Public Service Announcement

Home Tour Concert
Friday, March 23 @ 7:30 pm
Kresge Recital Hall, CFA

Be there, or be... not listening to amazing choral music.

That is all.


Actually, there's one other thing. I started my introduction to poetry writing class today. First thing she says is write something, use the words migration. Green. Frigid. Put a clock in there somewhere. I end up with:

the gulls in their migration, far from home,
crying softly over the dubious green--
spring's first press toward the frigid sky--
preempt my alarm
and I awake three minutes early
to a morning unready for my rising,
unprepared to be seen
and so the ground that stretches from my window
is captured nude, startled
the dawn sheer and unprotective
and the world hastens to cover itself
until the alarm, shrill,
sets my wonder aside.

I am pleased with it. Until we have an assignment to write the worst poem we could possibly write, and after I do (laughing and wincing and shuddering my way through), I am suddenly depressed, because I can see aspects of it in everything I write. I am suddenly no longer satisfied with my work, any of it. I am suddenly unconvinced that I can write well, or at all. That search for the six bright and shining words that people will remember.

Now I'm back to editing.

And Medieval Total War.