a brief note about my poetry seminar
Previously, I mentioned
my poetry seminar was quite fun. It still is, and I still am not a huge fan of poetry, yet I am compelled to mention this seminar once again.
Walking to the parking garage with my school chum, Jim
, we both shook our heads and said, "I don't know how he does it," referring to our prof. Sure, our prof is good at it because he's taught this same seminar for decades, but still—we walk out of class filled to the brim with knowledge of all things poetic, yet not exhausted or anxious about it. Instead, we're just mentally full
of poetic goodness and confidence in our analytical skills.
Last semester, one of my profs embodied every.single.trait I vow never
to display to my students. (concentrated suckitude...good times!) This semester, I have a prof who is a walking list of "positive things to do in the classroom." You can bet that many of the notes I take in this poetry class are not about poetry—they're about the profession.