Lisa Zaran

Rookie (September 26,1969 / Los Angeles, California)

Lisa Zaran
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Lisa Zaran (born Lisa Marie Hoie, September 26,1969) is an American poet, essayist, author and artist. Best known for her poetry collection, the sometimes girl, which was published in 2004 by Inner Circle Publishing. The vignette style poetry has been studied and translated at Haupt- und Realschule Grossheide which is located in Lower Saxony (Niedersachsen) in North-Western Germany. The course was taught by Frau Erdbrügger.

Born in Inglewood, Los Angeles, California to a Norwegian father, Leonhard Hoie and an American-Norwegian mother, Joan Ablett, Lisa was a middle child with two older siblings and one younger.

Zaran moved over forty times before the age of ... more »

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  • Natalie Tsacoumangos (7/31/2009 8:03:00 AM)

    Liza Zaran (that's how it was spelled on a pamphlet at Danville Community College) came to the local community college here. She read a few of her short poems and talked a little about how she began writing, and what it has meant to her. You could tell that she is very emotional about what she writes even if it is just a little one or two line statement. It has a very heavy meaning for her, and for many who read it. She encouraged me to be a little more brave about sharing things that I write. Now I just need to figure out how to get it out there for people to see!

  • Max Reif (7/19/2005 9:14:00 PM)

    I'm surprised to find no comments here. I find your poems fascinating. 'Intriguing', I was thinking, and the next second, came across that word in 'Hair'.
    You have a great facility for creating lines.
    Your poems go a bit beyond my rational ability to put them together, sometimes, but I feel it's a good stretch for me.
    I hope you'll post more as time goes on.

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Best Poem of Lisa Zaran

The Blues Are All The Same

~for Jackson C. Frank

It seems almost too far fetched really,
too difficult to believe.
This unassuming moon shining like a copper plate.
These milkcrate blues.
This soft trellis of sound
wobbling through the wind
as if pouring out from the windows
of some lonely house on the hill.
How beautiful it is,
the ghost of your voice
haunting this empty valley.

Read the full of The Blues Are All The Same

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