a nickel to tell me

Hey folks,

I'm blogging here, now. Hope to see you there!

Arsenic Lobster (and a bit about teaching and technology)

I've got four poems in the new issue of Arsenic Lobster. Lovely, lovely stuff in there. I've just barely had a chance to nose around. Can't wait to read the rest.

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I'm quite fascinated with Digital Ethnography and am wondering how I might incorporate some of Wesch's ideas into my comp classes (or even poetry, perhaps) the next time I teach (I'll be doing all my hours in the office this coming semester, no teaching until the fall). I think this video would be a great conversation starter in a classroom:

escape

After many days of hanging around the folks' house, running errands with my mom, and only slipping out now and then for "me" time, I've finally hit my limit. I ran away from home.

I'm at Angel Falls in Highland Square, feeling very nostalgic (the smattering of UA professors isn't helping) and lo and behold, my friend Kristina is here. I knew I'd run into someone I'd want to see. Chances are, I'll also run into someone I don't. (No one in particular, in case you're wondering.)

So, I won't blog much today. I came here to write. That's the thing--I can sit around the kitchen table and flip through magazines while Fox News eats away at my soul in the background, but I can't write poems when there's parents, sisters, and doggies everywhere to distract me. Better to come here, where the background noise is unintelligible and the people are wrapped up in other things. Now, to the poems!

my roots

The one in the middle is my great-grandfather.

My dad, circa 1941(ish)

My parents, as newly-weds.

My grandparents, in Mexico. This is the bank-robber grandfather, btw.

My parents' wedding.

spreadsheets, snowboots, & goodreads

I've been building a ginormous spreadsheet of all the lucky journals who are going to have the chance to consider my poems in the next month or so and when I need a break from the geeky Excel stuff, I work on poems. The poems are in worse shape than the spreadsheet. I have a lot of rough drafts, a lot of half-formed ideas. I haven't sat down to make the poems do what poems do in a long time. I'm going to have to before the big winter submission. The HUGE winter submission.

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My Barberton day went swimmingly. The students were sweet and sharp and asked great questions and it was toughtoughtough. I don't know how you high school teachers do it, 5, 6 classes a day, 5 days a week. I admire and am awed by you.

I don't think I'll be banned from Barberton after all.

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I bought a pair of snow boots today. I'm going to hate myself for saying this later, but right now, I can't wait for it to snow so I can wear them. They're cute and furry, but in a subtle way. You know, they're not giant fur leg-warmers like Chippendale dancer boots.

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Flood Year is on Goodreads. I hadn't logged into Goodreads for at least six months, so I didn't know until today. I have one review (from Karen) one person currently reading (Brandi) and I'm on one person's to read list (Susan Slaviero). It's a darn good beginning, I'd say.

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Did you know Costco sells diamonds?

Visiting Writer

Tomorrow, I'm visiting Barberton High School and a dear friend's English classes. This is my first time as a visiting writer and I am extremely excited/extremely nervous. My chapbook, as those of you who've read it know, is sometimes a little...hrm, how do you say...risque? inappropriate for teenagers? As someone who chose to teach college so that I wouldn't have to worry about such things, I'm waaay out of my element here.

I've developed a prompt that is based on my poem "Stella Takes Me to Tucson" but inspired by John Gallaher's post on writing prompts. I'll be asking the students to write about going somewhere they've never been before with someone they think they know well, but maybe don't. If the exercise goes well, maybe I'll post it here, but for now, I'm keeping it to myself.

An interesting coincidence...one of the primary settings of the poems in the chapbook is Barberton. The kids I'll meet tomorrow will have their own stories about Lake Anna, the Dollar General on Wooster Ave...but hopefully not the Star Inn. Should spark some interesting conversations/questions.

Will be back soon to let you know how it went.

Time for change, perhaps?

So, I just claimed saratracey.wordpress.com as my own. One of my sisters goes around the internet signing up for every blogging/free web hosting service using her name as the url just to make sure no one gets it before she does (even though she doesn't blog often) and though I thought this was silly when I first heard it, now it's making a lot of sense. Especially since I've hated the title "Mindful Ramblings" since about five minutes after I decided on it. And because it's not likely I'll ever grow to hate my own name, having that in a url makes a lot more sense. Plus, it'll be much easier to find me at the new blog, so it's all good, right?

I'm going to hang out here a while longer while I get used to how wordpress works and tweak my blog list and that sort of thing, so don't abandon me yet. I'll let you know when it's time to update your links.

