Biography of Michael Blumenthal
Michael C. Blumenthal was born in 1949 in Vineland, New Jersey. A poet, essayist, novelist, and translator, Blumenthal began his career as a lawyer. He earned his JD from Cornell Law School, and later went on to study clinical psychology at Antioch. Blumenthal once commented: “Like many poets, I came to my vocation, one might say, ‘through the back door,’ having struggled through years of seemingly desirable yet (to me) unsatisfying jobs, while ‘stealing’ the time for my true work. The original impetus for my writing, perhaps, was best reflected in a statement made by Robert Mezey—‘I am a man, a Piscean, and unhappy, and therefore I make up poems’—but I feel, now, that my work derives from the healthier (and happier) desire to tap the sources of my own inner wisdom, and to make music of it.”
Michael Blumenthal Poems
Conformity caught here, nobody catches it, Lawns groomed in prose, with hardly a stutter. Lloyd hits the ball, and Lorraine fetches it.
for Isaac Bashevis Singer The melancholy of Chopin and cruel breathing folds back your sheets,
A man in terror of impotence or infertility, not knowing the difference . . . . Adrienne Rich
[I] retrace by moonlight the roads where I used to play in the sun. — Marcel Proust At night, when I go out to the field to listen to the birds sleep, the stars
Just because a man pulls out your chair for you and takes your coat at an elegant restaurant is no guarantee that he really loves you. You know this, and so whether he burps or farts over the dinner
United Jewish Appeal
My grandmother was eighty-nine and blind and I was a young boy hungry for quarters, so, in the waning light of Sunday afternoons, my parents gone,
The Difference between a Child and a Poe...
If you are terrified of your own death, and want to escape from it, you may want to write a poem,
Not merely because Henry James said there were but four rules of life— be kind be kind be kind be kind—but because it's good for the soul, and,
after Tennyson Now come the purple garments, now the white; Now move the vagrant beds among the disinfected halls; Now stretch the opaque hose between the antiseptic rooms: I waken: and she looks at me.
United Jewish Appeal
My grandmother was eighty-nine and blind and I was a young boy hungry for quarters, so, in the waning light
Now come the purple garments, now the white;
Now move the vagrant beds among the disinfected halls;
Now stretch the opaque hose between the antiseptic rooms:
I waken: and she looks at me.
Now droops the freshly propped-up pillow like a ghost,
And like a ghost she sets it right for me.