Can we human beings legitimately call ourselves poets, or is "poet" a state or title we can only aspire to? I often feel this inner conflict when I find myself referring to myself as "poet". So, I'm sure, do many of these people -- although among them you'll find nominees and even winners of some major totems of distinction (otherwise known as awards, prizes, credits). But, on repeated reflection, I think these can be called poets, such as they are. Many of them have become quite lovely people, at least partly due to their practice -- however flawed, sporadic, or conversely, compulsive -- of this most demanding and difficult art.
On top: Sharon Singer and Susan McMaster
Middle: Marian Francis White, who organized this whole conference/fest (and deserves every credit for making it an excellent one), found herself without a seat on the bus she had reserved for us... so she had to "lap the miles" with several of us, inc. Allan Briesmaster; beside him is his wife, Holly.
Bottom: a whole busload of 'em, going to Marlene Create's in situ reading. Among these, at the back to the right, is Barbara Nickel, a poet I will definitely be reading more of in the coming months; and although he didn't get in this picture, Don McKay. I'd be hard pressed to name the others...except of course that guy on the right. (Who is he, again?)
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