Finding Your Way With Poetry

The first poem I wrote as an adult was about fifteen years ago. I was living in Orlando and getting ready to meet a friend for coffee to discuss a writing project. We were to meet on Park Avenue in Winter Park, a fun four-block stretch of shops and eateries. Somewhere in the middle of the strip is a popular chain coffee shop called ‘Barnie’s’. My writing studio was located on the floor above, so this was a convenient place to meet. Barnie’s was small and quaint with only two tables inside, a good selection of coffee, tea and mugs and a beautiful courtyard outside with a water fountain in its center.

It was December and the streets were with shoppers picking up last minute holiday gifts. Luckily, just in front of Barnie’s on the two-lane road, there was just enough space to accommodate my small sports car.

I maneuvered my vehicle into the parallel-parking position by lining it up with the car in front, emulating the finesse taught to me by my father some thirty years earlier. He taught me how to park in New York City; he was a veteran parker who took the task quite seriously.

So there I was on Park Avenue, minding my own business and just thinking about parking and meeting my writing colleague. All of a sudden, out of my peripheral vision I spotted two elderly and seemingly retired gentlemen standing on the sidewalk at each end of my car. They were smiling and staring at my tires intently watching where they’d go. I tried to ignore them, as they desperately (perhaps out of boredom) wanted to guide me with their hand motions into the parking spot. They obviously had no idea that I was born and raised in New York and if I couldn’t handle parallel parking something was amiss!

I found it intriguing, yet bothersome, how they chose to make a hobby out of observing my endeavor. My intention was not to give them the pleasure of being able to watch me for too long. I parked my car, grabbed my keys and journal and proceeded into the coffee shop across the street. I sat waiting for my colleague, shaking my head and reflecting about the incident. I thought about how I must not be the only woman moved by such a scenario. Suddenly, I felt compelled to write about it. I had never written a poem before, but after putting my pen to paper, a poem poured out of me. I suppose that I intuitively realized that the details of the incident were more appropriate for a poem, although I had not written one since grade school.

The following Friday evening, I presented the poem to my writing group and received roars of laughter. I was delighted that it resonated with the group who then suggested I send it in for publication.  Lo and behold, months later it appeared in a reputable literary magazine.

Here it is in its original version:

Park Avenue

Why is it that men

always watch me park

as if they want to run over

and say ‘lady look what you did’

thinking I’d crash, but never have.

My dad taught me to park

tightly in New York

and I’m good, but those guys

want to say ‘just like a woman driver.’

Then I yell out ‘damn it don’t stare’

you asshole, you get me nervous,

do something productive with your time,

plus why are you sitting on the park benches

facing the street in front of my office

as your older wives shop in the stores

buying nothing, yet trying on things

which rarely fit like years ago.

They are my age now and looking back

at the styles and memories

which are now history

but like fire hydrants

pop up again randomly

when we least expect it.

Since that incident I have found poetry to be one of my favorite writing genres, not only for short takes, but allowed for my immediate expression. When I am stumped or have difficulty finding focus for a project, I simply write in the poetic form and this seemingly simple task nudges me along. For the most part, writing poetry increases awareness. Did you ever notice that poets are very observant? Well they have to be.

Poet Ted Kooser says, all writing begins with your five senses. Virginia Woolf, although she did not call herself a poet was a writer who often wrote prose poetry. In “A Letter to a Young Poet,” she suggests that poets reconnect to their bodies and to the world around them. For many poets, this is a natural thing to do. In doing so, the poet’s work has more of a chance to connect with others.

So my suggestion to follow writers and my students is to follow your passion and my model. I have already published one chapbook and two poetry collections, Dear Anaïs: My Life in Poems for You (2008) and The Guilt Gene (2009).

The best way to start is to go with the flow and always carry your journal with you.  You never know when the muse will strike and what worlds you will be transported into. It could lead you into experimenting with a new genre, and better yet, getting published!

Diana Raab is a memoirist, essayist, poet and author of seven books and editor of two essays collections, including the latest, Writers and Their Notebooks (2010) with an introduction by Phillip Lopate. She is a journaling advocate and teaches in UCLA Extension Writers' Program and in various conferences around the country. Her forthcoming book, Healing With Words: A Writer's Cancer Journey is forthcoming from Loving Healing Press in June 2010. Visit Diana Raab.