I woke up this morning to the news that my poem "Heat Wave" is up on Vox Populi. This is the poem I was describing a couple of weeks ago--the one that sucked me into the zone, the one that reminded me that writing can be a drug. Whether it's a decent poem or not, it sure was fun to make.

Yesterday's chapbook class went well, I think, I hope. Some of the participants are alums of previous Frost Place classes, some are completely new to our programs, but clearly all of them are serious, committed poets. My goal in this seminar is to give them some tools for experimenting with manuscript order, not to tell them exactly what to do with their sheafs of poems. As a teacher I am always about transferring power. So yesterday we began by thinking about a manuscript's frame--first poem, last poem--and then added in a discussion of middle, or apex, poem: the poem that creates an arc. We played organization games with some published poets' work, and then ended the session by spending time with a key poem from each participant's manuscript, imagining how a collection would differ depending on where the poem appeared in the book.

I'm still a little nervous about this class, but so far, so good.

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This week I've got a bunch of house things to catch up on, after my poetry-distracted weekend. I need to make real headway in my Iliad reading so that Teresa and I can talk about it next week. I'll be working on a friend's manuscript, waiting for the next batch of editing to appear, getting my hair cut, going to a doctor's appointment, receiving a dump truck load of green firewood, and probably starting to tear out my tomato plants (sob).

The weather is sultry but the sunlight is autumnal, and the garden is shifting to elegy.