A Poet's Double Life

For poets working outside the literary world.

Author Archives: poetsdoublelife


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Open Mics


The number one reason I don’t go to open mic events as much as I should is the driving distance from Durham.  The First Tuesday @ Open Eye is in Carrboro about 30 minutes west of Durham and the First Thursday @ the Royal Bean is 30 minutes in Raleigh–the opposite direction. The Second Thursday @ Flyleaf Books conflicts with my monthly board meetings for Triangle Tango (not that I attended regularly before). And then there’s the Third Thursday @ Lazy Lion Books in Fuquay Varina. I don’t even know how far that is from Durham. Plus, the event starts at 5 PM, which is really early for this double-life poet. I have gone to Amplified Voices @ Amplified Art in downtown Raleigh thrice this year, though not in consecutive months and not without crashing at with a friend who lives nearby.

You see, I work in downtown Raleigh and the last thing I want to do is stay close to work any longer than necessary. After the 40-minute commute on Triangle Transit I want to get home and relax a bit and not have to rush to figure out poems, what to wear, and what to eat on the way. But sometimes I do find the energy to go to open mics. It helps if there is friend visiting from Turkey who wants to hear some poetry. It helps if the open mic happens during or after the April Poem-A-Day challenge so there is a critical mass of poems to read.

Once I’m there I’m always happy to see my poet-friends, hear about their lives and what they’ve been writing. I’m always blown away by the person who musters the courage to read for the first time. I’m always grateful for the opportunity to step in front of the microphone and share a sliver of myself, to connect with others who have chosen this lifelong apprenticeship. Writing can be lonely and frustrating, but it feels good to know I am not the only one out there struggling to find the words to express everything I’ve held inside.


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A Room of One’s Own


Everyone should have a German friend who is willing to share his faculty study room in the university library. Not just once, but twice. The first room was a graduate study carrel used by his ex and the offer to use it came just as I entered the last semester of my MFA program. It was marvelous to have a small space to keep my writer’s thesaurus and manuscript drafts as I browsed the 8th floor stacks for more books about Wallace Stevens and William Carlos Williams to use in my graduating lecture. The grad carrel has access to a common area with a large desk by a window where I spread out the final copies of each poem to order and re-order them before sending them to my adviser. I gave up the space after graduation, passing the key to the husband of our mutual friend starting a doctoral program in Information Studies.

I thought I would write at home. Not that I really ever had before. I used the morning bus ride to journal and the return trip to read books or edit. When I tried to stay home to write, I fell victim to the couch’s chaise extension, my Hulu queue, or housecleaning. I looked for an alternative space for months—finding a great new café on 15-501—but ultimately longed for a room with a door I could close and lock with a key.  And then one Saturday night milonga in the midst of that post-tanda chit-chat I mention the need for a space so I can start a self-imposed publication boot camp, he mentions the faculty study room. We agreed to meet the next day to move me in.

After we tossed out two armloads of old German binders (did you know European paper is not the same shape as ours?) and figured out the proper hiding spot for the key, we christened the “new” writing space with a mini-milonga and candy from his secret student admirer (who also left a CD called “Sweet Mix”, but I don’t think DJ Khaled belongs in that category). It’s not on the 8th floor where my poetry and his political science books reside, has no common area, nor much of a view—unless you‘re into rocks and HVAC equipment. And is not my own, but it’s a room where I can leave my stuff, close the door, and lock it with a key.