Biography of Geoffrey Brock
Geoffrey Brock (born 1964) is an American poet and translator.
He received a Masters in Fine Arts from the University of Florida in 1998. He also holds a PhD in Comparative Literature from the University of Pennsylvania.
His poems have been published in Poetry Magazine, Paris Review, PN Review, New England Review, The Hudson Review, and The Best American Poetry 2007. He teaches poetry and translation in the graduate creative writing program at the University of Arkansas.
Brock is married to the writer Padma Viswanathan and they have two children.
His translations have received a number of prizes and fellowships, including the Academy of American Poets' Raiziss/de Palchi Fellowship and a Guggenheim Fellowship. He received a poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and a Stegner Fellowship from Stanford University.
Geoffrey Brock Poems
I'll pack my toothbrush and my cyanide molar the iPhone the car-seats and a tactical stroller
Often the slightest gesture is most telling, As when he reaches tenderly in passing To pluck the yellow leaf from the dark fall
Prof of Profs
For Allison Hogge, in memory of Brian Wilkie I was a math major—fond of all things rational. It was the first day of my first poetry class.
The screamer sleeps, inside. The desert's wide awake: the mouse, the rattlesnake. I've come out here to hide,
The four am cries of my son worm through the double foam of earplugs
Flesh of John Brown's Flesh: 2 December ...
We knew the rules and punishments: three lashes for lack of diligence, eight for disobeying mother
It hangs on its stem like a plum at the edge of a darkening thicket.
If one takes a walk on a clear sunny day in middle April,
Charles Graner Is Not America
Let's get this straight: Charles Graner is not America. America would never hold a knife to his wife's throat, then say when she woke that he was considering
The Beautiful Animal
By the time I recalled that it is also terrifying, we had gone too far into the charmed woods to return. It was then
And Day Brought Back My Night
It was so simple: you came back to me And I was happy. Nothing seemed to matter But that. That you had gone away from me And lived for days with him—it didn't matter.
1. DELIRIUM, AFTER RIMBAUD How many hours I kept that vigil by your side—
Bryant Park at Dusk
Floodlights have flared on behind and above Where I sit in my public chair. The lawn that had gradually darkened has brightened.
1. DELIRIUM, AFTER RIMBAUD
How many hours I kept
that vigil by your side—
entire nights, eyes wide,
as you so sweetly slept.
What I was wondering:
why you yearned to evade