英文诗歌赏析 In the Back Seat of History 在历史的后座上
时间:2013-07-30 17:15 作者:admin 来源:www.2abc8.com
Mary Biddinger is the author of the poetry collection Prairie Fever (Steel Toe Books, 2007). Her poems have appeared in numerous literary magazines, including Copper Nickel, Crazyhorse, Gulf Coast, The Iowa Review, 32 poems, Ninth Letter, North American Review, Ploughshares, Weave Magazine, and Third Coast. Her chapbook Saint Monica was published by Black Lawrence Press in May 2011, and her poem "Population: 41,685," originally published in Memorious, was featured in the Dzanc Books Best of the Web 2010. Her second full-length collection of poems, O Holy Insurgency, was published by Black Lawrence Press in 2013, and her third full-length collection of poems, A Sunny Place with Adequate Water is forthcoming in 2014, also from Black Lawrence Press.
She is an Associate Professor in the Department of English at the University of Akron, and was Director of the NEOMFA: Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing program from 2009-2012. Biddinger teaches courses in poetry writing, craft and theory of poetry, and literature.
Biddinger is the Editor of the Akron Series in Poetry, which sponsors the annual Akron Poetry Prize and publishes three poetry collections every year. She is also on the Cleveland State University Poetry Center Open Book Competition editorial jury. Biddinger also serves as co-editor, with John Gallaher, of the Akron Series in Contemporary Poetics at the University of Akron Press. The first volume, titled The Monkey and the Wrench: Essays into Contemporary Poetics, was published in January, 2011.
In 2007, Biddinger founded Barn Owl Review, an independent literary magazine published in Akron, Ohio.
In the Back Seat of History
by Mary Biddinger
We lived in Gettysburg like vagrant
prospectors, driven by the scent
of knees and a profound love of dimes
if by dimes you meant knees, and we
were always kneeling before
one altar or another, making sacrifice
as you called it. Your trunk was full
of coffee filters and insoles.
Somebody stole your brother's bike
and that was all the reason needed.
We broke our melon the old
fashioned way, which is to say
not at all. You'd kneecap that bastard.
I knelt in front of you kneading
the last few pages of John Donne's
Holy Sonnets like an exquisite loaf
of historically-derived rye.
When I got to the end I wasn't sure
if breathing was polite, or necessary.
Later I stood in the alley
wearing red tatters of high school.
Our motel was packed with the cry
from a broken television,
the kind that lived between your ribs.
About This Poem
"I often find poetry in the convergence of memory and the present. For example, my parents took me to Gettysburg in 1983. I saw a shirtless man with long hair who was breaking a melon against the side of a metal garbage can. It wasn't until years later that I pondered exactly what that melon would taste like on such a day."