What a weekend!

I'm in the midst of a really demanding weekend, involving four performances of my husband Houston's and my two short operas, along with two performances of a poem cycle of mine that intersperses (or is interspersed with) Händel arias. We're halfway through (in other words, it's late Saturday night), and so far, so terrific: we're getting lots of really positive feedback on all three projects. (The poems-and-Händel thing, as well as the idea of a festival of short chamber operas, are the brainchild — brainchildren? — of Bernie Leon, the artistic director of Opera Prometheus, who is the producer of all the shows on the weekend, and an all-around good guy.)

I'm performing the poems myself, which I'm loving, but which is taking a lot out of me. But — and this surprises me — watching the operas being performed is very nearly as exhausting. However, the singers are doing a tremendous job, so at least it's not stressful in a negative way.

Writing for performance is immense fun and a huge challenge. When it goes right, you become, for the duration of the project, part of a magical tribe of magical people with superpowers and a drive to save the world through art, and you have amazing adventures together and become boon companions in the noble quest you share. When it goes badly, well, maybe not so fun. But it's good training to learn the nonattachment you need when you're surrendering your writing to others to play with. Nonattachment to a good result — it's the work that matters, not making everyone feel impressed with you because you wrote it. Nonattachment to a bad result — you can't control how people see and interpret your art, and sometimes it doesn't work out particularly nicely. (However, sometimes you get a wonderful surprise when they find rich, intense meaning somewhere in your words where you never exptected it.)

It's late. I'm tired. And it's all to do again tomorrow. Yay! Come and see us if you're in Sydney!

Poetry!

Last night I finally managed to find a night when there was a slam I could get to. It was one of the heats to the New South Wales state slam, which happens this Friday. I was thrilled to be there: all those people, eager and electric and shouting about poems — the writing of them, the hearing of them, the sharing of them! Yeah, sure, the quality may have been a little uneven, but so what? How could you not love how everyone was loving poetry?

In between the two halves of the evening, a champion UK poet named Hollie McNish recited a few of her poems. I'm pasting a link here to the one I loved the best last night (even though this version lacks a bit of zip, as it's not a live performance, but a studio-type recording).



Now, you: go and write some poetry, or read one of your poems (or one of someone else's) out loud to the dog, really dramatically, or find out if there's a slam in your town you can go to. Have fun with the sounds and pulses of the words. Exaggerate them. Spend them, squander them, toss them with wild abandon to the crowds gathered beneath your window! Hear those words sizzle and rumble and roar!