an apology for the life of

I took some chalk and wrote H. D.'s "Oread" on a concrete wall by the exterior stairwell of the humanities building. Today I went back and wrote Sappho 105c. I have no idea what anyone who saw me thought I was doing; likely they didn't think about it at all, or assumed I was just putting up something for the student senate candidates.

This year the Academy of American Poets is sponsoring something they call the Dear Poet Project. Send a letter to one of the Academy chancellors, commenting on a poem of theirs, and they might even write back. I found myself composing a missive to Edward Hirsch about "What the Last Evening Will Be Like." I realized too late that my handwriting was horribly small and cramped, and I imagine I sounded rather pretentious, but I really was struck by how the poem draws the reader in. (No idea if early twenties still counts as a "young person," or if the Academy is thinking of twelfth graders at most.)