Day 7 dawned bright and early and with a few butterflies in the tummy as I headed off to have my poems critiqued. We ended up working on the ghost story and the robin–both works that were in need of revising. It appears that my more imagist tendencies were less successful than my narrative inclinations. The good news is that whatever it is that I have, people want more of it and less compression. I wanted to comment that folks that know me well know that I’m really good at tamping stuff down; in other words, I was playing to strengths, etc. So now, it looks like the ghost story may get transformed into multiple poems of greater depth–or a long poem in sections. Folks seemed to think that the robin poem focused too much on the earthworm. Not sure about that, but I do agree that there needs to be more set-up for the money shot as they say in the movie bizz.

Nicest compliment I received this week: “You really don’t have a book out?”
Biggest kick in the kiester I received this week: “Really? You don’t have a book out?”

Spent the afternoon pre-packing and figuring out how to get all the books I purchased into the luggage. I was quite concerned about the weight of my checked bag, but it turns out I needn’t have worried. On Sunday when I checked in, the bag only weighed 38 lbs; I could have stuffed 12 more pounds in there!

The evening started off with a bang. I won 3 cans of Alaskan Salmon in the silent auction. These aren’t just any salmon. These are salmon caught by the Fields family of Kodiak. Leslie Leyland-Fields teaches in the Seattle Pacific MFA program and has written several books about life in Alaska as well as a book on surprise pregnancies and her latest book on parenting myths that trap us in guilt. The first night I was home, we made the salmon fettucini recipe on the can, and it was tasty.

After standing in line for 40 minutes to pay for my salmon–which included a satisfying moment when I learned that Linford Dettweiler of Over the Rhine who had earlier DOUBLED my bid for a Barry Moser print was himself outbid on that print at the last minute (I have a habit of getting into bidding wars with folk singers)–we settled in for the evening’s concert by Over the Rhine which was sublime. I only cursed my choice of camera lens once, near the end of the show when Karin serenaded birthday boy Greg Wolfe with a Monroe-esque “Happy Birthday, Mr. Editor” (at the request of Wolfe’s wife) and then Julie Mullins danced a fond farewell in her tap shoes. The worship service and annointing that followed were as deeply moving as they have ever been.

Then it was on to the reception where there was hymn singing, hugging, and general farewell-ing. On Sunday morning, after breakfast, I climbed into Bob and Lori’s truck and headed off to an uneventful day of travel home.

After a restful (very late) day, it’s back to action. The morning workshop was back to its by-now expected energy and support. In the afternoon, Bob and I headed out to Arroyo Chamisos DGC for a round of disc golf. After a rough start, I pulled it together and shot a -4. The key: put the driver away, tee off with the midrange. The thin air made the driver way, way overstable while making the Roc stable enough to handle full-on driving power.

Marilyn Nelson provided the evening reading, and she was fantastic. Through no fault of her own, her portion of the evening started almost an hour late, but no one wanted her to stop. In fact, the last question of the Q&A period was a request for an encore poem.

Tomorrow is the day I get critiqued.

Without a car, I had no plans for free day. However, as often happens at the Glen, a wave of communal energy swept me up into a group headed to the International Folk Art Museum on Museum Hill. Since the museum doesn’t allow pics inside the galleries, there’s no images to share. I can say that there was a fantastic exhibit on shadow puppets, and the Girard Collection will surely blow your mind. One of the items that still sticks in my mind is a carved wood Madonna and Child that looks all the world like a representation of Siamese twins.

After a morning at the museum, we headed to the Blue Corn Cafe and Brewery for a wonderful lunch and shelter from a hail storm that dumped 3/4 inch hail. The group then split up. I joined Bob and Lori on tours of the Loretto Chapel and St. Francis Basilica.

The evening was once again filled by the Thomas Parker Society, which seemed to thoroughly enjoy my offerings from Fox and Mask.

