Biography of Ira Sadoff
Ira Sadoff is an award winning and widely anthologized poet, critic, novelist and short story writer.
Sadoff was born on March 7 1945 in Brooklyn, New York, the son of Russian Jewish immigrants. He earned a B.A. (1966) from Cornell University in industrial and labor relations and an M.F.A. (1968) from the University of Oregon. He has taught at colleges and universities including the University of Virginia, the Iowa Writer's Workshop and the M.F.A. program at Warren Wilson College. He is currently the Arthur Jeremiah Roberts Professor of Literature at Colby College in Waterville, Maine.
Ira Sadoff Poems
The shaft of narrative peers down. The soul's a petrified fleck of partridge this October. Mud-spattered, it thinks it's brush, it thinks
My Mother's Funeral
The rabbi doesn't say she was sly and peevish, fragile and voracious, disheveled, voiceless and useless, at the end of her very long rope. He never sat beside her
I've been blessed with a few gusts of wind, a few loves
It is a Sunday afternoon on the Grand Canal. We are watching the sailboats trying to sail along without wind. Small rowboats are making their incisions on the water, only to have the wounds seal up again soon after they pass.
Oklahoma City: The Aftermath
Sometimes I'm so lachrymose I forget I was there with my darling—I call her my darling to make her more anonymous, so she can't take up all the space in my brain. But please, can I continue, or must I
A mist appalls the windshield. So I still see trees as moral lessons, as I pass under them, shadowy and astute.
On the Day of Nixon's Funeral
It's time to put the aside the old resentments; lies, machinations, the paranoia, bugs in telephones, the body bags, secret bombings, his sweaty upper lip,
My First Roses
My first roses brought me to my senses. All my furies, I launched them like paper boats in the algaed pond behind my house.
I sniff after the sparrow and the spaniel, flitting around, barking, digging up the dirt: how could I not be at one with them? But I'm a spendthrift too, rummaging about
Once I Could Say
Once I could say my loyal friend, the house wren.
A Few Surprising Turns
A few surprising turns follow us everywhere. I was shopping for something to replace what I once felt. Weren't there buildings there
My Father's Leaving
When I came back, he was gone. My mother was in the bathroom crying, my sister in her crib
A Few Surprising Turns
A few surprising turns follow us everywhere.
I was shopping for something to replace
what I once felt. Weren't there buildings there
where we once lived, fully furnished
and looking out on the sea? Didn't we distill
from neighbors the necessary codes
and gestures? At the core we were all traipse
and meander, governed by fill in the blank.
But it was here, the ramshackle Cape Cod