Dykewriters from eight states gathered in south Georgia for four days of writing, reading, workshops, and socializing. They came from as far as Massachusetts, Missouri, and Indiana, and as close as Atlanta and north central Florida, with Alabama, Tennessee, and Louisiana in the mix. Held in a nature setting, the gathering allowed lesbians to disconnect from the chaos of global politics and connect to ourselves and each other to focus on our writing skills. There was plenty of room and time to share our readings, take a walk through the goddess grove, play croquet under shady trees, and participate in quiet discussions after hours.
A highlight was the variety show after Friday night readings. We had songs (with and without audience cue cards) and a magic show, but we missed Gail’s standup comedy routine. Maybe next year?
In Monica’s poetry workshop, we all contributed phrases to be woven into a cento. A cento is a poem in which each group member contributes a line. The line could come from anywhere–from your heart to a billboard. Initially we lined up the lines randomly and read it aloud. After I got home, I rearranged the lines using every line I was given, but letting them blend into each other in a few cases. The workshop we did this in was called National Lesbian Poetry Month, and I wanted to encourage my fellow dykewriters as they returned home to join me in taking any literary material that members of the dominant culture distribute and then make them our own. Here is the final product:
A cento from some dykewriters
The woman with steady eyes and hands
ripped her own face off slouching toward Bethlehem
Her desperation, increasing with spinning darkness of ocean depths,
was not the result of a murder
or the brilliance of the stars in this dark place
hot enuf to poach an egg in my cooch
This–The ecology of the situation–too shall pass
It was a move to emancipate herself from mental slavery
A prompt is a swift kick in the ass to change your focus
No one told us we would have to study our lives
No more weapons of War!
To write wise, drink in the dreg and spit it back out, moist and flavorful
Not a word for the flowers that could take me from you for the ages of a day?
Dykewriters 