In Spring Quarter, Poetry and the Human divides.

The Humanities Core sequence Poetry and the Human—designed by Sarah Nooter, professor of classics, along with other faculty—has a unique structure. During Fall and Winter, all students study poetry from an academic perspective. In Spring they have a choice: stay where they are, or switch to an affiliated Arts Core course … and write their own poems.

The Spring Quarter syllabus focuses on three poetic forms: haiku, ghazal (an Arabic form consisting of rhyming couplets), and sonnet. The forms come from “three different languages, three different time periods,” says humanities lecturer Richie Hofmann, who taught the course for the first time this past academic year. The strict requirements help students refine their thinking: “If it has to rhyme in a certain way, or there has to be a certain number of syllables,” he says, “it often leads to new discoveries.”

Hofmann selected these poems for the Core. Owen Seropian, Class of 2027, wrote “on being alone,” during the ghazal unit; the others came out of the sonnet unit.

“And America nearly became Uncle Musto’s Avalon” by Christian Turk, Class of 2027, was inspired by his uncle’s story of crashing his car into the Brooklyn Bridge. His uncle’s friends, afraid of being deported, called the police, then fled. (Uncle Musto lived, earned two degrees, and had a career in banking.)

“Pacific Coast Time,” by Charlotte Quintanar, Class of 2027, a humorous poem about climate change, was inspired by the work of Black ecopoet Ed Roberson. Like a sonnet, it has 14 lines. But Quintanar was also influenced by the other forms she studied.

“Ever since our haiku unit … I have seen the world in five syllables, tapping out on my fingers multiple haikus every day in my head,” she wrote in her final portfolio. During the ghazal unit, she learned to look for “details in my day-to-day that I would have normally ignored (such as, how does the stem of a dandelion bend when a butterfly lands on it, or how does my forehead skin crinkle when I am confused on a math question).”

Hofmann, the author of two books of poetry, has published work in the New Yorker, the Paris Review, Poetry, and other journals. Read more about his teaching approach.

on being alone

by Owen Seropian, Class of 2027

I go to bed when my roommate is off in his dreams
and I wake up when he is off at his classes.

I eat lunch next to strangers
and I stare at the back of their heads to try to see their faces.

I sit in a cubicle at the library
and I get a notification, “MAIL: Get 50% OFF Californ...”

I go on a walk
and I talk to the birds as they fly away from me.

I sit on a bench leaving room for one more
and I stand up from the bench with room for three more.

I play cards with myself
and I won this time around.

I say goodnight to my roommate
and I respond, “Goodnight to you too.”

Pacific Coast Time

by Charlotte Quintanar, Class of 2027

My liquid body – water in a flesh glass
spills out into the boundless brine.
My house is under water.
Or millions of years ago it would have been
under a prehistoric sea with no 7-Eleven, Brandy Melville, or Petco
(nobody was buying a dinosaur at Petco, silly… you could just take one outside)

Millions of years from now will the
44.8 million, 5 bedroom - 6.5 bathroom,
on 28926 Cliffside Dr, Malibu California
be underwater again or overlooking an arid plain?    A wasteland?         A desert?

Who wants dessert?         I can make Pillsbury pre-made brownie mix? Funfetti?
And enough to fill you and your growing shadow across the water.
Maybe then you will eat enough to forget,
that you are thirsty

And America nearly became Uncle Musto’s Avalon

by Christian Turk, Class of 2027

illegal alien in a spaceship
on the brooklyn bridge flying across asphalt
parades into a pillar
cascading towards a casket

wealth weighing his crown, pressuring his temple
crucified by corporate corruption
and suites: America’s sweets
the terre of tiered tears; tender and forties are torn treaties’ treat

his cries fall on the denied defeated, deafened

illegal aliens in their spaceship
pass the brooklyn bridge flying across asphalt
they see the wreck, for signs of life they check
the sirens sing silently, they cannot stay

the strobes and systems will send them away.