Lost in Lingua
What it's like to be the man behind SPU's art and literary journal
Photo by Luke Rutan
I held the poem inside a pause. I ran down the words for a third time, forgetting the beeping oven timer. There was no impending chicken kiev: only the sharp words, and I followed them to an Oklahoman highway where the dust swirled red and stained my tennis shoes. Each line paved a path through the poet’s doubt and anger, and finally his arrival at a sense of truth. It’s worth it: Hold your breath, and let the chicken burn.
I don’t always review poetry submissions in my kitchen — I was just having a hectic day. There are handfuls of hectic days; it comes with the territory. But I wouldn’t trade being editor-in-chief of Lingua for a million un-burnt dinners. Becoming involved with Lingua happened naturally for me. Being a creative writing major, I tend to write, and what I write I intend for reading. So, being involved with the art and literary journal at Seattle Pacific University was on my list from day one.
Seeking publication as a student artist — whether in writing, visual art, or music — can be tough. You’re right in the middle of developing your craft, and you’re testing out the unfamiliar terrain of the art world. Lingua steps in to provide a way for students on campus to submit their best work to an experienced review board, and perhaps have their art showcased in the annual journal that has been published by the student organization every spring for more than two decades.
Before I became the head of Lingua, I was simply an artist looking for a real audience. Now I want to provide other SPU students the same opportunity Lingua gave me — and maybe even more! In the past year or so, the organization has been undergoing a growth spurt with new quarterly zines and events like Exhale, a night of worship through tactile arts. We’re also working on an up-and-coming website that will feature talented SPU student artists in depth.
And, I’ll admit, there are some personal perks to being editor-in-chief: moments like the one in my kitchen, when a poetry submission, painting, or piece of music will steal me away into the deeper fold of things. I will be held inside that pause. Then, snapping awake, I’ll close my laptop, rush to the oven, and think: Just wait until SPU sees this!
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