...so I spent the morning at the computer, working and watching it rain. I started the day by editing another poet's poem. What a pleasure. After that I overhauled one of my own. In front of me is a bulletin board on which I've pinned all the poems I've written over the past week. Under each of them are drafts of their former selves, the underlying words faint and eerie. This method of layering is new for me.
Just now I hauled out the pile of paper I took away from Karen Solie's poetry master class. It was a well organized and well thought out class with plenty of handouts. Impressive. I'm looking for the list of recommended reading to see which collections of essays on poetry and poetics I haven't yet read.
Solie's class was held on the opening day of the Festival of Words. That night I read at the fun Readception, the first of four readings I'd give at the festival. Tracy's excellent festival diary covers many of the same events I attended, though there are some differences as there was plenty of choice for each time slot. The diary also glances over some of the collateral events that materialized in the heat of the merriment.
The festival marks the first time I've seen Margaret Atwood in person and I was tickled, but it was H who had a marvellous chance encounter with not only Atwood, but Adrienne Clarkson, Graeme Gibson and John Ralston Saul. What luck. Oh yes, I failed to mention his close encounters with David Gilmour. H is obviously hogging the horseshoe.