I Went to a Poetry Round Table in Chicago — And Left With Mixed Feelings

I went to a poetry round table at Renaissance Court in Chicago expecting poetry, conversation, creativity, and maybe even a little inspiration.

Instead, I walked out with mixed feelings.

Now, let me start at the beginning.

My sister and I decided to attend the poetry class together. I was actually looking forward to it because I write poetry myself, and I love hearing how other people put their experiences into words. Poetry can tell you a lot about somebody. Sometimes one poem can tell you more about a person than an hour-long conversation.

But our experience wasn't exactly what I expected.

First of All, I Was Late

Yes, I have to admit it: I was a little late.

When we arrived, we had to sign in before going into the class. By the time we got settled, people were already reading poetry they had written.

So I'm walking into a room where everybody else has already gotten comfortable, and immediately I'm trying to figure out the atmosphere.

Who are these people?

What kind of poetry are they writing?

Is this going to be serious poetry? Funny poetry? Personal poetry?

And most importantly: Are we going to feel welcome here?

That last question became more important as the class went on.

Then Came the Mother Teresa Poem

One man read a poem about Mother Teresa.

I thought the poem was okay.

There were some lines I liked. There were other lines that didn't really do anything for me.

And that's perfectly fine!

That's poetry.

You don't have to love every word somebody writes just because you're sitting in a poetry class. Art is subjective. A line that makes one person want to stand up and clap might make somebody else stare at the ceiling.

I listened respectfully and tried to understand what he was trying to communicate.

Then things took a turn I wasn't expecting.

"Do You Believe in God?"

After reading his poem, the man suddenly asked the room something along the lines of:

Who believes in God? Raise your hand.

Wait.

What?

I thought we were discussing poetry.

My sister and I both thought the question felt strange and somewhat out of place.

There's nothing wrong with somebody writing about God, faith, Mother Teresa, religion, spirituality, or whatever inspires them. That's part of artistic expression.

But directly asking everybody in a public poetry class to identify whether they believe in God felt different to me.

People have different religions. Some people aren't religious at all. Some people are spiritual. Some people keep their beliefs private.

And frankly, some people just came to hear some poems!

It wasn't necessarily the biggest thing in the world, but it added to an atmosphere that already didn't feel completely comfortable to me.

Something About the Room Didn't Feel Right

This is where things get more serious.

My sister and I are Black, and there were moments when I felt like we weren't particularly wanted in that room.

I can't tell you exactly what was going through anybody else's mind. I can't prove somebody's intentions simply from an expression, an attitude, or the way an interaction felt.

But I can tell you how I experienced it.

I felt uncomfortable.

There seemed to be an attitude toward us that made me wonder whether race played a role.

And that's an awful feeling.

You start asking yourself:

Did I do something?

Is it because I came in late?

Are they like this with everybody?

Or:

Is this because we're Black?

Nobody should have to sit in a poetry class mentally running through those questions.

Poetry Should Be One of the Places Where Everybody Belongs

That's the part that bothered me the most.

We're talking about poetry.

Poetry has historically given people a way to talk about race, love, religion, heartbreak, poverty, discrimination, family, sexuality, politics, joy, pain and everything else that makes us human.

A poetry room should be one of the easiest places to welcome somebody who doesn't look like you.

You don't need the same background.

You don't need the same religion.

You don't even need to agree about the poems.

You simply need to respect one another.

That's it.

And This Was at Renaissance Court

What makes the experience even more disappointing is that this wasn't some private gathering at somebody's house.

We went to Renaissance Court, a cultural and recreational program for older adults at the Chicago Cultural Center.

That's exactly the kind of environment where I would expect people from different neighborhoods and backgrounds to come together.

Chicago is an incredibly diverse city.

You can ride a train for 30 minutes and feel like you've traveled through several different worlds.

That's part of what makes Chicago interesting.

So when you participate in a program in a major public cultural space, you should expect to encounter people who don't look like you, live where you live, worship like you worship, or have the same life experiences you have.

That's not a problem.

That's the point.

You Don't Own the Room

Sometimes people become comfortable in a group and start behaving like it's their personal club.

Then somebody new walks through the door and suddenly the temperature changes.

Well, here's the thing:

If it's a public program, new people are going to show up.

Black people.

White people.

Latino people.

Asian people.

Gay people.

Straight people.

Religious people.

Nonreligious people.

People from the South Side.

People from the North Side.

People who have been writing poetry for 40 years.

And somebody who wrote their first poem yesterday.

A creative community shouldn't require everybody to look and think alike.

Maybe Tomorrow Will Be Different

I'm supposed to go back tomorrow.

Am I going?

At this moment, I don't know.

It depends on how I feel when I wake up in the morning.

Part of me says, "Go back."

One uncomfortable experience doesn't necessarily define an entire program.

Maybe tomorrow there will be different people.

Maybe the atmosphere will be completely different.

Maybe I'll hear an incredible poem.

Maybe I'll even read something myself eventually.

But another part of me wonders why I should spend my time somewhere that didn't make me feel particularly welcome.

That's the decision I'm sitting with.

One Thing I Won't Do Is Make Myself Smaller

Whether I return tomorrow or never go back, one thing isn't changing:

I'm still writing.

Nobody gets to take that away from me.

I've lived enough life to have stories.

I've experienced happiness.

I've experienced disappointment.

I've experienced love.

I've experienced rejection.

I've experienced being underestimated.

And now I've experienced walking into a poetry round table and leaving with an entire new subject to write about.

Maybe that's the funny part.

I went there to listen to poetry.

And somehow the experience itself became a poem waiting to be written.

Final Thoughts

Creative spaces should challenge us, but they shouldn't make people feel unwelcome because they're different.

And when somebody feels uncomfortable, it's worth examining why.

Maybe there was a misunderstanding.

Maybe personalities didn't click.

Maybe walking in late changed the interaction.

And yes, it's also reasonable for me to reflect on whether race affected how my sister and I were received.

I don't know what was in anybody else's heart.

I only know how the room made me feel.

If I go back tomorrow, I'm going to walk in with an open mind.

I'll listen.

I'll observe.

I'll give the experience another chance.

But I'm also going to trust myself if something doesn't feel right.

Because getting older has taught me something important:

You can give people another chance without giving them permission to disrespect you.

And perhaps that's my poem for today.

YOUR TURN

Have you ever joined a class, club, workshop, church, creative group, or community program and immediately felt like you weren't welcome?

Did you go back and give the group another chance, or did you decide your peace was more important?

**Drop your thoughts in the comments. And if you're a poet, keep writing—because sometimes the