Biography of Linda Gregerson
She grew up in Illinois. She received a B.A. from Oberlin College in 1971, an M.A. from Northwestern University, an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa Writers Workshop, and her Ph.D. from Stanford University. She teaches American poetry and Renaissance literature at the University of Michigan, where she has also directed the M.F.A. program in creative writing.
She served as the judge for the 2008 Brittingham Prize in Poetry. Her poems are featured in American Alphabets: 25 Contemporary Poets (2006) and many other anthologies.
Linda Gregerson's Works:
Magnetic North, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, MA, 2007
Waterborne, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, MA, 2002
The Woman Who Died in Her Sleep, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, MA, 1996
Fire in the Conservatory, Dragon Gate, Port Townsend, WA, 1982
Negative Capability: Contemporary American Poetry, University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, MI, 2001
The Reformation of the Subject: Spenser, Milton, and the English Protestant Epic, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1995
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Linda Gregerson Poems
When love was a question, the message arrived in the beak of a wire and plaster bird. The coloratura was hardly to be believed. For flight,
The ones too broke or wise to get parts from a dealer come here where the mud is red and eternal. Eight front ends
Dark still. Twelve degrees below freezing. Tremor along the elegant, injured right front
My Father Comes Back From The Grave
For Karen I think you must contrive to turn this stone on your spirit to lightness.
Linda, said my mother when the buildings fell, before, you understand, we knew a thing about the reasons or the ways
Interior Of The Oude Kerk, Delft, With O...
Emanuel de Witte, 1653 [?] And you, friend, in a footnote, thanked for kindly inspecting the date “under magnification,” who
Eyes Like Leeks
It had almost nothing to do with sex. The boy in his corset and farthingale, his head-
A kind of counter- blossoming, diversionary, doomed, and like the needle with its drop
Father Mercy, Mother Tongue
If the English language was good enough for Jesus Christ, opined the governor of our then-most-populous
As when, in bright daylight, she closes her eyes but doesn’t turn her face away,
Maudlin; Or, The Magdalen’s Tears
If faith is a tree that sorrow grows and women, repentant or not, are swamps,
Coinage of the not-yet-wholly- hardened custodians of public health, as health is roughly measured in the rougher parts of Dearborn.
With Emma At The Ladies-Only Swimming Po...
In payment for those mornings at the mirror while, at her expense, I’d started my late learning in Applied
Love the drill, confound the dentist. Love the fever that carries me home. Meat of exile. Salt of grief. This much, indifferent
Choose any angle you like, she said,
the world is split in two. On one side, health
and dumb good luck (or money, which can pass
for both), and elsewhere . . . well,
they're eight days from the nearest town,