The Hermit Poet

After the transcontinental journey, the 2-person unloading of my truck-o-books-n-stuff, and the various shopping sprees required to restock shelves and make a place habitable, I am now settling in.

At this point my sister has flown back to Canada and returned to work and family. My roommate arrived on Aug 5 and has been setting up camp in his room (almost literally — he’s living out of his suitcases and sleeps on an air mattress). Over the past week we’ve both been to campus a fair bit to take care of international student requirements and departmental orientation. I finished registering for my classes this morning, so I can finally say that I’m officially a PhD student at USC.

I’ve unpacked 80% of my books, predictably running out of shelf space early. I could add another bookcase, but worry that my room will start to feel too cluttered. The important thing is that my poetry books are all unpacked and shelved.

For some reason I never feel settled until the poetry is unpacked and on the shelves — there’s a comfort there — a sense of things in their proper place. Now, sitting in my desk chair surveying the room, I can see my materials around me — and in that context, something good can happen. I’m hoping for clarity and insight. Good poetry. Words. The kind that stun and overwhelm. Enter muse. Set the page aflame.