In my day job, I teach World Literature, among other things, so I was excited this year to direct the Eudora Welty Writers’ Symposium and include a number of international writers. The Symposium normally focuses on Southern writers, so I tried to find writers who had been living and writing in the South for quite awhile, and to find Southern writers whose international experiences had been influential. And of course, I invited a few other transplants who are Americans new to the South or Southerners who’ve lived outside the South.

The group that came together was a lot of fun. Everyone had good experiences in the South to share, and everyone had challenges. I was glad that Judith Ortiz Cofer, in her keynote address, talked and read a poem about the ‘invisible’ migrant workers who have become a bigger part of Southern life. There always have been migrant workers, of course, but now more and more of them are Latino, and it is important to acknowledge that the culture of the region is changing.

Arab-American writer, Pauline Kaldas; African (now Mississippi) writer, Sefi Atta; Chinese (now Mississippi) poet, John Zheng; and Indian (now Texas) writer Latha Viswanathan reminded us just how international the South has become. Ethnic communities exist, not just in the big cities, but also in small towns like Columbus — our audience included a broad range of cultures, too, in part because the Mississippi School for Math and Science brought its students, too.

It was good for those students (and us) to be reminded that their communities have a voice in Southern culture (and by extension in American culture). The South is no longer a monolithic society with one majority and one minority. Soon there will be no clear majority group at all, once the largest group has less than 50% of the total population. Working together and understanding each other will become that much more important.

Ann Fisher-Wirth and Michael Smith reminded us that international experiences have always been important for writers. And Michael Kardos, Minrose Gwin, Joy Castro, and Randall Horton represented the range of cultures within the South.

All in all the weekend was a stimulating and throught-provoking experience And we all had a lot of fun.

One of my favorite parts of my day job is directing the Eudora Welty Writers’ Symposium. Each year we bring a dozen authors to campus, and tonight I had dinner with our first to arrive, Joy Castro, author of The Truth Book. We had a delightful conversation, and in typical Columbus style, ran into newspaper publisher and fellow Southsider, Birney Imes, at the Thai restaurant. We talked about literature, teaching, colleges, writing, Columbus, the W, Nebraska, you name it. And of course, we talked some about what she could expect over the next few days.

Joy came in early as our Common Reading Initiative author. All of our freshmen read her memoir, The Truth Book, in their Introduction to College class, and she’ll be meeting with honors students and the CRI students at a couple of sessions. She’ll also meet with a Human Sexuality class that read her book, and then she’ll get to participate in the full symposium when that really gets underway on Thursday.

It’s always nice to meet the authors and get to spend a little time with them before the events really get started. Of course, I have lots of details to attend to (checking on books that haven’t arrived, making sure everything is okay for the auditorium, printing out maps and instructions for the authors, getting the books where they need to go, etc., etc.). There’s a lot of organizing that goes on behind the scenes, and I hope it goes off as seamlessly as possible, so no one really notices all the effort behind the scenes.

That’s the way it should be. We try to make the authors as comfortable and happy as possible, then let them read and entertain. We try to reach as many potential audience members as possible and let them come and be entertained. It’s kind of like being the cruise director on a ship. If you’re successful, you’re practically anonymous. And if people remember you, it’s probably because you messed up! So here’s to anonymity and a very successful few days. The authors that have graciously agreed to come read and talk about their work are all fabulous. The audience is great and deserves to enjoy some great literature. Soon, if it hasn’t been done already, it won’t get done, and I’ll be able to sit back and enjoy the readings, too. As long as the sound system works and there aren’t any minor crises to deal with (which there always are). Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

One of my favorite teachers and mentors passed away this month. Sam Moon of Knox College was 89. I knew him, when I first came to Knox, as the founder (with Robin Metz) of the creative writing program. He let me in my first poetry workshop (though I didn’t have the prerequisite) and taught me Poetry Translation (though the class overlapped with an Introduction to Fiction Writing class that I also needed to take). After his retirement, he worked with me on an independent study in translation. His thoughts on poetry, on language, and on life were highly influential.

An avid swimmer, Sam was working on a long, fragmentary, meditative poem on swimming when I knew him. He was also at work on a translation of the Tao Te Ching, the last I knew. I was glad to see him any time I was back at Knox, as long as he still remained in Galesburg. After he moved away and I moved further away and couldn’t return to my alma mater as frequently, we lost touch, except for a few letters and emails. And yet, Sam has often been in my mind as a role model of a poet, a teacher, and a human being. So I was not surprised, when the Knox College article about his passing quoted the style manual he wrote for the school in 1962.

…Moon described style as “an unending process” aimed at achieving wisdom.

Style is a ubiquitous fact of life. No man escapes working in one medium or another. No man avoids forming attitudes and values. No man is without some kind of style. No man lacks a mask — a public face — worthy or unworthy of his possibilities. We must discriminate in these matters. We must ask ourselves what we can do, where we can go with the styles we have…

While it would be disastrous for us to embrace our culture wholly and uncritically, it would be equally disastrous for us to cut ourselves adrift from it…

In that unending process which is style, the ultimate goal, attained only rarely, by men of the greatest genius but the goal toward which we all may struggle, is the style of wisdom.

— Samuel Moon, Mortar Board Convocation, Knox College, March 1962