life in its entirety belongs to us alone. Don't compartmentalize your experience of it. Every place we've called home has played its part in making us who we are today. As Janis Joplin once said, "It's all the same f---ing day, man." It's all one life. Make of it what you will.

I finished my day with a long drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway. If you've never made this drive, with someone or alone, you must put it on your bucket list. Drive it on a weekday, before school lets out for summer. Drive slowly, stop often, snap some pictures. Write a haiku or two at the pull-offs as you look over that wondrous beauty. There is nowhere like it in the world. That can be said of every place, I reckon. The Blue Ridge is just one of many. However, if you crave the colors blue and green and giants that somehow remind you of the great breasts of the Mother who feeds us all, you don't want to miss the ride. It's a treat, a retreat, you will never forget.

I know some people who never look back. For me, there is a bittersweet beauty in seeing it all again. Revisiting and remembering allows me to savor who I've been and all that I have loved before. Besides, I'm not done writing about it yet. The pages of my life may have turned but my memoir remains unfinished. Until then, I need these real time reminders. They show me how I came to be where I am and remind me once again that wherever my heart is, there is home.