Pondering Poetry and Gender

I've been thinking a lot about poetry lately. . . and have been becoming a little obsessed. When I think back to my English degree at Trent University, over twenty years ago, it is my poetry class that made me feel elated. I walked across the Otonabee bridge everyday, and my feet barely touched the ground.

Words and
lines and
thoughts and
ideas and
images and
movement and
particular turns of phrase kept me
           buoyant.
It was a very inspiring time.

When I think about my fellow students gathered around the professor's table, I remember being surprised that so many of the young men owned poetry much more than the women did. Michael called himself a poet, Jordan was actively seeking publication, and Patrick read more confidently than any of the women in the room.

The women in the room?

We liked what we liked and we wrote what we wrote, but without that cockiness that the young men lived. I'm not certain if it is because we were less sure of ourselves, or if it was because my generation still held something of ourselves back when we were in the company of men.  I wonder if that has changed in twenty years?  It does seem like a lifetime ago.

It's something to ponder. It's something I ponder, and I don't have the answers for.

But still, I wonder.