This is a picture I took of Louise Glück receiving her Nobel medal in her backyard during Covid. It was such a great moment for lyric poetry--restrained yet emotional--being elevated to the world stage. I took the picture from her back porch.
Louise Gluck was so chic. Here she is in her mid 70s. There is something classical or archaic about her art. It feels essential to me, like air or food. She was a liberator.
If Walcott, Heaney, and Brodsky appeared on the cover of The New York Times when they won the Nobel Prize in Literature, I don't understand why Louise Glück's announcement appeared on page 21.
Laying out all my poems from the past four years to see if I might have a book. At 67, I wonder how many more books there might be. Keeping going is all that really matters, and feeding the lake.
Here is French poet and translator Claire Malroux at 98 showing me her Chevalier certificate (it was rolled up in a tube in the closet!) presented for her service to the art of translation. She has translated all of Dickinson and Stevens into French. She is a marvelous poet, too.
I love this old picture from graduate school in Wisconsin. I am changing the flat tire on my Camaro as my friend Ken in his bathrobe contemplates life.
At the end of Covid, Louise Glück came to visit my students at Claremont McKenna College.
We made a fun road trip together from SF. Here are pix of her at CMC, waiting w/ her bags, and the pretty necklace she often wore. Her visit seemed to mark the end of darkness.
Sylvia Plath's girl scout uniform with merit badges for writing, book finding, foot traveling, reading, scribing, starfinding, camp craft and a lot more.
Last April, when she turned 90, I visited Helen Vendler in Laguna Niguel and took this picture. A reader/critic like her only comes along a few times in a century. But it was her loving friendship that changed my life.
Here's another pic of the poet and translator Claire Malroux, at 98, out for lunch at a Paris bistro. Claire has translated Dickinson, Stevens, Bishop and many others with a magnificence that elevates the art of translation, which is of course a heroic labor of love.
In this dark, conservative time, I have published a collection of poetry today. There are poems of the earth, eros, and dust. Thank you for following me. If you are not a follower, I hope one day to convert you ...
@fsgbooks
This is a picture from my last visit w/ my beloved teacher Mark Strand, a beautiful poet. He wanted to taste all the pastries because he knew he was dying, so that is what we did, Mark, Binnie, Peg, Honor, Bob, and me.
This beautiful image was made by the artist Jenny Holzer using some lines from a poem of mine projected onto the Rockefeller Center. I really like how the words seem to belong to the universe.
This polaroid pic of the poet Lucie Brock-Broido and me was taken on the last day of classes at Columbia in 1996. I was a contract teacher commuting from Boston. Lucie and I were classmates at Columbia long before this. I miss her so much. Do you remember polaroids?
I took this picture of the French poet Claire Malroux today. She is 96 and likes a brioche with her tea. She is a beautiful poet, translator and friend.
This is the house I grew up in. My parents raised 5 children there. There was no garage then, just a carport. I don't remember the tall trees. It really seemed like a palace.
I miss my swims in the Adirondacks. They gave me more confidence to face the world. The motor boats were scary but so is life, sometimes. The lake water was like wearing a silk kimono.
Here is the announcement of Louise Glück's wonderful Nobel Prize in Literature on page 21 of the Times. The Russian, Irish and Caribbean laureates get front page coverage, but not the American. Remember poetry says it best.
Thank you to artist Jenny Holzer for projecting my poem "Necessary and Impossible" onto the facade of the Guggenheim Museum tonight. Poetry says it best!
Here's a picture of me as a young man with my teacher Stanley Kunitz, who was feared and revered. He taught me a lot and told me long after that he knew he'd been hard on me.