Biography of Fanny Howe
Fanny Howe (born October 15, 1940 in Buffalo, New York) is an American poet, novelist, and short story writer. She has written many novels in prose collection. Howe was awarded the 2009 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize,presented annually by the Poetry Foundation to a living U.S. poet whose lifetime accomplishments warrant extraordinary recognition. She was a judge for the 2015 Griffin Poetry Prize.
Her father was a lawyer, and her Irish-born mother was an actress at the Abbey Theatre of Dublin for some time. Her sister is Susan Howe, who also became a poet. Fanny Howe grew up with her family in Cambridge, Massachusetts. She attended Stanford University for three years, and in 1961—the year she left Stanford—she married Frederick Delafield, whom she divorced two years later.
As a Civil Rights activist, she met and married the activist Carl Senna in the 1970s, who is of African-Mexican descent and is also a poet and writer. They are the parents of the novelist Danzy Senna, who writes about growing up biracial in the 1970s and 80s in her novel Caucasia. Howe and Senna also had two other children, Lucien Quincy Senna, and Maceo Senna.
She has taught at Tufts University, Emerson College, Kenyon College, Columbia University, Yale University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Georgetown University . She is professor emerita of Writing and Literature at the University of California, San Diego. Currently she lives in Boston.
Fanny Howe Poems
The fields are infertile as far as I can tell. Their winter systems sparkle like the diamonds
The source I thought was Arctic the good Platonic
After I.F. Annensky First the sky was yellow then white snow followed.
A Poem for Ciaran
The stroll from my cell along the path above the donkeys past a door open, a door shut and a strong smell of wood
Homeless and never sadder, dragging bags, spending money, leaning over luggage, suddenly saying, "Without you, God,
When I fall into the abyss, I go straight into it, head down and heels up, and I'm even pleased that I'm falling in just such a humiliating position, and for me I find it beautiful. And so in that very shame I suddenly begin a hymn.
I have never arrived into a new life yet. Have you?
Infinite nesting pushes all matter towards emptiness: child-nodes,
The descent has deepened the interior lengthened designated ending
I want to leave this place unremembered. The gas stove is leaking
The Advance of the Father
From raindrenched Homeland into a well: the upturned animal was mine by law and outside the tunnel, him again! Everywhere I turned the children ran between. "Loose dogs!" he roared. I remember one sequence: a gulf in his thinking
Everything's a Fake
Coyote scruff in canyons off Mulholland Drive. Fragrance of sage and rosemary, now it's spring. At night the mockingbirds ring their warnings of cats coming across the neighborhoods. Like castanets in the palms of a dancer, the palm trees clack.
You Can't Warm Your Hands in Front of a ...
Feathers fluffed the ashtray bin at the bottom of the elevator. Feathers and a smeared black look littered the parking lot like mascara. A cage would glide back and let them out to merge with the other cars on La Brea. It looked as if a struggle had ended in tears between the bird and an enemy. She broke through the fear to
There is no Rescue Mission where it isn't freezing from the need that created it. The lost children
One Night in Balthazar
The hotel bar downstairs
was dirty and dark and almost empty
except for him whom I didn't know
I lost my balance
because evil is aroused by absence
Outside on the island