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Tuesday, July 08, 2008

American Life in Poetry #155: Marianne Boruch.


The American poet Elizabeth Bishop often wrote of how places--both familiar and foreign--looked, how they seemed. Here Marianne Boruch of Indiana begins her poem in this way, too, in a space familiar to us all but made new--made strange--by close observation.


It seems so--

I don't know. It seems

as if the end of the world

has never happened in here.

No smoke, no

dizzy flaring except

those candles you can light

in the chapel for a quarter.

They last maybe an hour

before burning out.

And in this room

where we wait, I see

them pass, the surgical folk--

nurses, doctors, the guy who hangs up

the blood drop--ready for lunch,

their scrubs still starched into wrinkles,

a cheerful green or pale blue,

and the end of a joke, something

about a man who thought he could be--

what? I lose it

in their brief laughter.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Marianne Boruch, whose most recent book of poetry is "Grace, Fallen from," Wesleyan University Press, 2008. Poem reprinted from "TriQuarterly," Issue 126, by permission of Marianne Boruch. Introduction copyright (c) 2008 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Also at Virtual Grub Street by/about Ted Kooser:

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