Please celebrate this spring's award-winning undergraduate writers of poetry. The Creative Writing Program appreciates the finanical sponsors who make these awards possible, and we express our thanks to our judge, Amie Whiteemore.
Amie Whittemore, once upon a time a double major in English and Creative Writing here at the University of Illinois, is a poet, educator, and the author of Glass Harvest (Autumn House Press). She is also co-founder of the Charlottesville Reading Series. An instructor at Middle Tennessee State University, she holds graduate degrees from Lewis and Clark College (M.A.T.) and Southern Illinois University Carbondale (M.F.A.). Her poems have appeared in The Gettysburg Review, Sycamore Review, Rattle, Cimarron Review, and elsewhere.
Folger Adam, Jr. Prize, $1,000 (sponsored by Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity)
Meghedi Tamazian, "Everyday"
What immediately drew me to these poems is their study of transformation. In "Everyday," the winner of this year's poetry contest, the speaker inhabits a space of restless investigation, oscillating from a desire to "move toward hot water" and, on other days, "to cut off all my hair." As the writer moves us through these indecisions and revisions, one clear wish, for "a heart that can take all of this," emerges, vulnerable and unexpected. The poet wonderfully uses magical realism and absurdism in this poem and others, to investigate the nature of the self in relation to the world. In "A Sort of Pardon," the speaker finds "a spider inside my mouth," and a "house inside of a house, both harboring parched wood / and a familiar smell." Thanks to the writer's control, these startling images feel perfectly apt. The poet has created a unique and strangely unifying logic. It was a pleasure to enter into this world full of heart and verve.
Charles and Susan Shattuck Prize, $500
Siggi Schoth, "Arkansas Corn Queen on the Eve of Her Retirement from Teaching Contemporary Mathematics"
The intelligence and sense of humor in these poems is marvelous. It's clear from the title of the first poem, "Arkansas Corn Queen on the Eve of her Retirement from Teaching Contemporary Mathematics," that we are in the hands of a poet whose inspiration is found in observation of the human condition, particularly its fallibility: the Corn Queen, "painted the boniest parts of her hoof," "teetering on those sharp, flaking things." Later, in the poem "he believes his hands are not visible," the speaker criticizes a man who seduces women. However, the poet's ambitions carry us beyond that subject, and we look at the very idea of "technique," in terms of seduction, yes, but also elsewhere: "a tray is just /a technique for carrying / six things at once," and later, "a technique / is just another system, / just another boss." The way the speaker shifts our understanding of this word is sophisticated and provocative. This poet's straightforward voice inspires trust, so that we can enter new territories, engage with strangers on the train, even observe a friend, passed out on the floor, who isn't "as dead as we thought." Strange, wonderful poems
American Academy of Poets Prize, $100
Steven Waddell, "Then / Now"
Writing a political poem is never easy and the writer of "Then / Now," takes on this task with heart and grit. In the first section, "Then," the speaker shows us a black man on the run from a possible lynching; a difficult topic, on multiple levels, that the speaker navigates through a mixture of startling, precise imagery and variations in line length that control the pacing and revelation of information. The man's "purple feet" trail blood and "burst open...like an unripe plum." The image of the plum, soft and gentle, in the midst of the terror of the man's escape forces the reader to pause, to really see this man as an individual not an archetype. Later, in "Now," the writer creates a parallel scene, featuring a black man in a tense confrontation with a police officer. Again, the precision of images grounds the poem: the man's "ankles were magnets drawn tight displaying that he would not try to run" and his "mouth perched ready to explain his reason for existing." Later the man's blood "graffitied the pavement." But first--first, the man's mouth "was open wide enough to swallow galaxies." To carry all of this weight, of the fraught past and the fraught present in a single poem, is to attempt to swallow a galaxy. I admire deeply this poet's ambition to confront darkness.