Words & Wine

Last night, a friend/fellow writer (one in the same) and I attended a program entitled Words & Wine, a workshop program designed to encourage participants to discuss words and to write. People who attend are encouraged to bring wine; it’s a casual affair, but its serious business. For a $12 fee, the leader guides participants through a two-hour conversation, during which they discuss the writing of others and write something of their own to share with the group. The topic focus last night was poetry; specifically, poetry relating to babies. After reading and discussing several poems about babies and babyhood, we were given four prompts from which to select one to spur thoughts to write a poem. I selected this prompt:

YOU ARE A BABY. Write a free verse poem about being in the womb, about being born, and about what it is like to live the first few days of your life. What are the sights? Sounds? Feelings? What makes you cry. Make observations from the perspective of a BABY.

I took my notebook computer with me, intending to use it to write. But I was alone in that; I opted to use a notebook, like the others in the session, despite my miserably slow handwriting. Kai led the session. Participants were Tiffany, Valerie, Heather, Don, Katie, Mary Lou, and me. Here is the poem that emerged from me:

Familiarity

Soft, warm pillows surround me, keeping me
safe from something I can’t see.
My days have no hours, no mornings,
no nights, just comfort and occasional
consciousness, dim and dark; so little light.

Suddenly, my safety is shattered, the silence
sacrificed to sound, the warmth falling
off me in sheets, as my host objects
to this new trip toward another eternity.
If I could talk, I’d complain; hell, I will anyway!

These first few days are new, the sounds so much
closer, yet the comforting beat of her heart so
much further away. Solace in the form of strokes
and kisses dim the sense of loss of the pillows
and the timelessness of that cozy safe-house.

No longer am I fed fully without a fuss.
Now, I have to insist on being noticed.
Before, noises startled me;
now, I make the noise and startle them.

Is she the one who kept me warm and safe?
She feels different but I know her skin and
recognize her taste. Comfort takes on a new
skin, another dimension, as she takes me
into her arms and feeds me familiarity.

I found it very difficult to write from the perspective of a baby; so much so, I felt I had failed miserably. My immediate thought on reading the prompt was this: how can language be used to describe the “thoughts” and perspective of a baby that has yet to grasp even a shred of language. Even feelings and sensations would be foreign. I could have chosen another prompt, but the others would have forced an even more impossible perspective on me. Yet the feedback I got from the group was positive; in that sort of environment, though, I suspect that’s the only feedback one might expect. The topic was not one I would have chosen and the idea of being given a prompt and being expected to PRODUCE was a little daunting. In retrospect, though, it was a good exercise, one that challenged me. I doubt I’ll go back regularly, but I enjoyed the session, so I will go back on occasion.