Nine of us sat in the front row of seats at the Coupeville
Performing Arts Center last Saturday. We wore wrinkled black robes. Tassels draped over the left side of the black
mortarboards perched on our heads. On the stage, faculty, staff, and board
members of the
Northwest Institute of Literary Arts
wore similar regalia. Behind us, family and friends held cameras ready for
photo opportunities. We were all there that warm, August afternoon to mark the
milestone of completion of a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree in creative
writing.
Nearly a year ago, the Class of 2014 began the process of
selecting a graduation speaker. We were delighted when former guest faculty
member
Elizabeth Austen accepted our invitation. We had no idea that by the time the ceremony rolled
around, Elizabeth would be Washington State Poet Laureate.
Lucky us.
Elizabeth’s address, “The Hour of Fulfillment,” is posted at
the
Washington
State Poet Laureate website.
Elizabeth reflected on some of what she’s learned in the dozen or so
years since she completed her own MFA.
She began with this advice:
…
stay focused on what really nourishes you as a writer, as one of the
lucky
humans for whom language is a form of freedom, an instrument
of
transformation rather than mere transaction.
On this day of celebration of our accomplishment, Elizabeth
urged us to define “success” for ourselves:
Don’t
calculate where you should be based on your age or where your classmates are or
some other external measure. Don’t
discount, or let others
discount, the things that you have decided constitute “success.”
Tune
inward. Find and defend your quiet places.
 |
Iris & Elizabeth Austen
in full regalia |
I felt as though Elizabeth was reading my mind as she talked
about her struggles with another element of the writing life—self-doubt:
When
I finally turn to confront the doubt, to engage with it and dig underneath
it, sure, there’s fear there. Fear that my best efforts will be
inadequate or, worse, boring and foolish. But when I confront my doubt
I’m also faced with the depth of my desire to make something astonishing, a
poem that will startle me into new awareness, a poem with
the capacity to provoke or nourish, to help someone grieve, or maybe
even begin healing. Self-doubt is intimately connected to the desire
to go further, risk more…At its best, self-doubt keeps us from becoming
glib and complacent. Just don’t let it have the last word. Don’t
let it silence you.
Fortunately,
Elizabeth hasn’t let self-doubt silence her. She shared this poem from her
book, Every
Dress a Decision, that again seemed to speak directly to all of us.
The
Permanent Fragility of Meaning
Why
persist, scratching across the white field
row
after row? Why repeat the ritual
every
morning, emptying my hands
asking
for a new prayer to fold
and
unfold?
Nothing changes, no one is
saved.
I
walk into the day, hands still
empty
and beg
to
be of use to someone. I lie down
in
the dark and beg to believe
when
the voice comes again with its commands,
its
promises—
Unfold your
hands. Revelation
is not a fruit you pluck from trees. This is the
work,
cultivating the smallest shoot, readying your
tongue
to shape the sacred names, your mouth already
filling—
I
lie down in the dark.
I
rise up and begin again.
After our thesis advisors draped velvet hoods over our
shoulders, we each walked across the stage to receive a hand-carved walking
stick.
 |
| One of the lucky humans |
Once we returned to our seats, we switched the tassel to the right side of the mortarboards while the President of NILA, Allan Ament, waved a glittered star wand.
That day, I had no doubt that I’m “one of the lucky humans.”
My thesaurus lists these synonyms for “lucky”—blessed, fortunate—even better
words for how I feel about being a writer.