Today was definitely overload day. After another energetic and fulfilling morning of workshopping, I ended lunch by having a long conversation with the workshop leader, Marilyn Nelson. In the afternoon, I imbibed the bracing words of Barry Moser who, among other things, challenged us to give up the label “artist” and refer to ourselves by what it is that we do: painter, potter, writer, etc. Then it was a fascinating supper conversation with two Wheton faculty in which we talked about self-censorship and the work needed to address issues of “propriety” on a campus such as theirs. The evening was spent being stunned and delighted by a lecture by memoirist Lauren Winner. I can’t hope to adquately summarize a lecture that incorporated Paul, Hamlet, and Mr. Putter to examine Writing and Prayer. What I can do is repeat the idea that when Paul was praying in the jail cell, he wasn’t praying for a jail break; he wasn’t asking God to enter his story. Paul was praying to enter God’s story.

Amidst all this, my package of ales arrived. When I picked it up, I thought I smelt a whiff of something I shouldn’t. The package looked a bit worn. When I got it to my room, my fears escalated when upon opening the carton and the trash bag inside, I saw that the interior carton was soggy. Fortunately, there was only one fatality out of 12, and my careful packing meant that the damage was contained.

Tomorrow is the free day, and I have various ideas of what I am going to do, but no solid plans. We shall see.

Good night, lightning. Good night, thunder. Good night, window blinds that bang against the pane.

Into the groove. More workshopping. (this is a clapping group. rather odd.) More reading. Heard Valerie Sayers read a fantastic story about baseball. Ate more food. Pondered the reasons why God sends people to talk to me whom He knows annoy me. Continued work on combover poem. It’s very late, and my brain is now empty; the result of using it all day.

“Poets make the best killers.”

At least, that’s what Marilyn Nelson reported Tom Clancy saying in a workshop she had with him. Not sure what he meant by that, but it was an interesting comment on the first day of work on poems. We spent some good time on William Meredith’s “Jain Bird Hospital in Delhi” in which Meredith opens up the sestina form with some fascinating modifications of the repeated end words. One interesting string: prey / victims / pray / quarry. Another thought provoking thought was the transposition of the words “ahisma” and “nonviolence”, a move which highlights not only the inherent violence of any language translation but also the paradox of our English language to require the inclusion of “violence” to name the absence of it.

Of the many comments made through the discussion of the work of two poets, I was struck most by the idea that an event–in the case of our discussion, especially a painful or negative event–is an opportunity or a doorway through which to explore our experience. Rather than fixating on the wrong, the wrong is redeemed. Wondering how to make that real in my work.

After an afternoon of reading, commenting, and conversing, the evening session began with Greg Wolfe presenting his opening remarks which were meant to be given last night. The theme of this year’s workshop is “Fully Human.” Wolfe focused on the insidious Gnosticism that pervades our conception of God, beginning with this response to gnosticism by 2nd century theologian Irenaeus: The Glory of God is the human fully alive. Wolfe also raised the idea that we Christians often see the Incarnation as God DESCENDING to our level but the early church fathers saw the Incarnation rather as humanity being rasied/taken up into the Godhead. Now assume the ponder position.

The keynote address was delivered by Andy Crouch, author of a book with an interesting premise but which I have not read called Culture Making. He asked the squirming like an ant under a magnifying glass question, “Why are we not the creators we are meant to be?” Crouch offered 5 possibilities:

1. Distraction
2. Creativity is hard
3. A misguided egalitarian ethos in the church. (NOTE: He was not referring to egalitarianism as it refers to gender. Rather, an unwillingness to acknowledge excellence, to acknowledge that some people are simply better at some things than other people.
4. Fear of failure
5. The costliness of love

Obviously there were explanations and examples to flesh out this outline. I was struck, however, by Crouch’s reference to Paul in relation to the costliness of love. In 1 Thessalonians 2:8, Paul writes “So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us.” The loving presentation of the Gospel is not just a sharing of the gospel but also the sharing of the humanity of the sharer. Again, you may now assume the ponder position.

