Today I went to the New Shoots event of the Vancouver Writer's Fest. The hour was interesting, listening to literary works by Jeff Steudel - a teacher from Gladstone -, two grade twelve Gladstone students both named Sarah, and Evelyn Lau.
All of the works presented today played in my mind as if I were the speakers, seeing from their eyes and reliving their memories. It was quite an experience, and I felt the urge to write poetry afterwards, hoping that I could produce something that would submerge others into another world, as the poems and short stories did for me today.
The first to speak at the podium, Jeff Steudel, presented a poem - a love letter, in his words - to his father. I take this as a sign that I should read more, as I could not understand much of what he said, both to not knowing what words came out of his mouth, and being unable to focus. A tad bit shameful... but what I do recall was him talking about how amazing he thought his father was, for being stung on the eye, by bees whose hive they cut down for the honey, and being completely unfazed by it. He described how his father said they would have a fine batch of honey this time around. The scene was sweet, much like the honey they would have, I quite liked that.
The first Sarah's poem of rose tea was the easiest to visualize personally. As she spoke about diffusing rose tea, how she could not read the German on the package it came in, how that meant she put too much in a cup, and how it was good to drink with $4.99 Lipton Green Tea, I could see the foreign words and taste the warm liquid. Tea, particularly green, and earl grey, is something I find calming and soothing. It makes those seconds, when I taste the water with the flavour of those leaves, a little slower, a little better. Her poem made me feel the same way.
The second Sarah presented a short story, one about her grandpa and her careful tread into his well hidden backstory of an orphanage he once lived in. Listening to this was fun, as she incorporated Cantonese words into the story, as I did for a poem I wrote a while ago. It was very clear, the setting her and her grandpa were in, the cold outdoors and darkness approaching.
Finally, Evelyn Lau came to the podium and presented a poem that started off innocent, into something considerably disturbing. While the imagery of Chinatown and the grandmas that thought little of a small child, to the stack of oranges -which a few cents could pay a pound for-, was vivid, the neutral scenes in my mind were disrupted by what she spoke of next. How a "bum" circling around the store where her parents were grocery shopping, kept touching her under her skirt, between her adolescent legs with his grimy hands, over and over again. I was uncomfortable in my seat, despite being dressed in skinny jeans and a knee length jacket all zipped up. I cannot say I particularly liked her piece, simply based on the discomfort I felt when she spoke of how she thought of it as almost validating, as if she were the guardian to her parents oblivious to the situation. This does not mean I think it was poorly written, in fact, this means the exact opposite.
It was an interesting experience, one filled with emotions that ranged from very good to disturbing. I am anticipating the poetry unit, hoping that I too can write something that moves others the way today's works moved me. I want to submerge others into a world I create with deliberate strokes of my pen, and I want them to remember that feeling or scene that emerges in their head when they hear what I write. For now though, I have chemistry and art homework awaiting my attention.
