Exquisite Hilda

I recognize some people as much by their lexicon as any other aspect of their personality. Although there are many words distinct to Hilda, "exquisite" is the word I most closely associate with her. It's Hilda's expression of highest approval and the word that best describes Hilda herself. She's a writer of exquisite poetry, a woman of exquisite taste, an editor of exquisite sensibility, and a listener with exquisite insight. But I've degraded the word with overuse, and that's something Hilda would never do.

It seems like a long time ago that my friend Dana and I met with Hilda Raz, a necessary first step to being approved as volunteer readers for Prairie Schooner. Unsmiling, Hilda greeted us that day from behind her desk in Andrews Hall. Dana and I were both enthusiastic readers of contemporary fiction, eagerly discussing each week the new books we were reading, but we were so intimidated by Hilda that when, still unsmiling, she asked what we were currently reading, we froze. Neither of us could think of a single book we'd read. We stuttered and grasped for titles. We left her office feeling very silly, certain she had seen through to the imposters we were. Hilda has that effect on people.

Despite our childish behavior during the interview, Hilda must have seen something in us, for she gave us her approval to be readers. It was the first step in what would become my own career in publishing and the beginning of one of the most important mentoring relationships of my life.

As that early interview taught me, Hilda expects the best of herself and those around her, but she's also generous. When after a few years as a volunteer reader I was hired as managing editor for the magazine, I was brought fully into the fold of the Prairie Schooner family. Under Hilda's watchful eye, I learned the need to pay attention. I studied her responses to authors, watched how she conducted herself with faculty members in the department where we both worked, observed how carefully she prepared the magazine and her own manuscripts for publication, and how professionally she presented her work, both as an editor and as a poet. Over the years since, Hilda remains a trusted advisor and someone who has actively promoted my work and career.

She plays many roles, of course: writer, teacher, supporter of other writers on a national level, loyal friend, fierce mother, devoted grandmother, an editor who loves the work of others. In fact, that's her definition of an editor, "someone who loves the work of others." It's as good a definition as I've ever heard. She does nothing by half measures, and she has been as fierce in her watch over the magazine as she has been in choosing each word in her exquisite poems, understanding always she is part of a distinguished legacy. She set a high standard for what it means to edit a literary magazine.

With Hilda as only the fifth editor of Prairie Schooner, there seemed to be a direct line from its founding editor, Lowry Wimberly, to her. She spoke of the magazine's history with an impressive familiarity, telling often the story of the influence of "Wimberly's boys," a group of talented young writers (which included one woman, Mari Sandoz) whose success after graduation from the University of Nebraska and early publication in Prairie Schooner brought national attention to the magazine. Until then, it hadn't occurred to me that institutions could have histories as warmly human as any family history.

One of my favorite memories is of sitting in Hilda's office in the late afternoon—surrounded by the book-lined walls, the many paintings and odd little gifts she'd been given over the years, the well-used Rolodex on her desk, the overflowing file cabinets, the many photographs of the writers she's known over the years—as she is telling some story from the magazine's history. The stories she told weren't from a musty past; these were foundational stories...