octubre

So it's been a while.

Today, as I went through the pronunciation of the months in Spanish to my mixture of 3rd and 4th graders, I realized that when I say the month "octubre" in Spanish, I will never quite sound like a native Spanish speaker. Of course, I realize this with many words, but as I shouted out "¡octubre!" to the eager faces of my students, I realized my "u" sound will never be quite "right" and my "octubre" will always sound a little bit different than native Spanish speakers. I haven't yet decided if this is good or bad (or if it is that simple).

Last night I went to a poetry reading by Marjorie Agosín. She talked about poetry, being a poet, what poetry is and where it comes from. She read from her books, in Spanish, in her native language, and it was, quite simply and succintly, beautiful. She read a poem from her book of poems about her grandmother, and I almost cried, right there in the basement of Ballantine Hall, surrounded by strangers, esteemed Professors of Hispanic literature, and a few students. And it occurred to me that I really miss poetry, words, writing. I have been so busy for the last month, last 2 months, that I haven't written for myself at all. I haven't read for myself at all. Of course, poetry & words & thoughts are always at the back of my mind, are always running through my days, are always trying to poke into my books, my emails, my conversations. But it's not quite the same.

Although I love Hispanic literature and I love what I am studying, it occurs to me that I will always have a more intimate relationship with English, with my mother tongue.

The weather is turning cold. I have been waiting for it to do so. Fall and winter are the times when I feel most connected to the world, to nature, to my thoughts. It has something to do with how my breath hangs frozen in the air on cold nights and early mornings.