Self Care through Sound: Poetry Nite in Ocean Park
On Tuesday, March 18, Quinne Huffington Brown—co-owner of Sunset Provisions, Santa Monica resident, moon ceremony leader, writer, Book Club for Writers inventor (I’m a lucky member and we’re looking for a few more folks to join!), and overall lovely human being emceed Poetry Nite, the first of its kind on Ocean Park.
A Sunset Provisions program in collaboration with and housed at ISM (Image Sound & Motion) down the street, Quinne envisioned the evening that night and going forward as a supportive incubator, a place and time for anyone interested to share creative works in progress.
At 9 pm, past many of our bedtimes, we arrived at a space tucked behind Ghisallo that used to house a podcast (think: excellent acoustics) for a real estate developer. I cannot imagine a podcast on that subject, but it’s yet another wonderful reminder that the world is full of multitudes!
Once assembled, we cracked the door, inviting in a bit of dark, cool night air. A cozy couch, wooden stools that seem de rigueur for playing acoustic guitar, and, most importantly, a high-end adjustable microphone all contributed to the updated Beat poet gathering atmosphere.
Quinne started us off. She read a poem by someone writing about his experience reading her (Quinne’s) poetry. Sharing this piece was a lovely reminder of how we inspire each other, most often without being aware of it. Our acts of creation, even tiny ones, reveal our self-expression and pave avenues for our courage, vulnerability, and generosity. Sharing pieces of ourselves with others helps us to be known to ourselves and reveals keyholes into each other’s hearts, minds, and psyches.
The rest of us followed, ring-around-the-rosy style, a piece or two at a time. One person read from their five-line/day five year journal. These pieces, culled simply from events and thoughts/feelings in one day, often with very little elaboration, were intensely moving. Strung together and read aloud, they felt like profound koans and/or fragments that have survived from Ancient Greece. I’m thinking of the parts of poems attributed to Sappho, translated so movingly by Anne Carson—the poetry version of marble statues, missing limbs. Our consciousnesses rush to fill in context, pretext, narrative, all while enjoying the words that endured.
Two people sang their original songs, putting the wooden stools to good use. One had written countless songs for others, but had never before sung one of their original compositions! They had a beautiful voice and so much quiet presence, we’d never have known it was their first time in front of an audience. The other singer-songwriter also knocked our socks off with two original songs that continue to haunt me, especially the atonal, dissonant heartbreaker with the repeating line “I never had a room in your house.”
Another read poems she envisioned turning into songs, but they worked beautifully without music. Or, I should say, without music other than her speaking voice. Quinne and I read from the poetry project I started with a friend during Covid. My childhood friend heard a piece on NPR that inspired her to reach out to me to create a tandem practice called a renga. We began that day, December 11, 2021. Since then, that friend has rolled out; others have joined for a season or stayed. Currently, there are seven of us. We each write one day of the week. For instance I add to the chain (renga means chain in Japanese) every Wednesday, Quinne does so every Sunday. Since each short syllabic poem uses a word or phrase from the day-before’s, a kind of refrain is created. So maybe we are all writing songs, in a way? Or maybe that’s me feeling jealous of songwriters who have musical notes as part of their repertoire.
I left the evening feeling refreshed and invigorated, even at the late-for-me hour. They don’t call them sound baths for nothing.
Quinne plans to meet monthly on Tuesdays 9-11pm.