Anyway, here's where you come in, faithful readers. What should I call my new blog? "Sara Tracey's Blog" just isn't going to cut it, and though the new title won't be as permanent as MR has felt, I still don't want it to suck--or to decide it sucks five minutes after I name it. The first thing to pop into my mind is "a nickel to tell me," a phrase from this poem (scroll down), but I'm always afraid that it only makes sense to me (I've thought about using it as a section or manuscript title). Any other ideas?

In which I do not work on my paper or study for my Italian exam

I'm manning (err--womaning) the office for the afternoon, and then off to take my Italian exam at 6pm, and in the meantime, I should be doing some homework (studying for said exam, perhaps) but it seems all I can do is toggle back and forth between email and facebook without the energy to actually write any emails or say anything interesting on facebook. I had a little burst of productivity at the beginning of the weekend, but Sunday and so far today have been rather uninspired. The semester is nearly over: in terms of work, I just have the exam, revising 3 poems, finishing the paper for the postcolonial class, and grading 12 portfolios for intro to poetry. In terms of time, I plan to be done with the semester before I start my yoga class at 5:30 on Thursday.

On Saturday, I leave for Ohio, where I'll be for 3 weeks (bring it on, house robbers) hanging out with the folks and their crazy (but lovable) dog.

Looking forward to doing some pleasure reading (too bad there's no new Twilight-esq series to read--or is there?) and getting together some poems to submit--I never managed a fall submission and almost all of my spring/summer subs have come back...no good news. My ego is slightly bruised, so hopefully the next batch will have a better reception.

I guess that's all for now. Have a nice Monday, folks.

it's all downhill from here...

It's that time of the semester...you know, when your days are filled with equal parts panic and procrastination, when you know (because it's happened every semester for the past five years) that you will somehow finish everything even though you can't actually imagine how. The momentum of the semester is such that you can't quite keep up with your laundry or your dirty dishes, but you can find time to watch Grey's Anatomy reruns (again) and take two or three naps while you're "reading." ...when you take a half-hour to update your blog because, clearly, that's the best use of your time.

So, some updates.

Learning Italian
At the moment, I'm at New Wave Coffee, where in a little while I'll be meeting Federica, my Italian conversation partner. This is only our second meeting and quite possibly our last. This is for a couple of reasons, one being that I can't really see myself having time for another meeting before the end of the semester, which I think is when she returns to Italy; the other is that it turns out I don't get to take any more Italian classes, so the urgency to learn has fizzled. I wasn't using very much foresight when I decided to take 4 semesters of a 4-day-a-week class...as a grad student/TA, I just don't have enough control over my schedule. The class I need to finish my coursework on time conflicts with all three sections of Italian 102 next semester.

When found out about this conflict, I started looking into my other options and found out that the Spanish translation test is probably well within my abilities, so that's the new plan. Maybe someday I'll be able to go back and really learn Italian, but it's not going to be possible while I'm getting my PhD.

Intro to Poetry
I think I've learned way more in this class than any of my students, but that's okay. They're improving, they're writing interesting stuff, and they seem to be enjoying themselves. I can't ask for much more my first time out of the gate. In the future, I think I'll spend a lot more time preparing my materials and will without a doubt use a real textbook instead of a course packet. I also don't think I'll spend quite as much time workshopping if I teach this class again. It feels like we're repeating the same conversation every day, every poem, and the students would probably be learning more if we were doing different types of writing exercises, if we continued to read published work throughout the semester, etc. Like I said, I think I've learned a lot more than my students.

Workshop
I'm stumped. I turned in a revision last week that AW hated, completely tore to shreds, and I'm afraid now to revise the rest of the poems for the portfolio. It's so strange how some days she compliments what I'm doing and other days she just throws up her hands. I think one thing I gained during my MFA was the ability to defend my work even when a reader (mentor, even) didn't like what I was doing--but this past year or so has diminished that ability...I don't trust my gut anymore, and so I don't trust my work. I just want to finish a poem and be sure it's done, ready to be out in the world...and I can't remember the last time I felt that way.

Next Semester
The class that makes it impossible for me to continue with Italian is in Renaissance lit. It's not one of my main areas of interest, but it's a real, honest-to-goodness lit class: we'll be reading plays and stories and poems and not just theory! I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about that. I'm also taking two workshops, one poetry (with Christina Pugh) and one non-fiction (with Luis Urrea). It may not be a good idea to take 3 grad level classes, but I'm not teaching next semester, so I think it'll be okay. Plus, I've had this non-fiction project in my head since my last semester at Akron, and my newest poems are leaning toward flash non-fiction, so I really have got to work with Urrea when I have the chance. The best thing, though, about next semester? I only have to be on campus 3 days a week, and I don't have to get up at 6am every day!

