Pop-Up Poetry at a Canadian Conference

I recently attended the Mokakiiks Syposium for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (SoTL) in Banff Canada sponsored by Mount Royal University. My team chose to submit to this conference because it checked some important boxes for us: in-person, SoTL-focused, with a creative bent and intentional focus on building connection.

As life would have it, I ended up being the solo representative of our US-based group and entered the conference with some trepidation. I was one of the few US scholars in a mostly Canadian context, new to SoTL, and didn’t know any other attendees. I had some gaffs with my conference arrangements (my fault) which topped off a pattern present throughout the semester. My mother passed away the first weekend of this fall term and my personal bandwidth has been limited (which for me takes the form of dropping details). BUT who can turn down Banff? And hanging out with a bunch of Canadian teacher scholars didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

When I heard about the Pop-Up poetry option at the Symposium, it sounded fun. I was starting to feel connected with others in the conference and I expected it to be sort of like getting a caricature drawing at the county fair – amusing and silly. I was completely wrong.

Two poets sat with typewriters at a table while those of us waiting for our poem funneled through individually. The instructions were to come up with a word or two that described something about you and a poem would be generated. I’m on the cusp of some personal changes so my initial word was direction, (which I associated with changing direction, seeking direction, looking for clarity, etc.). I didn’t realize that the word was just a starting point for a conversation that would be the seed of my poem. My poet asked me to say more about this word, and without intending to I unrolled my story of being my mother’s primary care person for 13 years, a complex relationship, and her passing at the beginning of fall semester which was also my return from a 1-year sabbatical. She asked more about these topics, my mother’s personality, specific memories, and lifted some of my phrases into the poem. All of this conversation was integrated into a beautiful word picture of a balloon ride with my mother, her bright-colored floral dresses, and the complexity of emotions in that (and this moment). I felt heard. I felt connection. I felt human and valued.

Here's the poem that emerged: