inspiration

I am currently surrounded by a multitude of artists, who come from varying backgrounds and with incredibly diverse and creative visions. I feel lucky, as well as inspired, by both the imagination and the humanity around me. And it's not just the faculty who give amazing readings and lectures, but the students, too. Part of the requirement for graduation is presenting a 40-minute lecture, as well as a separate 20-minute reading from your creative thesis. I've become pretty good friends with many of the students who are graduating this semester, and they are all so talented, creatively and academically.

Last semester I worked with the poet Jody Gladding, who was wonderful - we connected on both a personal and creative level, and she helped feel much more in control of my words, my sounds, my use of white space...I'll miss her. But I also look forward to working with my new adviser, Rigoberto Gonzalez, who teaches in all three genres (poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction), and he is the core faculty member of the Puerto Rico residency in the winters, which my heart is set on.

And someone I really hope to work with in the future is the poet and artist Jen Bervin. She is incredible. Incredibly gentle, incredibly wise, incredibly beautiful, incredibly inspiring. I know all of these descriptions don't do these people justice, so forgive me. But check out their work, there's much to discover.

I'll return home in a few days, and I am very excited to begin this semester. I've already set the goal of devoting more time and energy to my creative writing life. I want to push myself, to see what I can come up with......what is my creative potential?

And, I should mention, that another great thing about being in this program is not only meeting other poets, but being introduced to the work of the many poets around the country and world. Like yesterday, I was introduced to this poem, by Kim Addonizio.

"Affair"

God it's sexual, opening a beer when you swore you wouldn't drink tonight,
taking the first deep gulp, the foam backing up in the long amber neck

of the Pacifico bottle as you set it on the counter, the head spilling over
so you bend to fit your mouth against the cold lip

and drink, because what you are, aren't you, is a drinker—maybe not a lush,
not an alcoholic, not yet anyway, but don't you want

a glass of something most nights, don't you need the gesture
of reaching for it, raising it high and swallowing down and savoring

the sweetness, or the scalding, knowing you're going to give yourself to it
like a lover, whether or not he fills up the leaky balloon of your heart—

don't you believe in trying to fill it, no matter what the odds,
don't you believe it still might happen, aren't you that kind of woman?