Professor Mushroom listens to strangers

As I filtered out of a particularly fun workshop-reading-open mic at BookTree in Kirkland, Washington, one of the participants called back to me as he ambled down the dark street, “Thanks, Professor Mushroom!” The featured image above with its weird reflections, taken at a booth at the Olympic Peninsula Fungi Festival, conjures, for me, that slightly wacky persona I inhabit when I bard around with Mycocosmic–as if I know things about fungi (I’m an amateur); am relaxed about performing (ha); and really feel kind of mystical and hopeful about our underground connections to each other (well, that one’s true on a good day).

I’ve returned to Virginia now after my solo 12-day Pacific Northwest mini-tour, although “mini-tour” feels like a pretentious way to put it. I gave five readings, taught an hourlong workshop called “Poetry from the Underworld,” and ran a haiku contest over two days in an “Education Tent” booth at the aforementioned festival, which was large and spirited and preceded by a delicious banquet of many mushroom-centric courses, including infused beverages and a chocolate torte made with candy cap mushrooms. I finally tasted matsutake! For a week of my visit, I was based at Tupelo Press’s writer’s retreat in Port Angeles, Gentle House, where I was surprised and delighted to draft a few new poems at a desk with a view of hazel trees. After all, with so many events scheduled, the week wasn’t particularly retreat-y, and I shoehorned in plenty of sightseeing too. I’d never been to the Olympic Peninsula, where the landscapes were varied and gorgeous. Hours of awe at waterfalls, snowcapped mountains, and wild Pacific beaches are still echoing around in my jetlagged brain and body.

On the trip’s last leg I stayed with Jeannine and Glenn Gailey in Woodinville. Jeannine asked about my favorite moments from the adventure. A few hikes came to mind, but I also found myself saying “talking to strangers.” I’m an introvert who has to pay herself back for socializing with hours of quietness, so this isn’t my usual answer! Maybe it feels true because the “talking” involved a lot of listening. A reading with Matthew Nienow organized by Michele Bombardier, both terrific poets, felt special, as did the open mic that followed and my side conversations with audience members. Open mics feature wide variations in poetic skill, yet they’re one of my favorite formats. There’s something electric about so many people listening hard and taking risks, putting strong feelings out there. The Kirkland one ended with a performance that pinged between witty poetic lines and harmonica riffs–I won’t soon forget it. At my festival haiku booth I talked to a lot of poetry-curious people, many of them science educators at every level from pre-school to college, and these exchanges were moving. (I could tell you about a couple of less-moving monologues from tripping passersby, too. Maybe another day.) The Gentle House director, Kirsten Miles, showed me her Port Angeles, set up another of those great reading-open mic events at the local library, and hosted an intimate dinner for me and local poet-publisher Risa Denenberg, who told me about her nursing work, too. At the last event, reading with Jeannine at J. Bookwalter Winery, the Q&A was great, as was wandering around chatting with another poet-professor, an engineer, and many other curious, interesting people. You can see much of the latter event itself at these links, because Glenn is a terrific videographer: our joint reading; the staged part of the Q&A.

Now I recharge (and read new Shenandoah submissions) before a long weekend with Chris visiting our college friend Scott Nicolay and his partner Anya Martin in Santa Fe. This trip contains just one reading: 7 pm, November 7th, at Entropy Gallery. I’ll be paired with Art Goodtimes, plus this reading series always includes a potluck, another lovely combo. I’m equally excited about seeing Taos for the first time, revisiting desert scenery I first encountered long ago, and spending time in the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. I know, I know–for an introvert writer, I sure get around. But I find it all so much more restorative than doing readings while teaching full-time last spring. Bless you, sabbatical.

I’ll leave you with a writing prompt from the “Poetry from the Underworld” workshop. My thesis is that powerful poems often involve bringing some hidden material into the light–plus, the natural underworld isn’t only about death and darkness, because it can also be where metamorphosis occurs and new life begins. Introductions involved describing an underground space the participants had encountered, natural or human-made. Their answers were fascinating. We discussed a terrific poem by new U.S. Poet Laureate Arthur Sze, “Mushroom Hunting at the Ski Basin,” that appeared in the New Yorker last spring and is therefore paywalled (sorry! it’s a beauty, if you can access it). The prompt: imagine bringing a question that’s troubling you to that underworld space and seeking an answer. The foraging is, of course, more important than the finding.