Teaching Poetry, Teaching Life

BY DEEPAK SINGH, HONORS AFFILIATE FACULTY

I’M A WRITER, RADIO PRODUCER, and journalist. I have written for The New York Times, The Boston Globe, The Atlantic, NPR, and The World, and am the author of two books: Chasing America: Of Lollipops, Night Clubs, and Ferocious Dogs, and How May I Help You? An Immigrant’s Journey from MBA to Minimum Wage

And for the last three years, I’ve been engaged in the rewarding work of teaching creative writing at the Judy Genshaft Honors College. My courses include an Honors Capstone on the craft of storytelling and the practice of taming the inner critic, an Arts and Humanities course on travel writing, and, most recently, a course called Refined Imaginations: A Poetry Workshop.

To build familiarity with the genre, we spend the first half of the semester reading works of several poets and analyze their work closely. In the second half of the semester, students write poems that are then workshopped in class. Everyone reads everyone’s work and gives constructive feedback. I try to create a comfortable environment in the classroom, where students feel safe to write about their feelings and express their thoughts freely. By the end of the semester, the students will have written around a hundred poems combined. I’m humbled by the quality of work they have produced so far, some of which is included to the right.

So many of our students pursue degrees in the sciences and use rational thought and logical reasoning in their academic work on a daily basis. But at the same time, they have thoughts, feelings, and emotional reactions to their experiences. This writing workshop creates a structured space for engaging in creativity as both an academic and expressive practice. They kindle a passion for writing through exploring topics outside of their regular course load. As a result, they build skills that carry over into the rest of their lives: accepting and giving feedback, engaging in personal reflection, and writing about themselves.

Here’s what a couple of students in my class have to say about the poetry workshop:

“As a first-semester freshman, I was given this poetry workshop class with Professor Singh simply to fill up my schedule. At first, I had my doubts, as in high school I did not have the most enjoyment with poetry. However, the creativity that the workshop and Professor Singh have given me has allowed for this to become my favorite class, as work does not feel like work, but rather a chance to write freely in ways that I was never able to do before.”

– Marc Schwartz, ‘25

“Refined Imaginations: A Poetry Workshop is one of my favorite classes I have taken at USF. It is a great opportunity to engage in learning with students of all disciplines, and a space to read and analyze poetry, writing it and reflecting on it. It is a class where you get a chance to listen to other people’s thoughts on poetry and share your own, a class that feels warm and never judging, with accepting classmates and an amazing professor. It is a class that creates memories (and poems!) for life.”

– Dana Ardasenova, ‘25, international student from Russia

Musings of a Starving Woman

BY FELICIA NGUYEN, BIOMEDICAL SCIENCES, CLASS OF ’25

Are there things I miss out on in life, because of my womanhood?

If I could go for a run through the dim forested trails, is there knowledge that the foliage whispers of, a wisdom the creatures possess?

If I could walk the streets alone at night, would I find there, in the still, a sense of peace that my mind has been wandering for all its life? The thought gnaws on my bones in hunger. What secrets would the breeze carry in, blown into my quiet room, with a hush and a touch of mindless fate, if my windows could be flung wide open? what if, what if, what if

Toothpick Trees

BY SAMUEL MEMOLI, BIOLOGY, CLASS OF ’25

Rustling all about the forest’s pocket

Are countless, skinny, toothpick trees

Leaves step over seeds to get into the rocket

To go so tall they pick the sky’s teeth

The sky smiles back and thanks distantly

The trees who grew so much

And tried so hard, admittedly

To earn a single brush of the sky’s touch

The seeds, abandoned together, cry

Entirely forgotten on a skyless ground

The trees can’t possibly see just why When the sky, to them, is all around

The trees, forever more will reach So the seeds can die, or choose to leave.