Making Sense of Squiggly Lines

Poet Dee Matthews on the art and craft of poetry

By Meagan R. Thomas

“You should turn this into a contrapuntal.” Dee Matthews asks me to hand over her laptop and starts to move words of my poem around on the screen. When she shows me the result, I’m floored. She has moved the words into two columns, and triplicated their meanings. As a poet and professor, this is day-to-day for Matthews, who teaches at Bryn Mawr College.

As we work, she tapes my poems to the blackboard like we’re arranging an elaborate conspiracy. She sees the connections, the art of it all, even where I can’t. She gives all the poetry she touches new life.

Matthews has a soft face and wide eyes that achieve a soul-searching intensity. Her hair is twisted into tight rows, and falls gently unnoticed across her face when she concentrates on a page. She often wears statement jewelry, including elaborate gold bangles and cuff bracelets for a regal touch.

– Dee Matthews

In the classroom, Matthews is slow and methodical. She eases the knots out of poetry, highlighting the smallest insights into the language, form, and images. She speaks in a low, mesmerizing voice that makes her students lean in to listen with an intensity of which most college professors could only dream.

Teaching is a big chunk of the work Matthews does. “Much of my time during the academic year is devoted to trying to give my students my attention” She says. “It’s actually hard to concentrate on my own [work] from September through May.”

That devotion is clear. Matthews works personally with each of her students. She has them call her Dee, and is insistent that everyone is equal in a workshop. Everyone is an artist.

“I’m one of those people who wants to share what I’ve learned, and I encourage my students to teach me what they’ve learned.” Matthews says. “My classrooms are symbiotic environments.”

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The Long and Winding Road

From Afghanistan to Swarthmore: An American success story

By Sweeta Yqoobi

On the edge of Dartmouth Avenue in the quiet town of Swarthmore, Mr. Azim Naderpoor, a 46-year-old Afghan refugee, owns a half-Mediterranean half-Afghan restaurant.

Shortly after opening his restaurant 15 years ago, Naderpoor took down all the good pieces of art he had placed on the walls of his restaurant, and replaced the neatly folded napkin cloths and freshly ironed tablecloths with cheap silverware wrapped in paper napkins and bare tabletops.

Shaking his head in disappointment, he says, “when I first opened this place, I decorated every corner of it. I even hang an evil eye on the wall to keep the bad spirits away, but the students destroyed all my good napkins and tablecloths”. Or so they did in those early days when Aria Mediterranean Cuisine was rather a fancy place, ready to serve Swarthmore’s middle and upper class clientele.

Soon Naderpoor realized that most of his customers were broke students from the nearby small liberal arts college of Swarthmore, and so he embraced every affair of academia that came his way; hungry students before and after parties, curious professors with groups of students out on a field trip to study the art of cooking, or international students from East Asia and the Middle East who would stop by to have some familiar food or to simply have a chat with Naderpoor.

“I made this place look like a dining hall for these students,” he smiles sarcastically.

When he speaks in his native Farsi, he mixes in some English words into his conversation, but those English words also sound Farsi in the rhythm of the conversation. When he pauses the interview to give instructions to his American staff on how to prepare the food, his strong accent immediately fades away.

Naderpoor has been living in the U.S. for almost 30 years.

“If I tell you how I came to the U.S., you will start crying,” he says. While delicately putting chopped pieces of turnip next to each other in a row, which he further chops into rather uneven smaller pieces, he begins to tell the story of his journey to America.

“I was so lazy in school that I failed my midterm exams in twelfth grade,” says Naderpoor with a grin on his face. “I skipped school regularly, and had accumulated 130 absence days that school year.” Continue reading