Hobart Festival, gender, and Jews

Last weekend I taught at the Hobart Festival of Women Writers, started by two

AfricanAmerican writer sisters, Breena and Cheryl Clarke. The festival’s my favorite

of them all.  It’s in a gorgeous tiny book village, with six used book stores, all

wonderful.  Women come from everywhere. Age, race, sexual orientation.  Most other

festivals are far more homogeneous.

I teach a writing intensive called Good Stories.  I’ve been teaching this class since the

festival started, ten years ago.  The writers in my workshop represent every age.  A

high school student was with us for four years.  The oldest writer is ninety.  My class

is held in the basement of a Methodist church.  This year the minister joined the class.

He’s a Thai man named T who was born a Buddhist, and became an Evangelican

Christian.  T doesn’t drive.  He serves four churches on his bike.

My workshop is on Friday and this year, I was able to take other people’s classes.

On Saturday morning I took a two hour class in writing for TV.  The teacher, a

knowledgeable Australian writer for Law and Order, gave us a lot of information, and

told us to create a character or two, and write a problem that needed a resolution.

My character, a 58 year old woman named Maria, a single mother in Jersey City, got a

job pumping gas (the first woman to do so) at a large gas station owned by a handsome

womanizer named Tony.  Tony was used to getting whatever he wanted.  Maria

needed the job.  But she didn’t like Tony much.  That was my problem.

I was the only old school cis writer.  With a male and female in conversation.

The clown story was non-binary (the clown’s name was Serious) and so was the sci-fi

Mermaid Tale, where the new name, as was explained (to mostly me) was Merfolk,

although Merrow is now acceptable too.

Later in the day, among a lineup of other readers, I read my poems.  I was nervous

about reading them because my poems too represent what I know best – old school

hetero Jews.

It occurred to me while reading them, that Alte is more my audience.  Even so, the

Hobart crowd was OK with them.  Next year I’ll teach my workshop again.

Here are the two poems, for you.

Not Ann

My neighbor 89, she lives down the block

don’t give my first name if you write a poem

she said so I’ll call her Ann because she isn’t

yesterday we met on the corner by chance

and Ann said I have a boyfriend he’s 90 and he

moved in. Can you believe that? Ann said.

Wonderful I replied. How is he?

So so said Ann.

OY

One of my book ideas:

a book called OY

poems that generate

an Oy response

such as Buying a Bathing Suit.

I frequently try,

at the Town Shop

on Broadway a store that began

in the village in 1888

moved to the Upper West Side

in 1937 run for years

by Selma Koch original family member.

Selma’d sit on a high stool

near the door and yell out

your bra size when you walked

in the door then she’d yell

Your Bra is Wrong. 

No one contradicted Selma.

I asked her once

what I should do about a bathing suit.

Forget the beach she said.

Love to everyone,  Esther