StAnzas Poetry Festival: Day One

Feeling mildly like a fraud, I have boarded a plane and travelled overnight via Dublin to Edinburgh, where I was met by the extremely affable Ali who drove me through the wet and foggy landscape of Scotland -- down highways and round roundabouts and across a fantastic bridge, the architecture of which disappeared into the grey atmosphere above -- to historic St. Andrews where I now am ensconced at the Greyfriars Inn. I will be spending the next four days taking part in StAnzas, Scotland's premier poetry festival. Why do I feel mildly like a fraud? I'm not sure to be honest. It might be that I'm out of my element, being at a European Poetry Festival, and quite possibly one of the few people from across the pond in attendance, and I'm not sure what to expect; poetry may mean other things here than what I imagine it to mean. But I also have this odd feeling, since I have been out of circulation a little as a practicing poet, that poetry has changed since I was more fully engaged with the form as a writer. I also don't have a new book to show off, as I had hoped I might, so must rely on some old standards, which might very well be old. At any rate, these sorts of things in combination have me feeling a little off-kilter, but all I can do is welcome this feeling, and can't wait to find out what happens and who I will meet. I'm off to check in with the festival and to start meeting some poets, and will write more later. For now here is the view from my room.