Diane di Prima
Biography of Diane di Prima
Diane di Prima (born August 6, 1934) is an American poet and artist.
Di Prima was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1934. She attended Hunter College High School and Swarthmore College before dropping out to be a poet in Manhattan. Her official online biography notes that she is "a second generation American of Italian descent" and that "Her maternal grandfather, Domenico Mallozzi, was an active anarchist, and associate of Carlo Tresca and Emma Goldman." Di Prima began writing as a child and by the age of 19 was corresponding with Ezra Pound and Kenneth Patchen. Her first book of poetry, This Kind of Bird Flies Backward, was published in 1958 by Hettie and LeRoi Jones' Totem Press.
Diane di Prima Poems
An Exercise in Love
for Jackson Allen My friend wears my scarf at his waist I give him moonstones He gives me shell & seaweeds
Song for Baby-O, Unborn
Sweetheart when you break thru you'll find
Buddhist New Year Song
I saw you in green velvet, wide full sleeves seated in front of a fireplace, our house made somehow more gracious, and you said "There are stars in your hair"— it was truth I
"I am a shadow…"
I am a shadow crossing ice I am rusting knife in the water I am pear tree bitten by frost I uphold the mountain with my hand
The Loba Longs For Remembrance In The Ba...
Shall we say that the streets were littered w/ half-eaten food dry leaves, debris of plastic & paper
Lilith Of The Stars
for there is another Lilith, not made for earth of whom it is said / that when she is seen by men it is as vapour / a plague / a cacophony
Some Lies About The Loba
that she is eternal, that she sings that she is star-born, that she gathers crystal that she can be confused with Isis
"she is the wind…"
she is the wind you never leave behind black cat you killed in empty lot, she is smell of the summer weeds, the one who lurks
City Lights 1961
Going there for the first time it was so much smaller then that crowded downstairs full of poetry racks of tattered little mags against the wall
you are my bread and the hairline noise of my bones
Extract the juice which is itself a Light. Pulp, manna, gentle Theriasin, ergot
First Snow, Kerhonkson
for Alan This, then, is the gift the world has given me (you have given me) softly the snow
Song for Baby-O, Unborn
when you break thru
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.
I won't promise
you'll never go hungry
or that you won't be sad
on this gutted
but I can show you
enough to love
to break your heart