Friday, July 17, 2015 - I never imagined my experience at the Mildura's (exclusive) Men's Club would turn me into such a starry eyed girl. Even more so, I didn't think I would ever find myself in an exclusive Men's Club to begin with.
The room bustled with glee and giggles awaiting award-winning author, Tom Keneally. The roar of the crowd and their chatter jumped off every corner of the room. The atmosphere was quite plush, with a fire place on my left and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc on my right. The volume of the audience settled down when this dainty silhouette stepped foot on stage. With her iridescently grey hair and pearly white grin, there she was: New York local and poet Sharon Olds, carrying with her a glow that filled the room.
All the writers were a blank page to me, waiting to have that first spill of ink. Sharon Olds, being the first to make an impression, did an astounding job of writing the first chapter of my journey into the Mildura's Writers Festival.
When I was around the age of 12, I used to write poetry for my school's monthly journal. I began to develop a bad habit of self-doubt, critiquing my work to reach perfection and eventually, my love for poetry withered away with age. It was only until Sharon Olds uttered the words of her newly crafted poem that arrested both my ears and my heart: "The desire to fly back through the air, straight to him".
This poem was about a man she had to leave behind for this festival. It spoke of gravity "pulling her tears" to the earth below, expressing how it felt to be "grounded by love". I cannot fathom how such eloquence was produced whilst being 30,000 feet in the air.
Although the crowd was waiting for Tom, Sharon had found a trigger hidden beneath my well-put together exterior. "Writers are always changing" she says, as she talks about how her writing process reworking itself every time a new piece is being made. Sharon unearthed a sense of ambition in me that I had lost long ago.
"I felt like I wasn't rejecting enough. So I made a rejection resort for all my bad poetry", telling the crowd that writing horrible poetry is only a step closer to creating a master piece.
That night, I raised my glass to Sharon Olds. I forgot to tell you that my 12-year-old self says hello, as she made her presence known, sitting in the corner, smiling and starry eyed.
This brings it back so vividly Vien. My favourite moment was when Sharon held up her scribbled-upon poem, the work in progress, the living document, the joy of writing :-)
ReplyDelete