Tulips Turn to Me: An Afternoon of Writing and Contemplation

By Yev Gelman

On a cold-but-sunny October afternoon––the first Saturday of the month––Fordham students  met outside the entrance of the New York Botanical Garden for Tulips Turn To Me, an event sponsored by the Poetic Justice Institute, led by its director Sarah Gambito and organized by student fellows and PJI’s graduate assistant, Diana Marino. At the gardens, we were joined by Meghan Dahn, a newly-published poet and English professor at Fordham.

Before everyone entered the garden, Sarah directed the students to a series of nine nature-inspired writing prompts, and advised us to take time and connect to the stillness of the garden rather than talk amongst ourselves. The time we have alone with nature, she told us, is precious, and should not be wasted. For most of the students, her words rang true––between swiftly approaching midterms and the receding summer sun, the reminder to ground ourselves was both timely and necessary.

Once the event began in full, most of the students split up into small groups or pairs and began to wander around the garden. The structure of the event allowed for around ten minutes for each prompt, some of which asked the participants to respond to other poets’ work, write about a particularly inspiring part of the landscape, or perform an exercise in connecting to the space around us. While some students rushed to complete every prompt, others spent more time on their favorite exercises over others, just like some decided to switch locations for each prompt and others preferred to stay grounded in their favorite spot.

Here’s a look at Writing Prompt #6:

Wander until you find a location in the garden that beckons to you. 

Read the below poem by Rainer Maria Rilke out loud.

I live my life in growing orbits,

which move out over the things of the world.

Perhaps I can never achieve the last,

but that will be my attempt.

I am circling around God, around the ancient tower,

and I have been circling for a thousand years,

and I still don't know if I am a falcon, or a storm,

or a great song.

With every next moment, you are becoming a new self. Lift your eyes to the sky and let your gaze rest. Allow yourself to perceive your self-creation and freewrite the lyrics to the song you are becoming.

Shortly before the event was scheduled to end, the students regrouped at the entrance to share some of what they had experienced. Across the board, we were surprised by the closeness we felt to the flora of the garden, and the sheer freedom of writing in nature which many of us have forgotten over the years that we spent online, glued to our laptops for work and class. “I loved the cold,” one of the PJI fellows shared, and many echoed– there was a wakeful jolt that came with the changing seasons, and an exhilaration in chasing the last of September warmth.

PJI’s graduate assistant, Diana Marino.

“As a New York City public school student, I went to the Gardens once for a field trip,” Diana wrote to me after the event. “Eighteen years later and I was back, but this time as a Fordham graduate student. The Tulips Turn to Me was the first time I felt like I belonged in a beautiful place…The experience allowed me to embrace who I am and the community that shaped me. In preparation for the event, PJI Fellows had the opportunity to create writing prompts, and I had the privilege of participating. I was able to incorporate my interest in Hip Hop to one of the writing prompts like bringing song lyrics from 2Pac Shakur. Truly an experience that I will never forget.”

Afterwards, a number of us shared work we had written. I held my breath as we took turns reading; in every single piece, I found the glimmers of a shared experience, and some even made me recognize specific plants or spots in the garden that the writer had referred to. I was particularly stunned by the poem shared by Meghan Dahn, whose new collection Domain you can find at Burnside Review Press (and on the shelves of select bookstores!):

PYRAMIDALIS (WITH NEST)

When I die who will know
I grit my teeth except for when

I saw the color blue? There is
this one thing that is only mine, 

as the cast, the cusp, the cut
of what makes the edges of you.

Once I thought I had nothing
someone couldn’t touch

and what made me cry at night
was the lack of edge. Now I am

a border lengthened by riverbank,
all edge and opportune. The truth is

I would soften my bones for him
and call myself mother.