The Dodge poetry festival: poetry paradise in our back yard

By MARY GREENE

STANHOPE, NJ — On a rainy, cool morning in late September, I traveled with a number of other local writers through Milford, PA, over the bridge on 209 and into New Jersey. As we passed over the Delaware, the skies miraculously cleared and the sun came out. Thus began the magic of the 11th Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, held on September 28 – October 1 in Waterloo Village.

The four-day Dodge poetry festival happens every two years, and as the largest national poetry gathering, it draws some big names in the poetry world. These incude Robert Bly, Coleman Barks, Jorie Graham, Mark Doty, Lucille Clifton and the former U.S. poet laureate, Billy Collins. In all, some 70 poets and performers participated. The festival also has a teaching aspect for high school teachers, who can bring their students along on a field trip forstructured workshops with the poets.

Given the thriving literary community hosted by the Upper Delaware Valley,(see sidebar below for some of the many local venues hosting readings), it seems especially exciting to have a major poetry festival taking place right in our back yard. It originated in Waterloo Village, a preserved 19th century Morris Canal port town—and National Historic site—only 45 minutes from Milford, PA. Though the Dodge festival occasionally travels to other sites, most often it has returned to its site of origin.

The village setting lent a casual and intimate ambiance to the affair. We were able to stroll past historic stone and wooden buildings, down wooded paths and along the Musconectcong River to one of the numerous tents set up on the grounds for discussions and readings. A food court and coffee bars kept participants in sustenance.

One poet in attendance was Brian Turner, a young U.S. Army soldier who spent 2004 in combat duty in Iraq. His book “Here, Bullet,” is named for a poem he wrote in Iraq. Turner said, “That poem is a taunt towards death and, at the same time, a recognition of the fear of death. I wrote it and… folded it up and put it in a ziplock bag and put it in my left breast pocket, and I kept it with me for the remainder of my time in uniform.”

Another young poet who moved the crowds with his eloquence and depth of spirit was 19-year-old Ekiwah Adler-Belendez, born prematurely to an American father and Mexican mother. He was raised in Mexico and is paralyzed with cerebral palsey. This young phenom has already published three books of poetry, his latest, “The Coyote’s Trace,” with a preface written by poetry giant Mary Oliver. He seemed unearthly, frail, but also very strong as his spidery thin hands rose into the air and waved for emphasis. Nancy Dymond, who attended the festival from Honesdale, PA, noted Ekiwah’s statement: “I was born the size of a mango. My dad could carry me in his palm. I could feel myself drifting in the cosmos, having the choice whether to inhabit the body. I chose the body because I wanted to experience love, pain, beauty, pleasure. Poetry became my way of moving.”

And if you think poets are a staid, literary lot, you had to catch Anne Waldman. Famous for her rants on feminist and political topics, the flamboyantly dressed Waldman (who, with Alan Ginsberg and Diane Di Prima, founded the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics) did not disappoint the crowd, screaming at the speed of a Waring blender and pulsing her arms up in the air.

Marcia Nehemiah, of Lackawaxan, PA, has attended every Dodge festival but one. She lived in Stanhope and was an English teacher there, and often brought her students to Dodge. She said, “I enjoyed attending workshops with my students, watching them learn from masters. I also loved the ‘aftermath’ when my students were inspired and changed by the activities of the festival.”

Music was represented at Dodge, too. For instance, the Paul Winter Consort was there to accompany Coleman Barks reading Rumi. Barks has become famous for his translations of this 13th century ecstatic poet, making them sound contemporary and immediate. A highlight for me was approaching the main stage tent early one morning. It was raining, and we could hear Barks doing Rumi yards away from the tent entrance. We walked slowly forward beneath our umbrellas, and heard Barks’ slow drawl: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”

From “Here, Bullet”

By Brian Turner

“…here, Bullet,

here is where I complete the word you bring

hissing through the air, here is where I moan

the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering

my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have

inside of me, each twist of the round

spun deeper, because here, Bullet,

here is where the world ends, every time.”

From “The Coyote’s Trace”

By Ekiwah Adler-Belendez

…if you wish

to find out about this freedom

if you attempt to track me

do not speak to me

speak to what makes me hungry

follow the traces of what I love.”