'If you're majoring in English, you're majoring in death,' Billy Collins declared before a crowded KU Ballroom Monday night.

Of course, he was referring to the large role death plays in poetry. Collins is a professor of English at Lehman College in New York and served two terms as the eleventh Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001-2003. He has published seven collections of poetry, including one many UD English students are familiar with entitled 'Sailing Alone Around the Room.'

Collins' discussion was part of the 17th Annual Dr. Lawrence A. Ruff Honors Author Program, appropriately renamed this year in honor of the late UD professor who taught here for more than 20 years.

Since its creation, the program has brought such authors as Ray Bradbury and Joyce Carol Oates to UD. Collins was the first (and hopefully not the last) poet to talk at such an event.

Instead of giving a typical speech, he read some of his poetry aloud and spiced things up with witty commentary in between poems.

'I picture a reader not as someone with a book in a room, but as someone who is actually in the room with me while I write,' he said after describing himself as the poster-boy for approachable poetry.

Pinpointing the best poem of the night is almost impossible. Luckily, Collins felt the same way.

'It's all gold, really,' he said while flipping through the pages in search of a poem to read.

Collins' take on a bitter, dead dog writing to his owner from heaven was pure comedy, and even funnier was his speculation that dogs might be the word's best poets.

'When I licked your face, I thought of biting off your nose,' admits the canine in one of his poems.

Collins had the whole room laughing again when he read 'Litany,' which pokes fun at the way poets use ridiculous metaphors to flatter the opposite sex.

In 'Lanyard,' Collins showcased the perfect blend of sentiment and humor. He reflected on the memory of making his mother a plastic lanyard one year at summer camp and how that gift paled in comparison to everything she's given him.

As the poem said, 'She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard.' Audience members couldn't help but chuckle because we all remembered the ceramic handprints and sloppy crayon drawings that used to be our finest gifts.

On stealing other people's poetry, Collins urged writers to 'go in with a flashlight and ski-mask.' He cleverly compared the act of writing poetry to Dr. Frankenstein building his creature, where body parts become techniques borrowed from other writers. 'With a good poet,' he said, 'you don't see the bolts or the stitching.'

There is something inspiring about the simplicity of Collins' poetry. Plus, his monotone'and perhaps apathetic delivery throughout his discussion really added to the appeal of his poetry. Because of that, listening to him talk for longer than the hour would have been no problem at all.

'I'm not feeling anything when I'm reading,' he confessed. 'I'm just trying to present myself as a page.'