I have written before about the contrast between the student I was during my undergraduate career at Allegheny College and the students I teach at my community college. In some ways, our experiences are similar but mostly, they are vastly different. When I was an undergraduate, I worried about my coursework, my roommate, my sorority, my extracurricular activities and what party I was going to on Friday night. This is not to say that I didn’t deal with heavier issues, but my one and only job when I was in college was to be a student. That was it. My students are not just students; they are parents and employees. Their jobs are many and their responsibilities are great. Their situation is no better or worse than mine was but it is different.
Author: bripike
The Poetry of Sunken Ships
Today’s poetry post begins with more good news on the publication front. My poem “Wake” will appear in the Fall 2013 issue of Scapegoat Review and my other poem, “Starling,” will appear in the Winter 2013 issue of The New Plains Review. I’m very pleased that these poems found homes in these fine publications.
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I completed MFA at Murray State University in 2009 and this past week Murray made the news. Currently Murray’s low-residency program is ranked seventh in the nation by Poets & Writers Magazine. My time at Murray was an incredibly positive and valuable experience for me as a writer, a student and a professor. I meant talented, dedicated and hard working writers who I’ve had the pleasure of keeping in touch with long after I stopped making my twice annual treks to Kentucky.
Speaking of talented poets, my good friend Natalie Giarrantano recently released her debut collection of poetry, Leaving Clean. The poems in this book are haunting, unsettlingly memorable to the point where the lines linger in your heart long after the poem is finished and you’ve moved on out into the world. I plan to write more about this book in a later post, but you should buy it. It’s beautiful work.
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In the past few weeks the Costa Concordia has been back in the news. When the cruise ship originally wrecked off the Italian coast in January, there was talk of blasting it apart with dynamite. However, instead the authorities elected to leave her on her side until recently when they righted her giant white body in a 19 hour process called parbuckling. I began writing a poem about the ship when the story originally broke last winter, but then the draft sat quiet for several months. This week I took it out again and started to revise. It’s basically turned into an elegy, which isn’t particularly surprising. Many of my poems are elegies of sorts. I seem to gravitate towards them. I don’t think I’ve quite figured the structure of the poem yet, but these are the opening lines I’m currently working with: “When she punctured her smooth, white belly on the sharp/reef, I was driving to the pool hearing that Concordialay trapped/in the Tyrrhenian, soon to be drained and blown to pieces.”
Unexpected Blooms
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| My return to “Photo Friday” |
One of the perks of finally being in a office with a window is that I got to bring in one of my house plants. What kind of house plant you ask? Good question. I have no idea. I also had no idea that this plant could produce flowers, so you can imagine my surprise when I walked into my office on Monday and saw eight of these waxy flowers adoring my plant.
Teaching Character: Positive & Negative Change
For several semesters, I have had the great fortune of teaching an introductory level creative writing course at my community college. The popularity of the course has increased by leaps and bounds since I began as an adjunct here in the fall of 2006. As a full time faculty member, I am privileged to teach two or three sections of the course a semester and it is by far my favorite course.
- Harry Potter
- Darth Vader
- Charlie (Perks of Being a Wallflower)
- Christian Grey (50 Shades of Grey)
- Walter White (Breaking Bad)
- Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games)
Odds and Ends
10 Year Reunion: A List
1. Our campus is still beautiful. It is especially beautiful in summer when all the rhododendrons are blooming and the grass is green. The new buildings compliment the older, original buildings. Overall, it just makes me happy to walk around the place.
2. The people I met/knew in college were/are wonderful people. I know I’m a bit bias but I think the class of 2003 is awesome. We live all over the country. We engage in interesting and important work. We have a lot of fun and we look good doing it. Overall, we win.
3. Sleeping in a twin bed in a dorm is still best done alone.
4. Staying up until 3:00 AM when you’re 32 v. staying up until 3:00 AM when you’re 22=two day recovery period, but in both cases, it was well worth it.
5. Country Fair still tastes damn good at 1:00 AM.
6. The Whole Darn Thing is a gem and if you’re ever in Meadville, you should eat there. I’m so glad they rebuilt.
7. Beer in Meadville is embarrassingly cheap. $2.75 for a Yuengling draft? Yes!
8. Getting caught in a thunderstorm/monsoon on the way back from the bar is still fun, except now we’re smart enough to call a cab.
9. I still love visiting the bookstore.
10. Walking up four flights of stairs to get to the Theta suite is still a haul.
11. I loved Allegheny while I was there and I love it now.
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| Brooks Hall. |
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| The gator is not comfy. |
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| The Observatory which actually houses security. |
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| This picture captures the entire weekend. |
A Letter to Virginia Woolf
Dear Ms. Woolf,
I have a room of my own and it is crowded. Crowded with books, furniture, pictures, pencils and paper. My room is full of ideas. I guard my room closely, carefully. I fill it with peonies, poetry and photographs. My room is small: an old closet in my old house. Chipped paint on the walls and a bare, warped wooden floor. A sloped ceiling and a small latched window. I sit in my room and read. And listen. And think. And write. My shelves are full of women: Bishop, Moore, Dove and Hull. You. I open them, breathe them in, admire their genius. They are alive. Waiting.
