If you’re interested in taking one of my one-day creative writing workshops this fall, you can check them out here.
It’s busy here at poetry hut central. Poems are disappearing at a rapid clip and we have to keep up, printing, scrolling and rubber banding new ones while bingeing shows. When I’m on the porch, which is most of the time, I love to see passersby stop and choose a poem, read it, put it in their pocket.
A few fun facts about operating a poetry hut:
1) People greatly prefer poems printed on neon paper. Violent pink and intense teal are always the first to go.
2) People do not like yellow poems. Yellow poems are always the last to go.
3) Some people read their poem, then carefully scroll it up, replace the rubber band, and put it back in the hut. For some reason this goes straight to my heart.
4) Over the years, a wood engraver has left limited edition prints of their gorgeous, intricate, otherworldly work as gifts. Maybe an art-to-art exchange? We save every one and my daughter framed several. One of these days I’ll spot the artist in the act, but no luck yet.
5) Some passersby leave poems of their own making, written on the scrap paper we leave in the hut. Others write down their own favorite poems, ones they must have memorized, like the beautiful poem below that I found a few minutes ago when I returned from a run (okay fine, slow jog).
The world feels so lonely sometimes, but not always.
Happiness, by Günter Grass
An empty bus
hurtles through the starry night.
Perhaps the driver is singing
and is happy because he sings.