Red Room Where the Writers Are

I was on the wait list and when I was not called by the end of the first week in July figured I was going to have a week at home doing yardwork, vet visits and the dribbles of things that need doing when you are working full time and single. On my birthday, late in the day I got a call that there was an opening if I could make it on Saturday (48 hours away). I thought for about ten minutes and started making calls.  The trip up was marked by car breakdowns and many convolutions to finally arrive several hours after the welcome dinner.  From there on magic happened.  I was living in a house with an assorted group of other poets who quickly developed into friends.  Since I never had the dorm experience it was like the best camp ever with midnight discussions on meter and esoteric new forms: gigans, bops, and prisoner's constraints.  The standard in my house was "poems you want to lick" and oh, how lickable  was the writing!  Much coffee, little sleep, a little wine and some of the most fabulous poems I have ever seen.  We were to try something risky and write something new every day.  It is a marvel to bring very raw work to a workshop and have its strengths celebrated without any sharpened knives flashing around the table.  The faculty were available, supportive and also willing to show fresh work.  Evie Shockley, Brenda Hillman, Robert Hass, Sharon Olds, Galway Kinnell, and Cornelius Eady--that plus the altitude made for very rarified atmosphere. The physical beauty of the Valley and Lake Tahoe where we swam and picnicked one afternoon inspired a lot of recharging.  I have pressed my nose to the SVCW  window for years and am just wriggling with happiness at getting there at last.