Last night I attended an event locally entitled Poetry Speaks, and it was a celebration of the life of the late Bill Sovern. I have known him since I was 15, and he gave me a stage to read poetry at a young age.
The last performance of his that I attended when he was alive was over a decade ago, long before I started transitioning, and he made a comment about Jack Kerouac (likely in relation to my poetry style), and I took offense to it, although I should have taken it as a compliment since I was a voracious reader of the Beats and fashioned my early poetry after them, especially Kerouac. So, that was the last time I performed while he was still alive, but I had planned to start going to more poetry events since the publishing of my book, Cracked Around the Edges, and he tragically passed in a car wreck before I had a chance to read any of it to him.
Well, going to Poetry Speaks last night was surreal. It was the loudest and most emotional poetry reading I have ever attended during the many times I have read aloud. Then it was my turn.
A rush of anxiety hit me as soon as my name was called and I immediately started dissociating. I stumbled through an introduction, and couldn't even get the words to recall Bill Sovern's name at the time. It was like a wave hit me, so I got to reading two pieces that I chose: one from my book and one I wrote in his memory. I seemed to recite everything fluently, but that introduction was very difficult and I remained in a dissociated state during the entire performance, and I don't remember hearing the applause from the crowd. I froze up the whole time I was saying goodbye to a wonderful poet and artist, but everyone's response to death is different. It's not within me to pour out excess energy if I'm an introvert. I did it in my own way, and I plan to read more in the future.
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