Wasserstein, King & Las Vegas
I had this brilliant idea yesterday of writing a series of poems (one for each day of February) with a schemey theme tying everything together. February being the "Month of Love" (Hallmark would pick the bleakest, nastiest month of the year for love, wouldn't they?) I thought I could write something about that. But then, last night at work, I saw an article that both Coretta Scott King and Wendy Wasserstein had died. This got me thinking.
Once upon a time I lived Las Vegas, NV and was part of the poetry scene there. Before you start dismissing the idea of "poetry" and "Sin City," just know that there was/is a thriving group of poets who used to meet at the now-defunct downtown Enigma Garden Cafe (where I once saw Brenda Hillman and Diane Di Prima perform) and then moved to Jitters on Tropicana/ Eastern. Slam poetry was king in that city. I was friends with the poets (Mouseketeer roll call) Danna Botwick, Bakeem Lloyd, Karen Lumos, Andy Hall, Robert K. Meyer, Shannon Hammermeister (who married Stephan Balley and moved to Texas), and Gregory Crosby. But it was Shannon Hammermeister who introduced me to Wasserstein and "The Heidi Chronicles."
Now I am pausing before I start my poem(s), with all these memories, a bit unsure of how to start. Where does one go?
February 1st, 2006 at 12:04 pm
Just go, friend, just go.
A few years back, I saw a production of Wasserstein’s An American Daughter at my college. Good times, indeed.
I’m looking forward to our exchange!
By the way, what line of work (other than poet) are you in?
February 1st, 2006 at 1:32 pm
Let me not scare you away from MFA programs by saying that just because my degree, while mind-boggling expensive, has proved (how shall we say this?) unfruitful, problematic, unreliable in getting me a job teaching in higher education, that you shouldn’t go after one yourself. I found that the world of certified nurse aides will always provide gainful employment.
I always thought working with a dying population would be a laudable, noble, prestigious profession. At one level, of course, it is. I know I help those I take care of. But what they don’t tell you in C.N.A. school is that my job is changing diapers. I do some feeding, some transferring, some charting, but mainly I change diapers. Someday someone will invent a way to take care of the elderly that won’t involve the indignity of incontinence. Then we nurse aides will have to find something else to do. But until that day when they stop making adult diapers, C.N.A.s will continue to contribute a vital, but usually uncelebrated, service in geriatric care.