The ancient art

April is Poetry Month. It also has a number of other awareness and heritage designations tied to it. Connotations of renewal, regeneration, and growth abound because it marks the beginning of spring. But since I love poetry and poetic interactions, and I have the absolute gift of writing about my interpretation of experiences that anyone can have, we will speak of Poetry Month. 

Two years ago, I decided to share my poetry for Poetry Month and see what would happen. I’ve been getting love, rejection, and awkward interactions ever since. It may be one of the best things I ever decided to let the universe lead me into.

The other day I introduced myself to someone I was pretty sure I had met previously and their reply was, “Oh yes, we’ve met. You’re the poet, right?” Well, I’d never have gotten to ride that high clear through the rest of my Thursday if it had not been for two poetry events I naively wandered into two years ago. 

One was put on by then PEI Poet Laureate Tanya Davis as a sort of open mic at a place I can never seem to stop going on about—the Charlottetown Library. Because of freezing rain, it was sparsely but enthusiastically attended. I, intent to follow the whims of the universe and my favourite librarian, got up, choked my nerves down, and read. It did something to me then and there. The act of sharing words I had felt so profoundly about, in the presence of considerate strangers and two of my favourite poets, made me decide that I’d try more, if the universe would have me, of course. 

The second event was Poets and Pints. As I am new to this world, and COVID pulled at least a year from everyone’s annual accounting, I couldn’t say confidently how long this Island staple has been running, but it may be the most consistent and lovely event of Poetry Month. 

I had zero clue what I was walking into the first year I attended. I knew there would be some books launching and an open mic with ten spots that I had already been informed was full. No worries, I was still curious. I wanted to know what the poets were doing. If not for an old friend, I would have barely discovered it. 

The event was packed, and I was late, but thankfully, my friend called me over and squeezed me in. There was a range of individuals, and the hors d’oeuvres were delicious. “Classy” and “eclectic” are the words that come to mind for that evening. The attendance level has contributed to the event moving to the Rodd Ballroom and I think that speaks to a desire for more poetic opportunities, both as sharers and attendees. Granted, the care and attention put into the evening definitely factor in. 

That first year someone didn’t show up and I ended up reading, again because my friend squeezed me in. I was terrified and forever grateful. This may be the literary dragon I continue to chase.