And I, I am going to begin a poem about a combover.

Year 7 of Todd’s Glen experience. Had an uneventful travel day. The relationships built up over the past six years means that the first day is not the terrifying wandering about amidst strangers but rather it is a delightful discovery of which friends have been able to make it back.

At the opening remarks, it seemed that there were a very large number of new people, which bodes well for the program and for keeping things fresh. For the first time that I remember, there were some somber moments during the opening session as three Glen alum passed away this year, and we remembered them.

As of the evening session, the instructor for my poetry track had not yet arrived. Hopefully the weather in Dallas will clear in time for her to make it here and get some rest before the hard work starts tomorrow morning.

One evil deed missed is a loss for all eternity.
–Grendel

Before Wicked turned Oz on it’s head and explored the life and times of the West’s wickedest witch, there was John Gardner’s Grendel. The 1971 novel by America’s moral fictionist delves into the mind and life of English literature’s earliest monster.

It’s not an easy task. Whereas Gregory Maguire was tackling an essentially human character and writing in a time when pop-psychology family dynamics provide all sorts of explanations as to why the Wicked Witch is so wicked, Gardner tackles a creature only presented as a monster, an animal, a force to be defeated. Interestingly, the one human element provided Gardner by Beowulf is one he discards: Grendel’s mother. She becomes a doddering, dementia-ridden, voiceless, creeping thing in the cave that Grendel finally sets “aside–gently, picking her up by the armpits as I would a child” (158). It’s a sad commentary that the recent Beowulf film adaptation did more of interest with Grendel’s mother than Gardner. To be fair, cast as a first-person narrative, Grendel’s story neccessarily ends before Grendel’s mother really becomes a force in the tale. But the jump from demented hair pile to vengeful she-beast seems a bit much to believe in Gardner’s telling.

Nihil ex nihilo, I always say.
–Grendel

If, as Wikipedia asserts, Gardner was weary of contemporary authors indulging in “‘winking, mugging despair’ or trendy nihilism”, what then does he bring to Grendel? Perhaps it’s a non-trendy nihilism. Or, perhaps, Gardner’s portrait of Grendel is his portrait of contemporary writing: there is no real heroism, there is only power; the self is only defined in pushing against the not-me. Throughout the novel, Grendel seems to ask what it is he is here on earth for, but never really engages in any true searching. His early stumbling attempts at interacting with humans are met with hostility, so he quickly abandons that avenue. The rest of his life therefore becomes a wallowing in a naturalistic, materialistic hell. Is it because of his reception? Is it because of a lack of intelligence?

Whether Gardner is shackled by the source material or a lack of imagination, his exploration into what turns the creature against mankind pales in comparison to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Both creatures blame are aware of their evil ways; both creatures blame their evil on the hypocritical failings of humanity; but Shelley is able to scribe that arc with much more precision and pathos. Perhaps Gardner’s choice to write Grendel in first person trapped him in a mind unable to comprehend the metaphysics needed to parse the cruel world in which he’d been set. Or perhaps Grendel is, in the end, nothing more than a physical manifestation of the nihilism described by O’Connor’s Misfit: No pleasure but meanness.

Back to the oars today after a late night. Coffee and good poetry soon put all to rights, and we were working through Bob’s poems. Right good ‘uns, too. Later there was an interesting poem from Allen featuring a peregrine attacking a sparrow. I must say, referring to none I shall name, that I for the life of me can’t figure why someone would spend the time and money to bring work to a workshop that they had no intention of revising once receiving critiques that clearly show weaknesses, some severe, which need attention. If you took your car to a mechanic, and he said your wheels were about to sever their connection to the vehicle, would you not take steps to correct the situation?

