To The Mailbox Daily

For the first time in years, I've actually enjoyed checking my mail. Usually I procrastinate, letting the junk mail accrete until I get a snarky note from the post person. Rule: if they're sending it via snailmail, I probably don't need it.

This August was different. For the first time, I joined the August Poetry Postcard Fest. For eight years [edit: twelve years! thanks, Paul] Seattle's Paul Nelson has organized a month-long festival-by-mail wherein complete strangers send each other postcards written in the form of spontaneous poems.

I really got into it. I used several printmaking and collage techniques to make my postcards; when the time came each morning to write my poem- unedited! in pen!- I often used my card front as part of my inspiration.

This was one of my favorites.

If I use this little poem elsewhere, I'll try to spell "fogato" better. Maybe "fogata." "Affogato." Unedited poetry is like first-time sex: fun but mortifying.

Here's another.

I used two sets of postcards as my starting point: one, giant Pantone chips and the other, vintage scifi book covers. I found the Pantone chip cards to be easier to work with. These three were all printed and collaged:

As far as process, I did remember to take a few pictures as I was block printing. It was all pretty basic; I carved a few linoleum blocks, inked them up, and voilà. I added collage to some of these later.

The other half of the fun, of course, was getting postcards from thirty-one other people. I got cards from England, from Alabama, from Texas, from Hawaii. 

One of the rules of PoPoFest is that you don't publish others' actual poetry, so I've cropped this little turtle out of the poem of which he was a very integral part. I love this postcard: 

And here's Georgia and Arkansas. Most of my favorite cards had poems that somehow tied into their images and these did too. 

(As an aside, I'm considering binding all the postcards I received into a small flag book. I'll update if I do.)

On reflection, I think I interpreted the festival as an exercise in spontaneous mini-ekphrastics, at least in part. The guidelines state that poets ideally are responding to the last postcard they received, but I'm one of those annoying people who does everything ahead of time, so I'd sent my first five postcards before I ever received the first. Given our notoriously ridiculous USPS branch, receipt was unpredictable in any case. I would go for three or four days without getting any cards at all, and then get a handful at a time. So I found myself responding more to my own cards and my own state of mind than anything else.

As a practice, it was wonderful. I sat down and wrote a card every morning, carefully choosing from my image options one that seemed to best suit my inklings. Once or twice I got behind and had to do two at a time; those were less successful. Apparently my poem-making brain got accustomed to having one short verse ready for me every morning, and if I demanded more, it sulked.

All through the month, I told myself, "This is amazing! I am going to keep doing this even after August is over! I love love love it...!" Since my art practice has all but taken over my creative life, I've gotten out of a regular writing habit. (I'm chagrined. Doubly chagrined. I teach creative writing, see, and I've preached a regular writing routine for years.) This was just the thing I needed to kickstart a new practice!

But alas. It's September 5, and I haven't written a single morning short since. In the spirit of all good resolutions, I'll say this: I plan to take a short break and start again in October. If anyone wants to join me, let me know.

I will definitely look forward to next August, though. Amazing experience, all around.