ANNOUNCING FORMATION OF NEW WRITING GROUP!We invite you to join us at The Conley CenterPoetry as SurvivalHEALIING TRAUMA THROUGH WRITINGAn 8 week workshop for women Tuesday evenings6:30 PM - 8:30 PM
Inspired by Gregory Orr’s book of the same title, this workshop is designed to help you process trauma through writing. You need not be a poet (though you’re liable to become one). No creative writing experience is necessary. All that’s required is a story to tell, the desire to heal, and the leap of faith necessary to share that healing with others in a small group.
In his book 'Poetry as Survival,' Gregory Orr writes:
“Often, silence is connected to a sense that survival depends on it, that silence makes us stronger. We think that, in order to successfully endure our suffering, we must not speak, even to ourselves. And yet, this silence makes us the victim of our experience, not the master.”
Orr explains the importance of putting our experiences into words and how poetry is a great vehicle to accomplish that. When we write poems, he says, two important things happen: First, we shift the crisis to a bearable distance from us, removing it to the symbolic world of language, and, second, we get the satisfaction of making and shaping the models of our situations rather than passively enduring them. We get to triumph over our history.
Attendance is limited to 10 people per session/series.
About the facilitator: Tania Rochelle holds a Masters of Science in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and a Masters of Fine Art in Creative Writing. She has published two books of poetry, Karaoke Funeral and The World’s Last Bone, both by Snake Nation Press. Tania is a firm believer in the redemptive powers of poetry and considers the following poem, by Dorianne Laux, a fine example of this power:
The Tooth Fairy
They brushed a quarter with glue
and glitter, slipped in on bare
feet, and without waking me
painted rows of delicate gold
footprints on my sheets with a love
so quiet, I still can't hear it.
My mother must have been
a beauty then, sitting
at the kitchen table with him,
a warm breeze lifting her
embroidered curtains, waiting
for me to fall asleep.
It's harder to believe
the years that followed, the palms
curled into fists, a floor
of broken dishes, her chainsmoking
through long silences, him
punching holes in his walls.
I can still remember her print
dresses, his checkered Taxi, the day
I found her in the closet
with a paring knife, the night
he kicked my sister in the ribs.
He lives alone in Oregon now, dying
of a rare bone disease.
His face stippled gray, his ankles
clotted beneath wool socks.
She's a nurse on the graveyard shift,
Comes home mornings and calls me,
Drinks her dark beer and goes to bed.
And I still wonder how they did it, slipped
that quarter under my pillow, made those
Whenever I visit her, I ask again.
"I don't know," she says, rocking, closing
her eyes. "We were as surprised as you."
For more information, contact Tania Rochelle, 404-816-7171 x20.
PaS Workshop for members of The Conley Center community (therqapists, board, clients, staff, interns) 84.02
Poetry Workshop 105.44