Idaho

My alma mater inaugurated a new president today, which I guess is a good thing. I'll be honest, I've never paid that much attention to the succession of presidents since I left (or before I showed up).

Part of the ceremony was the reading of a poem by Robert Wrigley, a professor in the English department, titled "IDAHO." Here's the text, via an alumni newsletter email from the new president. Interesting piece.

"What's in a name?" Juliet Capulet asked of the night sky.
She was puzzlingly, mysteriously, and beautifully in love
with Romeo, a Montague, and their names made it all go awry.
She could have been asking the stars, or the deep dark above,

the same source Mr. George M. Willing might have inquired of,
in 1861, when he coined the word "Idaho," and claimed it Shoshone.
It wasn't. It meant neither "light from the mountains" nor "gem" of
the same. He made it up. It was, lexicologically, baloney.

And yet, here we have, whatever was meant by it then, Idaho:
a name conjured out of nothing, which even now seems,
some days, sometimes, hard to understand: but from the St. Joe
to the Owyhee, over all its thousands of mountains and streams,

what the word is, is a poem---puzzling, beautiful, mysterious---
that means, as we who live here know, exactly and only what it is.