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Poetry was my first genre.  The pleasures of metaphor, compression of expression, and the controlled line appealed to me in ways that prose did not, and when I first began writing—and then publishing—I never thought I would write anything but poetry.  Of course, critical essays and book reviews were part of my work, but those always felt as though they came from a different quadrant of my brain.  Poetry was my genre.


I’m writing this post—and a few other things—on my first summer day of liberation from teaching and administration, and it feels wonderful! Of course, by the time this post appears (in a month), the summer will feel half over—it will indeed be half over, as classes start mid-August. But for the moment, I’m reminded that writing is fun, especially when it’s not squeezed into the hour here or there available during the school year. And that I’m lucky to be able to write poems and prose,...

A dozen years ago, I lived in a high-rise that overlooked the gaping hole where the World Trade Center had, only the year before, stood. It sometimes occurred to me that if the towers were still there, I wouldn’t have so much light, but I loved the light anyway.

It was a company apartment, which is to say: my husband’s boss and his wife and their toddler watched as people held hands and jumped from the burning buildings, and kept watching, until finally they realized they...


Recently, I had occasion to attend a poetry reading at a local charter school.  The children were exuberant, eager to read their new poems to the audience—so new, in fact, that some of the...


Revisiting “A Psalm” now, I would say that my poem was interested in language’s corporeality. That the body we inhabit—even when we're apart...


This semester I am teaching a course called Poets of Color at Mills College in Oakland, California. ‘Tis that time of the semester again when I start compiling writing prompts based upon the work we have read and discussed for my...

My poetry often siphons science for inspiration. Scientific American, Nature, “Best of” series all provide me with gifts like “humans taste brown” and “the measures we use depend on what we are measuring.”For the past five years, I’ve taken a special interest in human descent with modification, which has turned into an interest regarding literary evolutionists and what they have to say about why we spend so much of our time in the land of narrative. According to...

neruda image


When the moon was just beginning to rise—
he could smell the sea from a considerable distance,

a scene from the Mediterranean. Neruda,

lighting a smoke, the men
rolling their nets like their fathers before them.

I don’t know what he...

Ann Hudson - Between_winter_and_spring_

You might have heard that we had a bit of winter up here in the Heartland.  Mounds of snow on top of mounds of snow. We shovelers were out morning and evening...

A three-week bout of vertigo struck me when I moved to Maryland in 2011. I found a surprising remedy in running. Also unexpected, the state’s hilly trails, glittering with schist, furnished a sense of adventure I had not known since college. Gradually, my vertigo-turned-verve desired its own story. I imagined a girl runner who loses her house to foreclosure and must save her family and community after a speculative collapse of the oil economy. Yet when I tried to pen the story, I could not...


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Phone: 319-273-6455


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