DiSalvo, though often disenchanted by the arts community at Harvard, refuses to be written out of it. Founder of the underground poetry group “The Hallway,” she remains faithful in encouraging other writers on campus, minus some of the usual analytic conventions.
What’s “The Hallway” all about?
A friend of mine—Dahm Choi ’05—and I were sitting in a Weld Hallway freshman year and I was explaining how the problem with Harvard was that there weren’t enough hallways—doors open, music playing, people wandering around, hanging out. We decided we’d start a poetry group someday and call it “The Hallway.” I actually did it when my workshop ended freshman spring and I wanted a community of people to keep me writing—typical Harvard initiative. We meet weekly and share what we’re working on.
How is Harvard as a community for writers?
I think Harvard can be an isolating place, a competitive place, a place where the avant-garde, the intellectual and the sophisticated are heavily valued. That’s difficult for me, both as a person and a writer. Who says you can’t learn from inclusion? Sometimes I think some Harvard students presume they have figured poetry out. I think that’s unfortunate.
If you weren’t at Harvard, where would you be?
When I visited Wesleyan, in Conn., I loved its hallways. When my life at Harvard seems too academic, too focused, too political or just too much, I dream of hanging out, sleeping and generally being artistic—at Wesleyan.
What do you wish you had written?
I wish I’d written just about anything Paul Simon sings—his lyrics are such poetry, and his music just elevates them. Music has a constant creativity to it and a potential for immediate interaction with an audience I think poetry just doesn’t have. Music is less private. I wish I could combine the two.
How would you describe yourself in three words?
Much too much.
What’s your favorite place to be in the Square?
Sitting out by Bertucci’s listening to David Johnston, the white haired guitarist who’s there a lot—bluesy. When it’s gorgeous out, it’s pretty impossible to beat.
Where do you imagine yourself in ten years?
I have no idea. Maybe riding Greyhound buses around the country writing about people I meet in that sector of society—not flying or taking the train, but with enough money to be traveling, and interesting reasons for doing so. NPR beat me to it though.
What moment would you like to relive from the past year?
I’d love to relive a great trip to Maine with Harvard friends before school started this year—stacking wood for hours, picking blueberries, canoeing, swimming all day. It got me ready to come back here and use this place well.
What has been your most fulfilling class or experience at Harvard?
I’m still looking for it. It could be “Religious Agency in the Metropolis” at the Divinity School with Professor Livezey—for which I’m writing an ethnography about religious ministry to homeless people in Boston. It’s fascinating and important.
What would you consider to be your biggest quirk?
Most definitely my worship of the Grumpy Pig. It’s my suitemate’s—a tiny brown pig that looks so grumpy that when I stomp up to it and grump back, it’s extremely gratifying. I just can’t frown that hard. I love it.
Read more in Arts
Why Do I Keep Super Sizing Me?
