Author: Sandy L Hudock
(Librarian, Colorado State University)
Being an academic librarian, one would think there’s time to read widely and deeply, but generally, that isn’t so. Time is mostly spent working with students and faculty, keeping them informed of and teaching them to use article databases.
I am fortunate though, because I am the liaison to the English department where I work, and so get to become familiar with other faculty’s research and writing, and pursue my own for my yearly review. Most academic librarians have an MLS (Masters of Library Science) and a second subject area Masters degree. My subject Masters is in English, with an emphasis in creative writing.
Poetry is my writing genre, and when people mention ‘free verse,’ they got that right. It’s difficult to get published in this area, and I enter one poetry contest that promises a run of 1,000 chapbooks of the winner’s work and I think 100.00, every year. It’s become an issue of spite, as I hope to simply wear down the editors with my regular submissions. So far, it hasn’t worked. I have been published in one regional anthology, and have won a regional poetry contest award three times. My work centers on nature and grief, is for the most part autobiographical, and now encompasses my beloved 19 month old son, Zachary.
My reading interests include, along with poets like Seamus Heaney (fans of his are referred to as Heaneyboppers in Ireland), the American writer Cormac McCarthy, who writes with dark wisdom and an understanding of language that is seldom seen in current novels. If you haven’t read him yet, or have only seen the movies, give him a try. The Border trilogy- All the Pretty Horses, The Crossing, and Cities of the Plain are captivating. Don’t be daunted by how he intersperses Spanish and forgoes punctuation. The rhythm of the stories and the natural world in which they are set will make their meanings known. Of course, No Country for Old Men is fast, scary, and mesmerizing—the Coen brothers did the book justice.
One movie version I am not going to see for quite some time is The Road. This is because of my son, and my reluctance to see the visual version of the Doomsday McCarthy portrays his nameless father and son against. The book is chilling.
For now, I am writing love poems to my son, like this one:
Why wash a tomato’s unsweet tannin
Oregano’s prick and juleped mint
The place where the bone angles from the eye
And the sun drenched sweat of a horse’s side?
Milky cheeks, dusty feet, antic mudding
Chasing bubbles popped detergent flying
Hefted weight at bedtime deep breath in, so
Seal the dirt, supper’s taste, all that’s holy.