Mary Jo Salter
Biography of Mary Jo Salter
Mary Jo Salter (born August 15, 1954) is an American poet, a co-editor of The Norton Anthology of Poetry and a professor in the Writing Seminars program at Johns Hopkins University.
Salter was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan and was raised in Detroit and Baltimore, Maryland. She received her B.A. from Harvard University in 1976 and her M.A. from Cambridge University in 1978. In 1976, she participated in the Glascock Prize contest.
While at Harvard, she studied with the noted poet, Elizabeth Bishop. She has been an editor at the Atlantic Monthly and at The New Republic.
From 1984 to 2007, she taught at Mount Holyoke College and was, from 1995 to 2007, a vice-president of the Poetry Society of America.
She has two daughters, Emily and Hilary Leithauser.
She is on the editorial board of the literary magazine The Common, based at Amherst College.
Mary Jo Salter Poems
My husband has a crush on Myrna Loy, and likes to rent her movies, for a treat. It makes some evenings harder to enjoy.
President Roosevelt, touring Ellis Island in 1906, watched the people from steerage line up for their six-second physical.
They've perched for hours on that window-ledge, scarcely moving. Beak to beak, a matched set, they differ
Somebody Else's Baby
From now on they always are, for years now they always have been, but from now on you know they are, they always will be,
The music was already turning sad, those fresh-faced voices singing in a round the lie that time could set its needle back
Home Movies: A Sort of Ode
Because it hadn't seemed enough, after a while, to catalogue more Christmases, the three-layer cakes ablaze with birthday candles, the blizzard
6:48 a.m., and leaden little jokes about what heroes we are for getting up at this hour. Quiet. The surf and sandpipers running.
Wind whistling, as it does in winter, and I think nothing of it until
The music was already turning sad,
those fresh-faced voices singing in a round
the lie that time could set its needle back
and play from the beginning. Had you lived
to eighty, as you'd wished, who knows?—you might
have broken from the circle of that past
more ours than yours. Never even sure