Please join us for a reading by three local poets!
Krysten Hill is an educator, writer, and performer who has showcased her poetry on stage at The Massachusetts Poetry Festival, Blacksmith House, Cantab Lounge, Merrimack College, U35 Reading Series, and many others. She received her MFA in poetry from UMass Boston where she currently teaches, and she is the recipient of the 2016 St. Botolph Club Foundation Emerging Artist Award. Her chapbook, How Her Spirit Got Out, received the 2017 Jean Pedrick Chapbook Prize.
Maggie Dietz is the author of That Kind of Happy (University of Chicago Press, 2016) and Perennial Fall (University of Chicago, 2006), which won the 2007 Jane Kenyon Award for Outstanding Book of Poetry and a Wisconsin Library Association Literary Award for Outstanding Achievement. She served for several years as director of the Favorite Poem Project, a national undertaking founded by Robert Pinsky during his time as United States Poet Laureate, dedicated to celebrating, documenting and enhancing poetry’s role in American lives. The New York Times Book Review described Perennial Fall as “intimate, idiomatic and thoroughly original.” From 2004-2012, she was assistant poetry editor for the online magazine Slate.
Sandra Lim is the author of The Wilderness (W. W. Norton, 2014), selected by Louise Glück for the 2013 Barnard Women Poets Prize, and a previous collection of poetry, Loveliest Grotesque (Kore Press, 2006). She is an assistant professor of English at the University of Massachusetts, Lowell, and lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Poetry. African & African American Studies. Krysten Hill's HOW HER SPIRIT GOT OUT is a lively, urgent song. Answering the writers whose voices raised her, Hill calls on Sylvia Plath, Audre Lorde, and Zora Neale Hurston to help her navigate the complicated landscape of selfhood.
October AubadeIf I slept too long, forgive me. A north wind quickened the window frames
so the room pitched like a moving train and the pillow's whiff of hickory
and shaving soap conjured your body beside me. So I slept in the berth
as the train chuffed on, unburdened
From the last stars to sunrise the world is dark and enduring and emptiness has its place
Then, to wake each day to the world's unwaverin limits, you have to think about passion differently, again