Role model, mycelium

Spring’s little revolutions are flaring in small-town Virginia. It’s been unseasonably warm, so on the streets around my house, the daffodils’ signage was rapidly outshouted by tulips, azaleas, and lilacs. We took a couple of walks in the woods, one at Brushy Hill where redbuds headlined, the other on back campus, where the news included bloodroot, spring beauty, toothcup, bluebells, and dutchman’s breeches. (The bracket fungus above was on back campus, too–probably dryad’s saddle.) The only visibly protesting person in Lexington this weekend, though, was a woman standing on Main Street with a “hands off the constitution” placard–the nearest rally was thirty miles away. Most of us were in our homes or on our porches, I suspect, watching the rebellion via social media.

We’re not even a week into National Poetry Month, and how strange it’s been already, in small and cataclysmic ways. I spent the second half of March giving readings from Mycocosmic (and recording one super-fun podcast with Jason Gray), talking about mycelium and grief and awe and the role fungi play in helping trees communicate. Foragers turned up in most of the live audiences, as well as people who have been experienced in the Jimi Hendrix sense and want to talk about it. It’s as if mycelium connects poets to readers as well as conifers to hardwoods. Fungi also offer substantial hope beyond the mystical vibes: they help landscapes recover from wildfire and pollution, and psilocybin supports some people as they heal from trauma, for starters. Mycelium continues to feel like a role model and a blueprint. It’s done my heart good to hear people’s weird mushroom stories and field questions like one from an AWP guy in a witch’s hat.

Yet it’s not like fungi are altruists. They’re masters, instead, of ingeniously intertwined fungal-plant-animal-bacteria economies. In fact, each one of us apparent individuals is a polity, a microbiome housing many interests. Most of the DNA in our bodies is not human. What a trip! It can all fall out of balance so easily, in which case fungi might sicken and kill us (then help bacteria digest our remains, yikes). I’m working through these ideas and metaphors in a world that’s been out of balance for a long time, with a few powerful entities now hastening the damage along, the better to feed on chaos. Might there be a better equilibrium on the other side? Possibly, but even if so, too much suffering precedes it.

So, yes, between reading tour highs and the lows of being a United Statesian during fascism, I’m feeling emotional whiplash over here.

Honestly, there are ups and downs in any book launch all by itself, moments where you think, “I did it!” and others shadowed by self-doubt. AWP was largely great, with my book selling out at Tupelo’s booth; other events around the mid-Atlantic went wonderfully. I relished seeing old friends and former students–occasionally for tea or microbrews or a meal, even–and heard from many writers whose amazing work nourished me. It’s a treat even to glimpse certain folks (I recognized Risa Denenberg from her blog picture!). In one city, though, most of the people I expected didn’t show, and I ended up feeling nervous in front of the thinly populated room instead of enjoying myself. Bad feedback loop. Worse, so many of my beloved poetry people are ill or down or worried. One even reprimanded me later for not spending enough time with her at AWP. Not that I was I great company. Sensory overwhelm sometimes hits me in noisy, busy places, and on a three-day jaunt to L.A. involving a panel, a signing, and two readings, it’s not like there are many moments to calm down. My spirits are often indecently good, considering, but I’m right out there near the edge of the event-load I can manage, so I’m always prepping for the next thing or trying to carve out quiet interludes.

This weekend is one of them. Next week is the last of winter term, so I’m winding up courses, mentoring student projects, and attending undergraduate capstone presentations (I also organized one of them, performing the traditional poetic function of laying out cheap brie and cookies–man, have I catered a lot of readings). Then come the New Orleans Poetry Festival and the Fermentations Conference in Madrid. I’m REALLY looking forward to both, and Chris and I have planned a few days in Madrid during which we can simply be tourists, but it’s a lot, right? Then as soon as I get back, BAM, I’m teaching in our four-week May term (one course meeting nine hours per week), with several smaller trips on the near horizon.

Updates here when I can swing it, but for now, a few pics from barding around and a glimpse of where I’ll be. Here’s a kind review of Mycocosmic, too, by Laurie Kuntz at The Pedestal. Big thanks to her and to any friends who have read this far. You are part of the poetic polity that sustains me.

• April 11-13: New Orleans Poetry Festival
• April 24-25: “Fermentations” conference at St. Louis U in Madrid, Spain, Keynote Speaker
• May 4, 4:30 pm: Poetrio at Malaprop’s in Asheville, NC
• May 7, 7:30 pm: Virtual, Wild & Precious Life Series with Alyse Bensel and Rosa Sophia Godshall, https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89136734677
• May 11, 4 pm: Hot L Series in Baltimore, MD