8.14.14

I wasn't aware (until fairly more recently than I'd like to admit) that the states have their own poet laureate in addition to the national one. (Not every state, it seems. According to the indispensable Wikipedia, 44 states currently have poets laureate). Excerpting: 

The responsibilities of the state poets laureate are similar to those of the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom and the equivalent Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in the United States, to make public appearances at poetry readings or literary events, and to promote awareness of poetry within their geographical region.
As of 2013, 44 states and the District of Columbia have poets laureate, although a few are presently vacant. The terms can vary in length from state to state. Most states appoint a poet laureate for a one- or two-year terms, fewer to several years, and some states appoint a poet to a lifetime tenure. Two states, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, previously had such posts but abolished them in 2003. There has never been an official State Poet Laureate in Massachusetts, Michigan, New Mexico, or Ohio. While Idaho does not have a post of "poet laureate", per se, the state appoints a "Writer in Residence", which can be held by a novelist or poet.

Interesting! I like the idea of having ambassadors of poetry, spreading goodwill and winning hearts and minds, engaged in diplomatic takeovers of abandoned Barnes and Nobles, or something. I began reading about Washington's laureate Elizabeth Austen (that wonderful rabbit-hole I fell down the other day). She has a current site for her work as Laureate and a separate site that isn't being updated regularly during her term.

On reaching this milestone, Austen shares "Now I become Myself" by May Sarton, and says:

I’m sure that each of you made sacrifices to be here, to write the work you’ll read to us soon. You've each taken risks of one kind or another, you've mined your intellect, your imagination, your life.

And because of that personal investment, it might be tempting to equate the result of that investment with yourselves. But I want you to know, because I wish I’d known it much, much sooner: You are not your work.

The master furniture maker puts all her effort into crafting an elegant, perfectly balanced table. And when it’s sold and someone takes it home, she doesn't think it’s a piece of herself that they are now eating dinner on.

At some point, the work belongs to your readers. And you move on.

Paradoxically, the more deeply personal your work, the more others are going to take what they need from it, to make what they need with it, despite whatever it was you intended or thought you were creating.

And when the work fails, as it must sometimes if you’re stretching yourself and risking in new and meaningful ways, you are not a failure.

You give yourself to your work, but you are not your work. As Sarton put it, “the ripening fruit falls but does not exhaust the root.”

I loved this, it's really great to remember that we are not the sum total of the things we make. A nurse isn't her patients treatments,  a chef isn't his meals, and a parent is more than just their children. Especially at the "entry" levels of poetry and learning, it can be frightening to share work, offer, and receive criticism, since we are so steeped in how personal and emotional the work can be. There is also the question, do we thrust our work out there and let it take on a life of its own, or are we curators in a way, responsible for it's interpretation, growth, and evolution?

Austen said she is planning to visit all the counties in the state, so hopefully when she comes to mine I can visit for a listen.