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September 24, 2010

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I loved this post. As an undergraduate at my very first poetry reading at University of Virginia (the featured poet shall remain nameless), I struggled valiantly to stay awake, having pulled an all-nighter to finish a paper the night before. I tried breathing deeply, to oxygenate. I tried sitting on my hands. I tried reciting the alphabet backwards in my head. Still, the poet droned on. The last thing I remember before falling sound asleep was trying to focus on the very pretty and elaborately painted fingernails of the woman seated next to me. Who turned out to be Rita Dove.

Cheers,
Sandra

Great story.

"Oh Muses," he said in a shaky voice, "sing through me! I am but your blind Tiresias!"

hee!

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