Jannie Dresser – Clara Hsu

The Year Begins…

The feeling of not having to do something can be surreal. Not having the children at home to take care of, not having a mate, not having a business to run, not having a regular caffeine fix…now, not having to write a poem a day!

No one made me. The incentive came from producing very few poems for almost three years while I was concentrating on writing the memoir. I am, at the heart, a poet; and it was frustrating not to be writing poems. Jannie Dresser’s Poem-a-Day online class gave participants opportunity to post their poems. It was almost like handing in homework, something that I was programmed to do very well since primary school.

365+ poems later, I feel like I’ve graduated. Through this year-long exercise I have discovered my own capacity and know that it is time to move onto something else. This “something” is quite intangible at this time, but it must have space to allow it to manifest. The moment of liberation is surreal, until the path shows itself.

Old Forms, New Dare

Jannie Dresser started a poem a day internet class in January. Every day she sent out a prompt. I didn’t follow the prompts all of the time, as the ultimate goal of a prompt was to come up with a poem. Occasionally Jannie asked for a sonnet, or rispetto. When that happened I had no choice but to follow her instructions.

Fortunately the internet is full of information, and examples of structured verse are readily available. Still, the struggle was real and through this practice I realized what an art it is to write in a particular form. Limitations and rules force a person to be creative.

Well, none of my form poems turn out well but I have much more appreciation and respect for forms. Jannie is taking a break this month and a few of us in the class have taken up the responsibility to post a prompt. Last night’s was to write a sestina—a long poem of 39 lines. I found myself in a puzzled place, trying to fit the same six ending words to each line over and over. It was a long time before I emerged, a bit frazzled, with a poem that looked like a hipster in a historical costume.

Walt & Emily & the Parking Lot

Emily-&-Walt — Emily Dickinson & Walt Whitman

There were two reasons to drive to the East Bay: to see the sun and attend Jannie Dresser’s Sunday Salon. It was a pleasant 40 minute ride for my friend Jori and I to reach the address in the Oakland Hills.

The topic for the salon was the Godparents of American poetry: Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman. Jannie gave an introduction to Dickinson before we read her poems. Short, terse, and some seemed to be written in codes. We picked a few poems after reading, examined and dissected the sentences to come up with some sensible interpretations. Then moved on to Whitman.

In contrast to Dickinson’s compactness, Whitman’s oratory eloquence took us on a wild ride. Like a broken faucet the words kept coming with such force that by the time the reading stopped I was exhausted. I could see his influence on the Beat Generation and why he was the fountainhead.

With mystic Emily and ultra-extrovert Walt on our minds, we zoomed down the hills and freeway to find the toll plaza before the Bay Bridge a solid parking lot. Jori and I scratched our heads. We would never know what caused the horrendous backup. Stuck in the mire for an hour before we were able to break through, we agreed it was the only disadvantage of driving to the East Bay.

Staring is Bitter Medicine

For half a year, Jannie Dresser appeared daily on my computer screen in the form of a prompt. Each night I scratched my head until I wrote a poem and posted it on her internet classroom.

We finally met in early July, when Jannie began a poetry appreciation workshop in North Berkeley. It was an informal gathering. We sat in a circle and read poems that have been published in journals and magazines, then discussed our likes and dislikes. Much of the time the advanced language and expressions made me feel like I was diving into a deep pool of water and struggling not to get drowned. I have a long way to go with comprehension.

One of my college professors once said he learned to read German by staring at it. I had a similar experience. I learned to read classical Chinese by staring at a novel until the sentences began to make sense. It’s all intention. If you stare at something long and hard enough it’ll have to come alive. I’ll keep staring at Jannie’s workshop.