This is how it's done

In the '80s, I moved to New York to be a modern dancer, and (almost) every morning, I took a ballet class from Jocelyn Lorenz. While I stood at the barre next to Gina Gibney or floundered across the floor, I was surrounded by people who danced for Twyla Tharp, Mark Morris, Merce Cunningham, Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane, and others.

As much as Jocelyn taught me—and that was a lot—I realized that I could also learn a lot just by watching these other dancers. Translating what I saw into my body was rarely accomplished, but at least I could see, up close, how dance was done when it was done really well.

Last night, I went to the Floating Bridge Review gala launch reading—what a wonderful night! Many poets read--two poems each, one from the Review and one free choice. The result was an evening packed with powerful poetry—and a lot of humor. I was in awe—inspired, but also increasingly filled with doubt when surrounded by so much poetry prowess.

I walked out feeling—yes, still inspired—but also kind of like a hack, like I didn't even know where to start. Then I remembered watching Rob Besserer in Jocelyn's class. At the reading, I'd seen and heard how it's done. I can learn and grow from that. Now, to write.

Tomorrow night! More about "Till We Wake"

Friday night and Saturday night you can still see "Till We Wake" at the Dairy, if you happen to be in the Boulder area. And if you happen to be in the Boulder area, I highly recommend the performance.

It's so layered and textured that I haven't done a good job of explaining it. I feel like I'm still immersed in it.

But a couple of reviews are in, one from Denver Arts and one from World Dance Reviews.

P.S. While I was watching, I suddenly felt that the "you" in the poem was not a lover but was the muse, and then I wondered why I hadn't thought of it in that way before.

Whirlwind weekend in Boulder

I went to Boulder to see Till We Wake, a dance performance incorporating text of T.S. Eliot's poem "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock." I really wanted to see this dance, and my friend Eliza was performing in it, so I got on a plane, flew to Denver, and drove up to Boulder. (If you know me, you know this is not quite normal—but it was amazing!)

When I arrived in Boulder, it was gray and cold and spitting rain. I'd been warned so I brought warm black turtlenecks—and one fancy dress (okay, not entirely practical—but if you're going to fly in for one night to attend a performance, you might as well do it up at least a little bit).

Here is the theatre space where the performance took place.

Here is the marquis.

The Dairy includes a lot of visual art space, including a hallway lined with pictures of photographers. No lie! When you walk through the hallway, their cameras follow you. Their whole bodies follow you. How does the brain do that?*

Sunday, the mountains began to emerge from the clouds.

We took a quick drive up to Chataqua to see the Flatirons.

I had thought that the dance was about Eliot's poem. It was, and so much more. The poem was the scaffolding on which the choreographer explored themes of history and now, the transition from the Belle Epoch to Post World War I and the change in our understanding of the world and of our elected leaders after September 11, 2001. It covered birth and pain and healing and solitude and solace.

I could feel the dance happening inside me. I could feel the words inside me.

It was amazing.

*Loren Donner, Blind Act

Movement poetry

If you're in Seattle on July 17th, 18th, or 19th and want to see some dance, head to the Leo Kreielsheimer Theatre at the Bagley Wright for performances at 8:00 PM.

A woman in my dance class handed me this flier because her son will be performing in many (most) of the dances. I've seen him dance, and it's definitely worth the price of admission.

He came to dance class with his mom while he was on break from Julliard, and watching him was amazing. I felt like it opened a door for me, showed me This is what dance can be, and inspired me to work toward that.

It reminded me of my dance studying days in New York, when I took ballet class alongside dancers from big, famous companies—dancers from Merce Cunningham's company, Twyla Tharp's company, and Mark Morris, to name-drop a few.

Just by being there and watching, I could learn so much. (I couldn't ever do it, but I could at least see how to try.)

I feel the same way going to poetry readings or reading the work of different poets. Sometimes, I read a book of poems and really like it. But why? It's showing me something—but what? Now I'm seeing what poetry can be, and I need to figure out why.

Right now, I'm reading Tracy K. Smith's The Body's Question for the second or third time. It's showing me a new side, or a new depth, of poetry, another way of thinking and writing. Do I need to put my finger on it? I don't know, but I think it will help. I'm trying.

Stay tuned.

Cultural crosstraining

What a weekend! It was all happening: Runners at Green Lake picking up their pink T-shirts, each with a poem on the back, and my friend Bonnie standing at the path encouraging them to participate.

"Runners, get a T-shirt. They're free. They have a poem on the back! Support your local poets."

At this point, I would chime in.

"Get a free T-shirt. It's pink!"

The morning was blustery, the wind was gusting, and we had fun.

That was my outdoor break in between reading poems on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon at Deborah Birrane's benefit dance performance. I was able to watch her dance during tech rehearsal on Friday night—and she danced beautifully. Each concert included mingling, complete with sparkling wine, the dance and poetry performance, a question-and-answer session, and then a reception with Italian wines paired with foods.

Feasts for everyone!

During the Q & A, in response to a question about where dance might be going in the next 30 years, Deborah talked about grass-roots efforts to bring dance to people and make it accessible—easier for people to enjoy.

I thought about that and how it relates to poetry. It seems like it's easy for us poets to feel kind of marginalized by society, or by popular culture. How do we bring poetry to everyone?

I think that Ted Kooser's poem of the week probably helped, plus poems on the bus, poems in public art, artists in the schools. I think the Running Poets of Green Lake was a fabulous and creative example of how to weave poetry into the comfortable fabric of people's lives.

Is poetry supposed to be comfortable? Not always, but I think you have to start somewhere.

What do you think?