Poetry on the Salish Sea and Centrum present to you: A Reminder of What Your Job is Not

By Melissa O'Neil

An Evening of Poetry on the Ides of March

Centrum and Poetry on the Salish Sea offer an evening of poetry

Poets Rena Priest, Tamara Rookwood, and Kim Trainor gift you with their poetry

March 14th at the Wheeler Theater at Fort Worden

Doors open at 6:30 p.m., Reading starts at 7 p.m.

Reception at Taps after

There is a woman who works at Copper Canyon Press named Kim Kopetz. She offers Centrum residents field trips, so they can see the seat of where all of the famous poets have been published. Unassuming and an absolute delight, Kopetz has madrona berries strung on a thread in her office, an old typewriter in the corner, and the teeniest, tiniest yellow vase you've ever seen.

A former librarian, like me, she offers up volumes of poetry for people to look at, to read, and sometimes if the books have imperfections, she lets people take them home. Kopetz makes sure people leave with something in hand. She gifted me an Expedition Press postcard with a quote from a Victoria Chang poem: “There is a bird and a stone in your body. Your job is not to kill the bird with the stone.” 

This postcard sits on my desk at Centrum, where I work at the artist residency program. I read it maybe thirty times a day, more on harder days. Like Kopetz, my job is also a delight, as is my co-worker Libby Pratt, who has become a dear, dear friend. Pratt and I usher in artists and writers who come for residencies, come and have experiences that are transformative, and these people, in turn, transform Pratt’s and my lives. 

Life outside of my job gets a little trickier, because this world. That's where things get really messy. For one, to walk in this world is dangerous. For two, see number one. This world will mess with your head. It will turn you inside out. It will turn you to dust, if it can. 

How can poetry change anything, you might ask? How can it make a difference at all? Poets are change-makers. They are dreamers. They are radical and offer up words and worlds for us to imagine. When there is no hope, I look to Victoria Chang’s poetry, I look to the postcard with her words, and they come in most handy, if only for life advice: “There is a bird and a stone in your body. Your job is not to kill the bird with the stone.” 

What if I can offer myself poetry, for one line a day, repeating it, like a mantra, like the madrona berries that Kim has strung on a thread in her office, one berry is one prayer, said over and over, because maybe if I can remember to offer myself the kindness of not killing the bird in my body with the stone in my body, I can offer that to the person next to me? And maybe the person next to me can offer it to the person next to them. 

I turn to Victoria Chang when nothing else makes sense. I turn to Rena Priest, Tamara Rookwood, Kim Trainor. I turn to the change-makers.

On a day in November of 2024, I took a walk with my dear colleague Pratt, because it was a dark day, and we were scared for what would happen next in this country. We took a walk, because what else could we do? We walked the trails at Fort Worden, and we found bright bundles of madrona berries. We picked them up and put them in our office, where they still sit, a memento of brightness on a dark day. It was before I knew Kopetz and her berries. As we walked, I peeped into the windows of Copper Canyon Press and saw a quote by Hakuin pinned up at someone’s desk: “If you forget yourself, you become the universe.” It was just an inkling of something that gave me hope on a day that felt pretty hopeless. 

I offer this to you now. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to your neighbor. Do not kill the bird inside your body with the stone inside your body. Maybe if you forget yourself, you will become the universe. Remember others around you. If you are in need of hope, of community, look to poetry. Join us on March 14th for an evening of poetry with change-makers Rena Priest, Tamara Rookwood, and Kim Trainor. And take good care out there, friends.