category. Overblown, masculine, brutish metaphor there, sorry. “Behemoth”? What am I describing, a Panzer tank? Precision can be such a demanding bitch. Best words in the best possible order, some opium-smoking dead guy once said. Understand, this is like trying to sum up the concept of God itself (himself? herself?) in a few choice sound bites. Let’s try this again: Ophelia Alcantara-Dimalanta, PhD, one of the country’s foremost poets, critics and teachers; muse-mother to genera- tions of wordsmiths and thinkers, from ruling literati to the staffboxes of major newspapers and everything in between. You are Lady Polyester. Love Woman Flowing. Herself Sunflower. Nameless Jewel. Woman on the Podium. Still the Best Woman Poet Writing in the Country Today. Goddess Ophelia. And I was the long-haired, irresponsible know-it-all punk pot- head. By the laws of the campus ecosystem, we were supposed to hate each other’s guts. I was the species that was supposed to make your waking life a living, breathing hell—broken windows, obscene graffiti, cigarette smoke on the hallway, the occasional firecracker in the faculty toilet, cannabis mists in the janitor’s utility room, etc. But no. Suddenly, I found myself becoming an unexpected paragon of intense industry when I became your student. Or at least I thought I was. Yes, I do recognize myself Not all great poets can teach. In the same way, not all great teachers can write poetry. I had the marvelous fortune of having my first creative writing workshop under you.
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