Biography of Cathy Song
Cathy Song (born Cathy-Lynn Song; August 20, 1955) is an American poet. She is the 1982 winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award for her collection Picture Bride.
Song was born in Wahiawa, Hawaii. She is the second of three children born to Ella, an immigrant from China who was a seamstress, and Andrew Song, a Korean American airline pilot. Song's father and grandfather both had arranged marriages. They corresponded solely through photographs and were married when their wives came to the United States a few years later.
In 1962, when she was 7 years old, the family relocated to Honolulu. Song graduated from Wellesley College with a bachelor's degree in 1977 and from Boston University in 1981 with a master's degree in Creative Writing. While living in Boston, she married Douglas Davenport, then a physician-in-training. In 1984, they moved to Colorado for Davenport's medical training and settled back to Hawaii in 1987. The couple have three children and now reside in Kahala, Hawaii.
Song was associated with the Hawaii literary journal Bamboo Ridge from its early days in 1978, and continues to collaborate with writers from that community. Her first book of poetry, Picture Bride (1983), won the Yale Series of Younger Poets Competition. In choosing Song's first book for the Yale Series, Richard Hugo wrote, "Her poems are flowers: colorful, sensual, and quiet, and they are offered almost shyly as bouquets to those moments in life that seemed minor but in retrospect count the most. She often reminds a loud, indifferent, hard world of what truly matters to the human spirit."
In 1993, Song won the Hawaii Award for Literature. That same year, the Poetry Society of America awarded Song the Shelley Memorial Award. In the early fall of 1994, she was invited to travel to Korea and Hong Kong under the United States Information Agency's Arts America program. In 1997, Song was one of the recipients of the annual Literature Awards ($20,000), awarded by the National Endowment for the Arts.
Cathy Song Poems
The mornings are his, blue and white like the tablecloth at breakfast. He's happy in the house,
Wahiawa is still a red dirt town where the sticky smell
Girl Powdering Her Neck
The light is the inside sheen of an oyster shell, sponged with talc and vapor, moisture from a bath.
The mornings are his,
blue and white
like the tablecloth at breakfast.
He's happy in the house,
a sweep of the spoon
brings the birds under his chair.
He sings and the dishes disappear.
Or holding a crayon like a candle,