In spring, as I was preparing to teach my poetry course, remotely and online, in the first months of the pandemic, I decided to scrap my syllabus and to teach books that had changed me utterly, as a person and as a writer — books I have carried with me through the years, from apartment to apartment in tattered copies, books that have grown and changed with me.
In spring, as I was preparing to teach my poetry course, remotely and online, in the first months of the pandemic, I decided to scrap my syllabus and to teach books that had changed me utterly, as a person and as a writer — books I have carried with me through the years, from apartment to apartment in tattered copies, books that have grown and changed with me.
