On November 4, I had the honor of performing a few poems at the request of my alma mater, West Texas A&M University. It clocks in at an hour and six minutes, which is a lot. So here are some of the highlights.
My alma mater West Texas A&M has invited me to give a reading on November 4 at 7 pm. The program will be an hour with a Q&A at the end. I’ll be debuting a new poem called “Ulysses Arrives in Amarillo.”
Email Dr. Eric Meljac —email@example.com— to receive the Zoom Webinar Link.
There is one evil that concerns literature which should never be passed over in silence but be continually publicly attacked, and that is corruption of the language, for writers cannot invent their own language and are dependent upon the language they inherit so that, if it be corrupt, they must be corrupted. But the critic who concerns himself with this evil must attack it at its source, which is not in works of literature but in the misuse of language by the man-in-the-street, journalists, politicians, etc. Furthermore, he must be able to practice what he preaches.
W.H. Auden. The Dyer’s Hand and Other Essays. Vintage International, 1988. P. 11.
West Texas A&M University employs a writer in residence. As a WT alum, this is a source of pride when I speak about my education, but admittedly, I’m a little wistful. This position didn’t exist when I was a student there. I wish it had. Despite studying great works of literature by writers from all ages and all over the world; despite pursuing a course of study focused on writing, there wasn’t anybody from our area with whom I could have had a conversation. There were simply writers I read who lived elsewhere or in some other time. As one writer I know said as he expressed his frustration with this area: “Writers around here either languish or leave.”
Currently, the office of writer in residence is ably filled by Chera Hammons, award-winning poet, novelist, educator, and advocate for our area in the larger literary world. Recently, that position has been under scrutiny from a new administration who has to make tough budget decisions. This has me wondering about the value this position holds.
WT was founded in 1910 to train and supply teachers for the burgeoning Panhandle population. In the subsequent century, WT has increased the local human resource by training young people to specifically address the needs of our area in business, agriculture, engineering, nursing, and technology. WT also has the Sybil B. Harrington College of Fine Arts producing, among other things, writers.
Good writers, or writers of a beneficial imagination, flourish on the same resources as writers of bad imagination. For every credentialed, large-hearted Chera, there are also a hundred online commentators producing noxious reactions. Our local university should subsidize a writer, especially of Chera’s talent, to indicate that certain types of stories should be valued above others.
Ag producers are subsidized to produce five specific crops because they feed and clothe the world. One-fifth of these crops produced in America are grown in our High Plains region. The subsidies provide stability for producers to weather fluctuating markets and fickle circumstances. Surely, we believe our stories, our view of the world, would also benefit the imagination of America. The Texas Panhandle could produce a Twain, a Dickinson, and a Hawthorne if they had the margin to write without being harried by the market. Subsidizing a single writer to produce, as well as supplement the instruction of a team of professors, is a minimal investment that has far-reaching benefits for our region, and ultimately the university who made the investment.
If you’re interested in writing on Chera’s behalf, you can email Dr. Neil Terry (Provost of WTAMU), or Jessica Mallard (Dean of the Humanities).
I have been bestowed with the pleasure and special grace of corresponding with a few people in my life. Email is the the wrong medium; although, that’s the form it takes. How is it that the same inbox contains a thousand advertisements, a few tedious meetings being scheduled, a steady supply of rejections, and very occasionally a letter from a friend that must have taken hours in the composition and a lifetime for the understanding (but also, beautifully, a schedule for a meeting)?
One man’s attention to the world around him conveyed in the grammar of his note begs me to raise my attention. I cannot write rote sentences in reply; it would be an ingratitude for the gift. The proper register is not a missive, but poetry. If, in the infinite variables of time and taste, there are people who read what I write, I’d lay these letters next to anything else I’ve written. If, as the canon of Scripture maintains, that letters written between people could be the breathed Word of God, then I’d hope that these letters last forever.
Each click that tosses an email into the virtual trash robs me of time to respond in kind to my friend, but I suppose I have all the time there is.