Hilda Raz: A Celebration

My first book, The Darkened Temple (2008, University of Nebraska Press) owes much to Hilda Raz, who selected it for the 2007 Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry from among hundreds of worthy contestants. When I recently learned during a visit to Lincoln that Hilda plans to retire from academic life at the end of the year, after twenty-two years at the helm of Prairie Schooner as editor in chief, I couldn't at first quite fathom the news. How could this be, I thought in mild alarm? How on earth will Prairie Schooner possibly continue without Hilda when, after all, Prairie Schooner IS Hilda, or so it has come to seem? And who could possibly fill her infinitely able editorial shoes? The idea felt impossible, unreal, and still does, even as I write this. For it is difficult to imagine any but Hilda's keen eye and ear, sharp mind, and generous heart shaping each issue of Prairie Schooner, poem by poem, story by story, "hand over hungry hand" (to quote the late Lucille Clifton).

Until recently I'd mostly thought of my relationship with Hilda as beginning on June 28, 2007, when I received a voicemail message from her informing me that she was "very excited" to speak with me directly. With a mixture of hope, terror, and denial, I dared to presume that she was calling to tell me that my manuscript had managed to place in the 2007 Prairie Schooner Book Prize competition. When I finally returned her call later that morning (as my husband and I drove north along Highway 101 from San Luis Obispo to our home in the Bay Area, past golden hills dotted with coast live oaks), I was enthusiastically informed by Hilda that she had selected my manuscript for the 2007 book prize in poetry and that she hoped I was as happy at the news as she was. I must sheepishly admit now that my response was lackluster at best, the unfortunate and untimely result of dumb shock, disbelief, and plain old nerves. I imagine that Hilda must have wondered to herself why I did not scream my head off with unbounded surprise and elation, as does every good book prize winner worth her salt? Alas, I did no such thing. In any case, Hilda's initial impression of me beyond my manuscript could not have been stellar.

But I emerged from shell shock and thus ensued several phone conversations and e-mails in which Hilda gave me sharp and insightful editorial suggestions for revising some of the poems in my manuscript, many of which I incorporated, many of which I didn't. This collaborative phase in the manuscript's life, before production began, felt simultaneously special and intensely focused, in a good way. I was keenly aware of the significance of our work together and impressed by Hilda's empathy and expert editorial skill, how intimately she seemed to know my poems, and her willingness to permit me the ultimate creative say in the name of the poem, something which I appreciate to this day and will hold as an editorial standard in the future. As a first-book poet, I feel fortunate to have had Hilda guide and support me through what can often be a challenging and intimidating process: transforming a manuscript into a publishable book. It is a process that I will never take for granted.

What escaped my awareness at the time of Hilda's first phone call to me was that my relationship with her had actually begun several weeks earlier, when my manuscript first crossed her desk (a magical event in itself) and she began the process of reading and responding to it, eventually selecting it for the book prize. During these weeks, I was to learn later from her, Hilda had lived and breathed my book, spent hours reading and rereading the manuscript, considered the book's breadth and depth and each individual poem carefully and thoughtfully. As a poet sending my manuscript to contests for the first time, it didn't once occur to me that...