This blog entry is a love letter to the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning, a literary haven for writers, a classroom for all of life’s students and a believer in the power of the written word. A classical architectural jewel, it reigns in historic Gratz Park, nestled into the heartbeat of the city. This is my work place and truly, second home.
Last night, Carnegie hosted its annual Kentucky Writers Hall of Fame. A
lively group of Kentucky historians, literary lovers, and family members braved
the arctic temperatures and slick roads to honor the seven new inductees.
Contemporary writers graced the stage to share excerpts from the respective inductee’s
work.
And as they read, I fell in love once more with the Carnegie Center. Resting
against the back wall, I listened to the hypnotic voices of writers, poets, and
state historians reading the beloved and inspirational works of Kentuckians who
have passed on, but whose literary footprints remain in the pages and hearts of
the bluegrass. The readers reawakened the dead; they brought their prose and
poetry to life.
Listening to the passion in which the readers presented the inductee’s work, I felt as if the authors no longer seemed to be a relic of the past, something distant and irrelevant. I could feel their life energy, their creativity and love for the written word flowing through their prose.
I felt so very much alive listening to them read. I was incredibly conscious of my surroundings, how I was standing, my breathing; my mind focused on catching the words, the phrases, the stories forming and then, disappearing above the attentive audience’s heads. Those words, the person who had written them, the one reading those words out loud right now, all that collective creative energy reached out and embraced me.
I was home; at home with the poets, the writers, the historians, the
storytellers. I just wanted to listen because those words nourished my soul,
like a sunflower stretching toward the sun, I soaked up that creative radiance.
It’s during these moments that I realize how hungry I am for creativity, art and kindred spirits sharing and expressing similar passions. I realize how the Carnegie Center has fed that hunger throughout my adolescence and now into my early twenties with classes, literary events, and readings. I remember the chance attendance to these readings when I was growing up and how my younger self adored them. I felt mature sitting with adult writers, who were quirky and kind. These readings provided a taste of an intelligent, imaginative world outside of school drama, a world where the people spoke similar soul language, understood the inner desire to create and honored the imagination.
Last night, storytellers and poets reigned with dignity and grace. The
audience and I weaved ourselves into the stories by being fully present, by
actively listening. Our listening
brings fresh life into these poems, memoirs and stories. As we applaud, I feel
radiantly alive and thankful to be part of this community. I feel grateful for
my corner of literary heaven in Gratz Park and for this special evening of
poetry and storytelling that reawakened my love for this rather magical place.
Wanted to share one of my favorite poems by James Baker Hall. He is a
nationally recognized Kentucky poet, novelist, filmmaker and photographer. His
words have been on repeat:
Sitting
between Two Mirrors by James Baker Hall
What I like best
is making lists of what I like
best. The good days
are inventories, near and far. I seldom leave
without a book. Where would I go without a book?
You would say my life is a lottery -
that I am the only one
without a ticket. You would say
your life is better – you say it over and over,
you do. What do I do? I put things in boxes.
I move boxes around. I have many things,
some of them mine. I care for them.
That is what I do. I do simple things.
I move them around clearing places
to move them around. I tell you
I do things over and over,
Now you tell me
something. Talk is what you do. It comforts
me to hear you talk. You would say that you are
mine too, my not-simple thing. Say it
again, today, I want to hear you say
something, today. I wash your clothes.
I buy you fresh bread.
I get the paper.
to see what day it is. I laugh. I act
as though I know what day it is. I laugh
again – it comforts me to hear you
laugh. I talk
on the phone. I water the plants while I talk
on the phone. I make coffee while I talk
on the phone. I am a person
like anyone else. I act
like a person. A person
calls and says whatever it is
a person says. Says
today. A person says today.
I say today
over and over, getting it straight. Getting it
straight is what I do, I want to get it
straight. I say
What did you say?
Tell me something again,
comfort me.
Today? Yes, today.
Is that it?
And when is that?
