Poet and scholar Jennifer Chang was born in New Jersey. She is a Henry Hoyns Fellow at the University of Virginia, where she is a PhD candidate. more »
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Jennifer Chang Poems
This stream took a shorter course— a thread of water that makes oasis out of mud, in pooling,
Again a Solstice
It is not good to think of everything as a mistake. I asked for bacon in my sandwich, and then
My house faced an estuary. I looked for where ocean tide instructed river flow.
Something in the field is working away. Root-noise. Twig-noise. Plant
The Skin's Broken Aria
I cross the street and my skin falls off. Who walks to an abandoned lake? Who
Dark matter, are you sparkless for lack of knowing better? The room
Freedom in Ohio
I want a future making hammocks out of figs and accidents.
Conversation with Slugs and Sarah
Up late watching slug porn, you confess you had a boyfriend who could spin you like that, slug grace and slug ballet—we don't
The thorns had hands. The fire stood still. It will take a hundred years to piece together a hundred dreams.
Field Guide to the Night Sky
No one witnesses the history of light. The sky litters itself
Comments about Jennifer Chang
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
This stream took a shorter course—
a thread of water that makes oasis
out of mud, in pooling,
does not aspire to lake. To river, leave
the forest, the clamorous wild.
I cannot. Wherever I am,
I am here, nonsensical, rhapsodic,
stock-still as the trees. Trickling
never floods, furrows its meager path
through the forest floor.
There will always be a root
too thirsty, moss that only swallows
and spreads. Primordial home, I am dying
from love of you. Were I tuber or quillwort,
the last layer of leaves that starts the dirt
or the meekest ...