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Lifshin
“Here she is! Might as
well stop fighting it.
Lifshin is not going to go away. For men,
she’s sexy. For women,
she’s an archetype of gutsy independence. As a poet,
she’s nobody but herself. Frighteningly prolific and utterly
intense. One of a kind.”
—San Francisco Review of Books
LYN LIFSHIN has
written more than 100 books and edited four anthologies of women
writers, including Tangled Vines. Her poems have appeared
in countless poetry and literary magazines throughout the U.S.,
from American Scholar and Christian Science Monitor
to Ms., from Ploughshares to Rolling Stone.
She has given more than 700 readings across the country, and has
appeared at Dartmouth and Skidmore colleges, Cornell University,
and the Whitney Museum. She has taught poetry and prose writing
for many years at universities, colleges, and high schools, and
has been Poet-in-Residence at the University of Rochester,
Antioch, and Colorado Mountain College. Her undying dedication
to the small presses which first published her, and her ability
to survive on her own apart from any major publishing house or
academic institution have earned her the title, “Queen
of the Small Presses.” She has been praised by Robert Frost,
Ken Kesey, Richard Eberhart,
and Ed Sanders, who dubbed her “a modern Emily Dickinson.”
Like So
Much This Summer /
Lyn Lifshin
the lawn chair is
collapsing slowly
plastic strands the
cat tore give way
five years after
the cat gave way
—TVBR Issue #1: Vol.
I, No. 1
The Last Day of July
/ Lyn Lifshin
squirrels strip
walnuts chew
thru shell
smash what won’t
give on red brick
the months circle,
burning trees surrounding
a house in San Diego
the news a
wreathe of
smoke I try to
breathe in know
the phone could
be a grenade the
verbs dark as
a heart
—TVBR Issue #1: Vol.
I, No. 1
Madonna’s
January Blue / Lyn
Lifshin
snow drifts
gets bigger
she can’t
breathe night’s
icy mouth a
blue sneer mid
night drips
blue ink knives,
an icicle you’re
paralyzed under
darkness pings
off your skin
about to let
go
—TVBR Issue #3: Vol.
II, No. 2
Lerchi
/ Lyn Lifshin
balconies, old
women on the
balconies calling
to someone in
the streets.
Clay, stucco,
Burnt sienna and
green shutters.
Geraniums, roses.
One wall rose,
one gold with
blue. A small
girl on roller
skates dissolves
in the shadows
of the still
de Chirico street
—TVBR Issue #19: Vol.
VII, No. 3—Home
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