Birgit Bunzel Linder
Biography of Birgit Bunzel Linder
Birgit Linder was born and raised in Oberhausen, an industrial city in the Ruhr Valley. She left Germany in the 1980s, and has since lived in Taiwan, China, America, and now in Hong Kong.
Her life is marked by frequent moves and many travels, and by inscriptions from different places, cultures, and people, which also transpire in her first collection Shadows in Deferment, for which she won the International Proverse Prize for Poetry in 2012. On the one hand, there are rich cultural encounters, attempts at identification, and inscriptions into new cultures and social contexts. On the other, one can discover a certain sense of homelessness and uprootedness. Together, these experiences create the backdrop of a trove of distinctive poetry that often articulates linguistic and spiritual displacement while at the same time offering a sense of and search for a common humanity.
Birgit Linder has previously published poems in Mad Poets Review, Clockwise Cat, Kavya Bharati, Cerebration, International Literary Quarterly, and Asian Cha.
Birgit Bunzel Linder's Works:
Shadows in Deferment
Birgit Bunzel Linder Poems
A Quiet Life
Today we walked out of our dream to sit on the brown bench again, right across the bare white rocks that soften the sea.
Water At Night
In the middle of every night, the moon’s noise wakes me. I hear water everywhere.
Ghosts Of A Generation
A yuefu-themed poem Sunrise in the south reaches the marble mansion in Cedar Grove. This house has a lovely girl, whose name, they say, is Brocade Grace. “She is skilled with the loom, and picks cotton clouds west of the wall.” Her basket is made of cinnamon shoots, its handle, an arch carved of Karnataka wood. When she walks, her raven black hair trails in a tress like curved hanging pods, and her silver bracelets jingle faintly like wind bells from India. Her ears hold twin moon pearls, to brighten her blouse of saffron damask, even her gauze skirt below. When passers-by see Brocade Grace, they drop their loads and stroke their beards. Young men with scrolls forget their scrolls. Young girls’ half-lidded eyes cast askance glances toward her. How many springs has this beauty seen, they ask?
A Gravedigger In Exile
A gravedigger homeward plods, Wearied from our riotous world, To plow for what was once so dear, “Far from the crowd’s ignoble strife.”*
Still Missing You
When you died there was still a mass production of filigree in the sky
A Seaside Tree
Trees walk the shore and shoo the wind away. They shake off the noisy birds and criss-cross the golden sun. They puncture the clouds and dip their new fingers into ink
Some Observations In A Coffee Shop In Su...
In a cozy café in Suzhou one can browse The New Yorker and Doris Day. (Both old, incidentally) Greece on the wall,
An Evening At The Ocean
Birds are beaded straight on the wire They gaze into the brewing sky Dragonflies dangle in the air Above shadows that fall into feeble forms
Three youths in black t-shirts with badass razor shags and shorts like sailor bags
Twelve Topknots In Taipo
Twelve Taoist novices Walk along the hillside road. Twelve topknots popping up and down
Titmice and sparrows flock for food at dusk Farewells hang in the air like lanterns Hoarfrost weaves over black bark
Man On The Moon
When Mr Armstrong stepped onto the moon, it was 1969. That was also the year when we mastered our deafness.
All Saints Day
We prepare for the cemetery when dew has turned to rain to frost to hail. At season’s infancy, they say. Jittery trees line our cobbled streets,
I read it like wine I recite it like dance I pirouette around stanzas I exhale a caesura
All Saints Day
We prepare for the cemetery when
dew has turned to rain to frost to hail.
At season’s infancy, they say.
Jittery trees line our cobbled streets,
standing bare and reaching high.
The roots hold on to the hardened soil,
afraid to lose their ground.
In the morning we bring out our sleep,