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And Federica will be here any minute, so that's all for now. Happy Thanksgiving!

happy

My sister is here, last night I did my second reading since Flood Year came out and then went to Little Joe's to belatedly celebrate my birthday, today we're going to wander around the city like tourists and the weather is perfect.

Compliments from lots of folks, including the department chair and AW, after the reading. Sold a couple of copies. Felt like a rock star.

Karen wrote a little review of Flood Year that's just amazing...I kind of can't believe she's talking about my poems. Thanks so much, Karen!

Rigoberto González had nice things to say about Flood Year and dgp over at Critical Mass. Awesome!

verve

I have been sitting here all night, fighting with the internet, chatting with a poet friend/classmate on facebook, watching Grey's episodes online (when the internet is working)and now it is 11:56, past my bedtime, and I'm not sleepy, but I am tired, and I do have to get up in 5 or 6 hours depending on whether or not I want my hair to look decent tomorrow, but I haven't done any of my homework/grading, and I've figured it's safe to put some of it off until tomorrow night or the next night, but a lot of it (writing a sonnet, revising a poem, reading some Dante) needs to be done by 3pm tomorrow, and minus the time I'll probably spend sleeping, I only have 3 free hours between now and then and usually trying to write in fixed form takes me a really, really long time, and I keep thinking that Anne said I don't have to write the sonnet because I did okay on the sapphics, but it would be good for me anyway, and I'm wondering what's up with this never-ending run-on sentence?

I took my birthday weekend off, officially, but the truth is I've been phoning it in for a couple of weeks. Why? Who knows. Winter doldrums kicking in early? Mid-semester burnout? General laziness? Can't quite put my finger on it. Just know I haven't had much verve lately.

Speaking of verve, Anne also told me my poems have no intensity/focus/urgency. I'm supposed to be revising to find the moment of urgency/intensity/focus that is at the root of each draft. When she said this to me last week, it sounded profound and right and productive and now it just feels heavy and sad and impossible. Oh, she also said I have a small vocabulary. boo.

and now I'm good and depressed and ready for bed. I'll do what I can tomorrow and what doesn't get done will go on the permanent record of things-Sara-didn't-do-well-enough-according-to-her-own-stupid-standards which I think all perfectionists have except I'm a lazy perfectionist and even though I want everything to be perfect I usually don't get there.

self-pity, it's good for my art.

Birthday (and Halloween) redux

I turned 29 yesterday. I'm not one to worry about getting older (for the most part), primarily because I love to celebrate my birthday. Usually, I try to have a huge party and am subsequently disappointed when I end up with a small party. So this year, I started small, stayed small. Four of us went to dinner at Quartino, which is quickly becoming my favorite restaurant in Chicago. We drank too much wine, ate too much food, talked about babies, relationships, school...got a little rowdy and offended people at the next table...and generally had an amazing time. I don't think I've ever had a group of girlfriends that felt as solid as these girls do for me.

I can't quite give up on my love of big, rowdy birthday celebrations, though, so I'll be having a second celebration on Nov. 13 after I read at the Hull House. My sister Carla will be in town, and a lot of folks will already be around for the reading, so it just seemed like a better day for a big party. I'm looking forward to that, too.

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And it wouldn't be right if I didn't mention Halloween. Four of us dressed up as smurfs and went to the costume parade on Halsted street. We were nearly celebrities...everywhere we went, people shouted: "Look, it's the smurfs!" and asked to have their picture taken with us. But really, the best part for me was checking out all the drag queen costumes. I have a bit of a secret obsession. The best was the human disco ball, who I unfortunately couldn't get a very good picture of.

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I did more socializing this past weekend then in the whole month prior, so I'm quite exhausted today and even further behind in my work. I guess that means I should sign off and get to it.

Happy November, folks!

My new (poetry) diet

So, I had a meeting today with my workshop prof, Anne Winters, who I absolutely adore. Her critiques are often scathing, but she is funny, whip-smart, and an invested teacher.

...but, she put me on--what she calls--a poetry diet. Said I'm not allowed to read any more contemporary poetry until I catch up with the canon. I'm supposed to (re)read Bishop, Yeats, Lowell, plus Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Balzac before I read another contemporary poem. And that's just what I can remember off the top of my head. There are more names, collected works, giant novels, etc.

Don't get me wrong. I need to read more classics just like I need to eat more vegetables. But if Yeats = broccoli, then Leilani Hall = sour patch kids and A. Van Jordan = potato chips. Broccoli is good, but some days only junk food will do.

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PS - I'm sorry for the bad metaphor, especially at the expense of two of my favorite contemporary poets. The point is, these are things I just can't resist.

Publicity

My chapbook is getting some publicity at the Chicago Poetry Calendar today. Sweet!