But my room is lonely, as I’m sure you always knew. I cannot stay here forever, alone crafting, scratching out words beneath your watchful gaze. The silence presses down. Hard. At times, I am not worthy of this room. At times I am not worthy of the women that line my shelves.
At times, I am ashamed.
I am ashamed of my lack of focus. I am ashamed of the time spent away from my room. Ashamed of what I cannot write. Ashamed that I cannot write. But I am trying.
And at last, your final note, your last note to Leonard before you walked into the river, pockets full of stones, always brings me to tears. Love even in despair. You taught me that.
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Virginia Woolf’s final note to her husband before her suicide on March 28, 1941:
Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I cannot even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is that I owe you all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that–everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling you life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.
A clip from the 2002 film The Hours based off of the 1998 novel of the same name by Michael Cunningham.
A Room of One’s Own
A long winter it was here in Indiana. A very long winter but now it is May. My peonies are blooming and I am on break until June 5th. The spring semester ended last Tuesday, and I spent the following days decompressing and organizing. Today, I took an hour and cleaned off my desk and made my workspace workable (it looked liked a paper factory threw up in here before) and then I decided I wanted to blog. And read. And write.
I wanted to.
As is evidenced by my blog, a hefty stack of New Yorkers, a long que on my Kindle Fire and my empty writing journals, I have not wanted to do any of these things since about February. For shame, but there’s not point in dwelling on the past.
Onward.
After I spent some time cleaning up my little office area, I went outside, cut some peonies, returned to my office and read the first two chapters of A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. I’ve read this book before, but it’s been awhile and I picked up a used copy at a yard sale last year, so I figured I’d dive right in. I like Woolf. I like her wit and her honesty. Brutal honesty. I like how she remarks, after being snubbed by two different men while visiting Oxbridge:
It is a curious fact that novelists have a way of making us believe that luncheon parties are invariably memorable for something very witty that was said. or something very wise that was done. But they seldom spare a word for what was eaten.
I also love her beautifully descriptive images:
It was the time between the lights when colours undergo their intensification and purples and golds burn in windowpanes like the beat of an excitable heart.
But most of all I admire her for passages like this:
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of a man at twice its natural size. Without that power probably the earth would still be swamp and jungle.
So here’s to a summer of reading, gardens, yoga, fresh food and words.
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| My own little room. |
Nimbus
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| Our cat, Nimbus. |
This past Monday we had to put our cat, Nimbus, to sleep. It was difficult decision and devastating for me and my husband. Nimbus was his childhood cat and came to live with us in Indy several years ago. The loss of a pet is always difficult and this week the absence of our kitty is deeply felt. I look for him on the back of the couch. I cried when I took a shower the other morning because I remembered how he used to come drink out of the faucet. I cried when we put away his food dish. Last night, while putting on my coat to go out to my car, I picked some white cat hair off my shoulder. Again, I cried.
I’ve had pets since I was a child. Horses, cats, dogs & bunnies. They all passed away at some point and it was always a process getting over them. They become a large part of our lives and we love them fiercely.
I hope Nimbus knows he was loved. That he is loved. Always.
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| I love this picture because it sums up countless weekends at our house. Note all three sleeping animals. |
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| Happy kitty. |
A Lovely Day for Letter Writing
Yesterday I had the privilege of participating in a Letter Writing Social at Indy Reads Books located located at 911 Massachusetts Ave. It is a lovely space and if you live in Indy and have not visited this store yet, you need to check it out.The Letter Writing Social was hosted in part by The Indy Trade School, which is has begun its own letter writing group in Indy called The Penny Black Society (more on that name in a minute.) The other host was The Letter Writer’s Alliance, operated by Donovan Beeson and Kathy Zadrozny. Donovan and Kathy are awesome and I’ve mentioned their stationary business, 16 Sparrows, and the LWA on this blog before. I am a member of the LWA, so I was really excited when Donovan mentioned she was going to run a social here in Indy.
The point of the social is just to provide a venue where people can come and write or type letters. The Trade School and LWA provided materials for mail art, envelope templates, stationary and type writers. It was a good time.
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| I typed a letter on this machine. The script comes out cursive. Excellent. |
I wrote five letters while I was at the social and I met a lot of cool people from around the city. I find writing and making mail art very therapeutic and fun. Here is a sample of my finished letters:
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| All to be sent out on Monday. |













