My final commentaries in the spring and fall semesters are generally wistful reflections on what I’ve learned.
This time, I reflect on my freshman semester in this, my small tribute and small remembrance of one of the reasons UT’s been so good to me.
My first semester here, Martha Serpas was a semi-mythical creature, a unicorn or a winning lottery ticket.
Not because I questioned her existence, but because she was simply sounded too good to be true.
Two falls ago, I was a new college student ready to study poetry at UT.’
My classes were chosen for me that semester, none were remotely poetic.
I wanted to write!
I wanted to read poetry day in and out, until I burst, but that semester I floated about unable to take an actual writing course.
Through my interactions with Quilt, Sigma Tau Delta and English/Writing faculty, one name inevitably appeared: Martha Serpas.
Have you taken a class with Martha?
You’ll learn so much from her.
Martha, Martha, Martha!
It was exquisite torture; here I was, attending school on this beautiful campus, an alcove of higher learning nestled beside a dull city, and a literary giant roamed the halls.
To assuage my excitement, I turned to Google.
After a few clicks, my interest jumped.’ She’d published two books acclaimed by critic Harold Bloom.
I’m sure I gasped or said, ‘Whoa.’
This is a man I’d read in high school, whose books aided my research papers late as spring 2007.
It was around late October by then.
My only encounter with Martha being at my first open mic where I bludgeoned the audience with seven poems!’
Not exactly the way I wanted to meet my first poet.
I’d finally purchased her books around that time’mdash;amazed by several poems’mdash;but still unable to study with her.
December finally arrived, and I got my chance to register for her spring class: Poetry I.
Winter Break chugged slowly, mercilessly.
Sitting in my first poetry workshop, all my anxieties came to a head: What is this woman really like?’
Will she shred our poems to pieces?’
What do I call her?’
(By that point in my college career, I was quite confused as to what to call professors. The dizzying hierarchy of professor and Doctor baffled me.)
When she began class, I can’t quite remember, but I’m sure it sounded something like this:
I’m Doctor Serpas.’ Actually, don’t call me Doctor Serpas I don’t like it.’ Call me Professor Serpas if you like, but I’d rather you just call me Martha.
In that gesture, most of what you need to know about Martha is revealed.’
She’s a grounded woman who treats everyone with dignity and openness.’
You can sit in her spacious office and chat about poetry or bum a cigarette from her (or she from you), talk about the benefits of dog ownership on Plant Hall’s sun-washed veranda.’
She’ll rail against ineffectual feminists and prejudiced social norms one moment and proclaim the mind-body benefits of reading Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible.
She’s a friend, my mentor and the first real poet I met.
Martha is one of UT’s great voices, one we’ll miss and treasure in our missing.
Derrick Austin may be reached at daustin@ut.edu.