Limp Wrist presents a workshop with Denise Duhamel!
Only 7 spots left; reserve your spot today!
PLEASE, share the information below…
Description: MEMORY AND DESIRE: This generative workshop will focus on writing exercises and prompts that focus on obsessions and the poetic forms they can take.
Time: 6pm to 9pm
Location: TBA (will be in the city of Atlanta or at least ITP)
Anyone interested should send an email to email@example.com; put “Workshop w/ Denise Duhamel” in the subject line.
*Part of the proceeds from the workshop will fund the Limp Wrist Scholarship.
The Key West Literary Seminar and Workshop was an intense experience for me. Venturing into the wonderful world of Key West I wrote four poems– that’s not even counting workshop poems. The muse was generous to me.
I met a number of amazing people while at the seminar & workshop; I’m thankful that our life paths crossed—–That’s you Sylvia Plath Oven Group. (Oh, there’s a “scandalous” story behind that name; I’ll share it later.) I plan on visiting a few of the people I befriended throughout 2008, and I gave many of them an invited to be my guest in Atlanta.
Dara Wier is brilliant. Her workshop was titled as “not the typical workshop,” and it wasn’t by any means. The thought of not have the typical workshop structure made me nervous; however, as we went into workshop, I had no issues with it. Many thanks to Dara for her leadership and sharing much wisdom with her workshop participants. To praise her, I’ll share one of her poems:
She Thinks She Hung the Moon
My head is a pincushion for darning needles.
It is an egg containing its brood.
It shares its nest with legions of Roman soldiers.
Perhaps it is over-inhabited.
It does not bite.
My head is a tabernacle, it loves the smell of frankincense.
If my head were a prison it would be empty.
It would be filled with music of orange blossoms.
My head is a quiver, a patch and satchel.
It is an arena.
My head is a satellite drifting out of its orbit.
Heads like mine have been found on all seven continents.
They have been linked to life on other planets.
They have been stamped on coins and traded for food.
My head is a nest of boxes, an over-night case.
It has been bombed and looted and sacked.
It has been riddled with scarves, with shoelaces.
My head is an unopened geode, an unopened coconut.
I like to listen to it slosh around.
I like to think of the moon working on it.
My head is a good hiding place, a safe house.
It is where to be in a lightning storm.
It is a cave curtained by a waterfall.
~ from HAT ON A POND by Dara Wier