In a Young Writer's Verse, a Ruined City's Sorrow

A childhood doll was one of the only things salvaged from Trenise Robinson's family home in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. (Photos By Michael Williamson -- The Washington Post)

She had never been around so many writers. She was in the poetry workshop, taught by Tyehimba Jess, an assistant professor of English at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.

"She's trying to stretch imagery in order to bring to life the devastation and beauty of New Orleans pre-Katrina," Jess said. He was especially taken with Robinson's reception to critique. "A lot of people show up at these workshops, and all they want you to do is tell them their work is 'the bomb,' " he said. "Trenise wasn't like that at all. She was very attentive."

"Our workshops were so intense," Robinson says, shaking her head at the memory. "If this particular line wasn't right, they'd tell you."

Just before the end of the workshop, there was an open-mike night. Writers had two minutes to read before an audience that numbered more than 100. The poet from Louisiana read her New Orleans poem.

The streets are too quiet, no longer flashing hypnotic lights

And beckoning with its rum-soaked, flirtatious breath.

Even the horns of men who made cocktails out of rhythm

And drugs now lay rusted on my doorstep,

Their notes a mere gargle.

"When she finished reading," recalled Tinesha Davis, a Waldorf poet in the audience, "there was a brief moment of silence. Then there was that 'wow.' "

The young poet -- not unlike William Carlos Williams, the famed poet-doctor of New Jersey -- majored in biology in college. She wants to be a doctor "and a poet." She was wait-listed at a couple of medical schools.

"I feel torn between science and writing," Robinson says. "But I've invested a lot of time in my writing."