Looking back...

Now that my three years in the role of poet laureate are coming to an end, I've looked back and tried to analyze the experience--both for my own benefit and for the sake of the program,. What might I have to say to my successor if he/she were to ask me about my lessons learned?

I think --in the most prosaic terms-- that you get out of the job what you put into it. From this end of the telescope, I can see that there were many instances where I could have done more, been more, reached out more. I tend to be more of an idea generator than an implementer. Hence, the Burns Dinner that never was, and the Poetry Month activities that could have been, but somehow, got lost in the shuffle. I have never been a long-range planner, and that, too, would have been a good idea. The program and its goals are better served by an action plan, rather than a hit-or-miss (ah, my style in spades!) series of activities.

However, given the nature of the post (essentially unpaid and without any historical precedent) it was difficult to know where to start and what to do. There was a limited amount of money available, but it was never really clear to me what I could use it for and how I would access it. It would have been useful to have a direct email account in the city system. Routing any messages from the public through a third party was not an efficient way to contact me or for me to send out messages. Knowing what I know now, I'd have opened a Facebook page for the poet laureate and cultivated fans. Or perhaps twittered. I'd have developed relationships with local newspapers to publicize not only poetry events, but the many poetry groups in the area. I'd have liked to have established some rewards for young poets. The League of American Penwomen sponsor an elementary school poet laureate program here. What about doing something for the high school poets? Or middle school poets? Even adult poets need love--and recognition.

Which brings me to the positive aspects of the role. I have found the poet laureate post to be a valuable--and unexpected--validation of my writing. I have had the opportunity in the past three years to not only write and read in public, but to talk about writing with a wide variety of people, ranging from recognized poets to people who think poetry is one of those lands populated solely by effete snobs. I have spoken to children, to teenagers, to adults, to senior citizens; I have written and read poetry with all kinds of groups, willing and unwilling (and that latter designation is NOT all schoolchildren!) I have talked about the importance of writing, and of writing poetry, in particular, to individuals at cocktail receptions, to friends and relations, to 6th graders, to the city council, to people who write, to people who Power-Point, to anyone who will stand and listen. I have had a platform to speak from, and it has been fun.

I have been challenged to do things I never expected to do. Writing poetry on demand for specific occasions is a task that presents its own set of difficulties. In doing so, I have learned much about the people, the places, the events that have occurred in Alexandria, and have gained a new appreciation of the city and its place in history. Furthermore, I've been given the opportunity to pass on what I've learned to others. In talking about Charles Houston, in explaining about the Freedmen's Cemetery, in noting the accomplishments of the women of Alexandria at the Salute to Women dinner, I hope that I've broadened the scope of the average citizen's knowledge of their city as I have broadened my own.

I am grateful to have had this wonderful experience, am grateful for the opportunities it afforded me to grow--as a writer, a poet, an Alexandrian. I am grateful for the connections I have made, the people I have met, and the events I have been part of. And finally, I am grateful that I live in a city that values the arts, that values literature and poetry, and is willing to step up and support them in concrete fashion. Thank you, Alexandria.