In the heat of the afternoon, Bob, Chris, and I headed out to the Arroyo Chamisos Disc Golf Course for what turned out to be the best disc golf experience I’ve had in New Mexico. The course meanders through a dry river bed/wash–well, and arroyo. The course designers have made good use of the scrub junipers, brush, and elevation changes to provide interesting holes. The installers and maintainers of the course have marked the course very clearly with three tee lengths. Unlike the St. John’s course, it’s always pretty easy to find where you’re headed and at what you’re shooting.

We played from the red Rec tees, which actually were a bit too short for me. I ended up with a -4 but 4 bogeys due to the winds and overthrowing some shorter baskets. (Imagine overthrowing a hole with a Roc.) I should be happy with the 8 deuces. I also ended up throwing way more “hammer” shots than I think is polite.

After dinner, Jeffrey O, Bob, Chris, and I headed into town for a “guy’s night out” only to be confounded by the lack of parking. We ended up on a patio near Bob and Chris’s room chatting until it was time for worship.

Later in the evening, I noticed Laura L-M and her friend Cullen from SFBC sitting out in the upper dorm patio area. I sauntered over and was quickly enlisted to learn a dice game called “Farkle”. It’s a nice easy dice game that is good for socializing.

Heading into the last day of the conference, I had another rich, full day.

Ah, the free day. A good idea. After Wednesday’s richness and fullness (did I mention I had my poems critiqued on Wednesday), everyone’s a bit gassed and needs a breather. I spent most of the day wrestling with MS Word to get Sherry’s manuscript ready for the publisher. She felt horrible about needing the help while I was at the Glen, but, truthfully, the work was a bit mindless and gave me some needed solitude and a chance to “be”.

I did have some fun today, though. Laura, not Morefield, who was in my fiction workshop last year orchestrated a good old-fashioned hymn sing at breakfast. It was great fun and edification standing around with 10-15 people singing “Be Thou My Vision”, “Were You There”, and “How Great Thou Art”. Later, after getting ditched by the folks who were also supposed to come, Laura and I headed out to the Santa Fe Brewing Company for lunch. After chawing our way through some excellent burgers (I love being able to get avocado on my burger.) and two fine ales, we headed over to the brewery proper. Laura’s friend Cullen works for the brewery and was working today, and the two of us were taken on a fantastic tour of the brewery. We even got to help “grain out the lauter tun”, that is, Laura took a hoe and extracted spent grain from the lauter tun while I pressed “Stop” and “Go” to spin the paddles inside the tun which moved the spent grain to the exit hole. I can now say that I helped brew a batch of Nut Brown Ale. It was fascinating to see what I do on a professional production scale. Cheers! to Cullen and the rest of the Santa Fe Brewing staff for being so friendly.

When I come to The Glen, I must admit to a small amount of disappointment if all I get in the workshop is high praise and little suggestion for improvement. It’s not that I’m unappreciative or masochistic; I know my work needs improving, and I desire constructive criticism. However, when I packaged up six 22-oz bombers of my Inklings Ale to be enjoyed by members of the Thomas Parker Society, I really wasn’t looking for constructive criticism. I wanted full-on adulation. Bob D made my day when he enthusiastically declared, “This kicks *$$!” Ann O’s struggling between her desire for another glass and being a good, sharing hostess was equally satisfying. Two gentlemen from Colorado Springs–nearby to the great brewing town that is Denver–gave me rather sincere “Well done’s”. And I hope Brett Lott doesn’t lose his Southern Baptist membership, but I believe he may be the most well-respected word-smithing personage ever to taste something I’ve made, the only possible competition would be poet Gary Gildner. Brett thought the concept was “cool”, and I am now only two degrees away from Oprah. The bottles were emptied at rate that I truly found surprising. In fact, the reception was so enthusiastic that there was only the smallest of mentions of last year’s Porter the Rhine Coffee Porter.

Other highlights of the night included a wacky 50’s-style space adventure by Chris, a Jamaican folk-tale told (with special voices), a preview of Jeffrey’s forthcoming book, and a funny/touching essay by Lisa on living with obesity.

Tomorrow it’s back to the grind and possibly some disc golf.