Biography of Edward Steinhardt
Edward Steinhardt is a poet and writer who lives in Saint Louis, Missouri, U.S.A. He worked in newspaper journalism for many years.
Mr. Steinhardt was president of the Missouri Writer's Guild from 1994-1995. He produced Missouri Writers Week inaugural ceremonies for many years, which featured readings by Howard Nemerov, Richard Wilbur, Mona Van Duyn, Charles Guenther and others. Mr. Steinhardt produced Mr. Nemerov's last poetry reading in 1991.
Journalism awards include Best Historical Article, Best Regularly-published Newspaper Column and Best Newspaper Article. His first book, The Painting Birds (1988) placed a Walter Williams Major Work Award. The book Dandelion Dreams and Other Poems (1999) was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.
'Skilled, tasteful and delicate in feeling.' (-Howard Nemerov, on the poetry of Edward Steinhardt)
'This collection (Dandelion Dreams) is replete with honest and authentic American life in the finest traditions of such greatly neglected poets as Edgar Lee Masters, E.A. Robinson, Maxwell Bodenheim and others early in our century... Dandelion Dreams is the work of one touched by many ages and cultures- but it is an American original.' (Charles Guenther, from the Introduction) .
'Edward Steinhardt's poems move in a characteristic exploratory way, through scenes large or small, through memories, through relationships. They are highly readable- talkative, sympathetic, humane- and it is a pleasure to follow their courses. He can be precisely evocative, finding the odd in the ordinary, as in 'Sleeping in Sikeston.' Another good evocation is 'Walking the Tracks at Hermann, ' which he dedicates to his late friend Howard Nemerov. And I espcially enjoy the jauntiness of such engaging poems as 'Billiards' and 'Reruns.' (-Richard Wilbur, concerning Dandelion Dreams and Other Poems)
'These poems are fact of an enduring human attention to what values and feelings are still posible in our world. They are pledge and record, testament and persuasvie story, of a real life in a real time and place. Edward Steinhardt has learned his art with great determination and humility. His generous authority is clear in every page.' (-Robert Creeley, concerning Dandelion Dreams and Other Poems)
Edward Steinhardt's Works:
The Painting Birds (1988, The Westphalia Press)
Voices: Poems from the Missouri Heartland (Editor,1994, Dormer Window Books)
Dandelion Dreams and Other Poems (1999, Dormer Window Books)
Guardian of Grief: Poems of Giacomo Leopardi (Editor,2008 Margaret Street Books)
Standing Pelican: Key West Poems & Stories (2009, Margaret Street Books)
Letters to Ryan (2010, Margaret Street Books)
Sleeping with Rilke: Poems & Prayers (2010, Margaret Street Books)
Papa's Big Fish: Stories of Youthful Adventure at the Hemingway's in Key West (2010, Margaret Street Books)
Edward Steinhardt Poems
If it weren't enough That the farms have gone for broke, The two-child family awakens one morning To find the farm machinery gone;
Lord, how can I pray When my heart is hard as rock? Lord, how can I pray When I'm mute and cannot talk?
We are shadows thrown upon the wall. We are images, what others see; How we see ourselves, true- Or what we think we perceive
Cutting Ryan's Hair
for Ryan You sat on the edge of my tub As I ran the clippers
Forgive us Lord for the graven image. We had them before Baal, Ashtoreth, the golden calf. Thy agonizing likeness
The Wooded Brook
I came upon a brook the other day, My step intrepid and sensing still I stood, Awash in wonder at its current soul
Queen Of Hearts
We miss you already, Diana. You came to us in the magic hour, A blushing bride at St. Paul's. We were there in the carriage
Lost And Found
At times, it is the childhood scenario: Losing the parents in the store or mall, The puzzlement, the quickening panic,
Two Hundred Days
The second time we met It was at this place Where the sand goes Down to the sea.
Hearing About Your Suicide
It was matter of fact That your name came into conversation The other day concerning the tragic news Of your passing away:
People For Peace
It is sad that a man Who has children, Who loves them; Worships them as he once was,
Dear child, your Queen is dead, The Germans have returned To their borders; That cursed Nazi shot himself,
Letter To Howard Nemerov
When I was a child And my father pressed my small hand Into his large one, I did all I could do
What is this thing of considerable size That lies within our chest: The heart, That goes on beating, beating,
The Wooded Brook
I came upon a brook the other day,
My step intrepid and sensing still
Awash in wonder at its current soul
Going sweetly so-
Bounding the curve and bubbling back.
A leaf of fall buoyed from tree