And back home, my MFA pal Jason Venner is getting some press, too.

Good things, good things.

lupanare

Lupanare is the Italian word for brothel. It was used in the poem I translated last night and is, I imagine, one of those words that makes serious translators go a little bit crazy. You see, the root of the word--lupa--means shewolf. And there's just no way to bring that into an English translation. It made me a little bit sad to let it go, but I did use "bordello" because it's more fun to say.

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I'm getting a slow start this morning because the one most time consuming thing on my to do list--the one I should have started already instead of blogging--is to read Conscripts of Modernity by David Scott. I hear it's a fascinating book. But it doesn't have anything to do with my interests. You think when you sign up for grad school that you will not have to take classes you don't want to take. Not so. Especially at UIC where two classes is a full load and there are typically only 4 grad seminars offered a semester but you have to take 3 workshops, which means you only have 5 other classes to take, and three of them are the core courses everyone takes, which means you get to choose 2 classes OR take more credits than you have to and even then there's no guarantee that you'll take a single class you like. So far, in my 3 semesters here, there's been ONE grad class on poetry and if you're a long time reader, you already know I hated it.

I cannot wait to start reading for my exams. At least then I'm the one picking the topics.

And...rant over.

Now Available!!

Yep, that's right. You can buy your very own copy of my chapbook now. Just click here: Flood Year

But...there are several folks who will be getting little presents in their mailboxes as soon as I get my next batch of copies. I thought I'd go to UA when I was in Ohio to hand-deliver some copies to friends and mentors, but my family snatched up all my author copies. I also owe some folks a trade, so you all will be getting those too.

Otherwise, I hope you'll think about buying a copy and supporting dancing girl press, which does such great work.

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I translated a poem about sailors and prostitutes tonight. From Italian. It was fun. The poem is "Citta` vecchia" (Old City) by Umberto Saba. Next up: a poem in sapphics. I guess that means three lines of 11 syllables each plus one line of five syllables, repeat as desired. I'm terrified because it isn't just about counting syllables, but also about counting stresses, and I have a tin ear. You'll never catch this girl writing sonnets or blank verse. Well, never say never.

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What a strange, strange world this is. I still can't believe I live in Chicago. I still can't believe it's almost winter.

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My sister Carla is coming to visit in a few weeks. I can't wait to do touristy things with her and introduce her to my friends.

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Workshop started in my intro to poetry class. It's going so, so much better than the first half of the semester did. Some of my students are really talented and they are all working really hard. I'm proud of them and (finally) excited to walk into the classroom every day. I feel like a big nerd, but I love it. Oh, and the number of students who have come to see me during office hours has quadrupled in the last week. That's always fun.

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I'm happy in a sad way right now. Does that make any sense to anyone?

reluctantly heading back

I don't know why I always take pictures out the window of the megabus.

Lots to do on this ride: have to write a response to Kant's "What is Enlightenment," write a poem (Gary and I have switched from poem-a-day to poem-a-week, with a Monday deadline. Somehow I'm always scrambling on Monday night.), read some Dante, and finish some Italian homework. Once that's done, I'll either try to watch some House episodes online or read Rita Dove's Sonata Mulattica. (I'm about 50 pages in--so far, so good.) There'll probably be some napping, too.

I'm not quite ready to be heading back to the city/back to school. I already miss my peoples.

I'm the happiest girl in the world

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Kristy Bowen did such a great job with the cover and she's such a pleasure to work with. I couldn't be happier with my new chapbook. The reading last night was delightful, and for the first time since I finished my MFA, I feel like a Poet, a Real Poet. I think I'll be smiling for days.

don't worry

I think it's just a run-of-the-mill chest cold. Still, it's perfectly crappy timing, what with the reading on Friday and Ohio next week. I hate bringing germs to Ohio and my mother and her borrowed lung and compromised immune system. Hopefully I'm better by then.

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I did something unwise over the weekend, and I think I'll continue to do unwise things all my life because they are oh-so-good for poem starters. Like the little half-egg carton full of fire-starters that girl scout leaders take to camp, I carry all my stupid decisions with me and pull one out when the kindling is damp. If everything I did was premeditated and made perfect sense, I would definitely not be a writer.

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Tomorrow is the deadline for the Juniper prize, which I had originally planned to submit to, but I've been lazy the last few days (blame it on the cold) and am not totally ready. Then I was looking over the guidelines and realized the Juniper prize isn't a first book contest, and well, maybe I don't want to enter open competitions. Am I just making excuses so I can miss another deadline, or am I being smart and saving $25 on a contest I have no chance of winning?

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Time to go to Italian class. Ciao.