Their final project was to choose their own causes and find a way to advance them through poetry, then write reflective essays about the results. I posted earlier this term about a benefit reading we organized together. My general education course in Protest Poetry, however, was warmly enthusiastic, although plenty of the conversations we had along the way about politics, privilege, and anger itself were very tricky. Many of them did outstanding work, but the vibe in the room was hard to read. I honestly don’t know what my creative writing students thought of the first blended-genre workshop I’d taught in years. Of course, one of the things I’m reflecting about is the very teaching year I’m finishing up (I teach our four-week May term every other year–but not this one!). I think it would mitigate the post-AWP blues I always feel, whether or not I get sick. I was just catching up with Dave Bonta’s Poetry Blog Digest and found this great post by Erica Goss about just that–a procedure for carrying the intensities of a major literary conference into a quieter, post-conference writing zone. One side effect of this work-play is reflection on how I’m spending time. I have the most fun when wandering a vague landscape you could call by that name–sort of working, sort of playing around.
#WORD FOR THE UNLIVING PLUS#
Plus Loy’s coinage “Bewilderness,” which appears in a poem about widowhood called “Letters of the Unliving,” is my new favorite word. Now, past the hinge of 50, finding Loy’s intelligent take on what she calls the “excessive incognito” of “An Aged Woman” is such a gift. 49 is apparently not the happiest age for women poets. Vincent Millay then quit, because it was so damn depressing. I ended up writing one sonnet about Edna St.
When I was 49, I thought I’d write a suite of poems about my poetic idols when THEY were 49. I hadn’t spent serious hours with this collection in years and was newly struck by all the beautiful poems about aging. Poetry in the fall and book orders are just around the corner. I ended up rereading most of The Lost Lunar Baedeker, which is really teaching-prep, too, because I’ll teach Modern U.S. This morning I responded to a request from someone who wants poems about Mina Loy.
Bonus: it’s really spring!Įach day I’m carving out a little time–maybe just fifteen minutes–to draft something, a poem or the seed of one. It helps that my antibiotics have kicked in, because I came home from a tiring AWP with strep throat. Liberation from the rigors of my former schedule, though–during which I was trying to do much of the same work while also prepping and teaching–is making me feel giddy. This is exam week after our twelve-week winter term, so there’s lots of grading, as well as chores involving grants, event programming, etc. If I told you I’m just screwing around this week, I’d be exaggerating.
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