Biography of Bob Hicok
Bob Hicok is an American poet, born in 1960. He currently is an associate professor of creative writing at Virginia Tech. He is from Michigan and before teaching owned and ran a successful automotive die design business.
His first book, The Legend of Light, (1995) was chosen by Carolyn Kizer for the 1995 Felix Pollak Prize. This book, published by the University of Wisconsin Press, was later chosen an ALA Booklist Notable Book of the Year. Plus Shipping followed in 1998. His 2001 release, Animal Soul, was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. He has published two other books -- Insomnia Diary (2004) and This Clumsy Living (2007), both with the University of Pittsburgh Press. "This Clumsy Living" received the 2008 Rebekah Johnson Bobbitt National Prize for Poetry from the Library of Congress.
His poems have appeared in such publications as The New Yorker, Poetry Magazine, The Paris Review and The American Poetry Review, as well as four volumes of The Best American Poetry. Awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2008 and two NEA Fellowships, his work has also been reprinted three times in the Pushcart Anthology.
His works include the following: This Clumsy Living, 2007, the University of Pittsburgh Press; Insomnia Diary, 2004, the University of Pittsburgh Press; Animal Soul, 2003, Invisible Cities Press; Plus Shipping, 1998, BOA Editions, Ltd.; and The Legend of Light, 1995 University of Wisconsin Press.
Bob Hicok's Works:
Go Greyhound A poem by Bob Hicok
Words For Empty And Words For Full, 2010 University of Pittsburgh Press
This Clumsy Living, 2007, the University of Pittsburgh Press
Insomnia Diary, 2004, the University of Pittsburgh Press
Animal Soul, 2003, Invisible Cities Press
Spam Leaves an Aftertaste,2002, A poem by Bob Hicok
Plus Shipping, 1998, BOA Editions, Ltd.; and
The Legend of Light, 1995 University of Wisconsin Press
Bearing Witness, 1991 Ridgeway Press
William J. Walsh, ed. (2006). "Man of the House". Under the rock umbrella: contemporary American poets, 1951-1977. Mercer University Press
Garrison Keillor, ed. (2006). "Calling him back from layoff". Good Poems for Hard Times. Penguin Group
Charles Wright, David Lehman, ed. (2008). "Oh my pa-pa". The Best American Poetry 2008. Simon and Schuster
Billy Collins, ed. (2003). "Alzheimer's". Poetry 180: a turning back to poetry. Random House, Inc.
Billy Collins, ed. (2005). "To Roanoke with Johnny Cash". 180 more: extraordinary poems for every day. Random House, Inc.
Bill Henderson, ed. (2000). The Pushcart prize XXX, 2006: best of the small presses. Pushcart Press
Bill Henderson, ed. (2004). The Pushcart Prize XXIX 2005: Best of the Small Presses. W. W. Norton & Company Limited
David Wagoner, David Lehman, ed. (2009). The Best American Poetry 2009. Simon and Schuster
David Walker, ed. (2006). American Alphabets: 25 Contemporary Poets. Oberlin College Press
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Bob Hicok Poems
Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A...
My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers of my palms tell me so. Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish at the same time. I think
By Their Works
Who cleaned up the Last Supper? These would be my people. Maybe hung over, wanting desperately a better job,
Another Awkward Stage Of Convalescence
Drunk, I kissed the moon where it stretched on the floor. I'd removed happiness from a green bottle, both sipped and gulped
My father's head has become a mystery to him. We finally have something in common. When he moves his head his eyes get big as roses filled
is a system of posture for wood. A way of not falling down for twigs that happens to benefit birds. I don't know.
Calling Him Back From Layoff
I called a man today. After he said hello and I said hello came a pause during which it would have been confusing to say hello again so I said
What Would Freud Say?
Wasn't on purpose that I drilled through my finger or the nurse laughed. She apologized three times and gave me a shot
A few hours after Des Moines the toilet overflowed. This wasn't the adventure it sounds. I sat with a man whose tattoos
Her My Body
The dog licks my hand as I worry about the left nipple of the woman in the bathroom. She is drying her hair, the woman
You could drive out of this country and attack the world with your ambition, invent wonder plasmas, become an artist of the provocative gesture,
I met my butt in a Pittsburgh hotel room. My face still looks like my face but not my butt, my hair
Learning To Swim
At forty-eight, to be given water, which is most of the world, given life in water, which is most of me, given ease, which is most of what I lack, here, where walls
O My Pa-Pa
Our fathers have formed a poetry workshop. They sit in a circle of disappointment over our fastballs and wives. We thought they didn't read our stuff, whole anthologies of poems that begin, My father never,
I'm in a plane that will not be flown into a building. It's a SAAB 340, seats 40, has two engines with propellers is why I think of beanies, those hats that would spin a young head into the clouds. The plane is red and loud
She does this thing. Our seventeen-
year-old dog. Our mostly deaf dog.
Our mostly dead dog, statistically
speaking. When I crouch.
When I put my mouth to her ear
and shout her name. She walks away.
Walks toward the nothing of speech.
She even trots down the drive, ears up,
as if my voice is coming home.