Lyn Lifshin | Mediterranean Poetry

Lyn Lifshin has written more than 125 books and edited 4 anthologies of women writers. Her poems have appeared in most poetry and literary magazines in the U.S.A. and her work has been included in virtually every major anthology of recent writing by women. Her poem “No More Apologizing” has been called “among the most impressive documents of the women’s poetry movement” by Alicia Ostriker.

Lyn has given numerous readings across the U.S.A. and also taught poetry and prose writing for many years at universities, colleges and high schools, and has been Poet in Residence at the University of Rochester, Antioch and Colorado Mountain College.

Winner of numerous awards including the Jack Kerouac Award for her book Kiss The Skin Off. Lyn is also the subject of the documentary film Lyn Lifshin: Not Made of Glass. She has been praised by Robert Frost, Ken Kesey and Richard Eberhart, and Ed Sanders has seen her as “a modern Emily Dickinson.”

Lyn Lifshin’s prizewinning book (Paterson Poetry Award) Before It’s Light was published 1999 – 2000 by Black Sparrow Press, following their publication of Cold Comfort in 1997. Texas Review Press published her prize winning book of poems about the famous, short lived beautiful race horse, Ruffian in 2006: The Licorice Daughter: My Year With Ruffian. Another Woman who Looks Like Me was published by Black Sparrow-David Godine in October 2006.

Other books: A New Film about a Woman in Love with the Dead, Marilyn Monroe, When a Cat Dies, Another Woman’s Story, Barbie Poems, The Daughter I Don’t Have, What Matters Most, Blue Tattoo, Mirrors, August Wind, Novemberly, 92 Rapple Drive, Desire, All The Poets Who Have Touched Me, Living and Dead: All True, Especially the Lies and Tsunami. Other writings include a book about the courageous and riveting race horse, Barbaro: Beyond Brokenness from Texas Review Press, Nutley Pond from Goose River Press, Lost in the Fog from Finishing Line Press, Persephone from Red Hen, For the Roses poems after Joni Mitchell from March Street Press, Hotel Hitchcock from Danse Macabre and A Girl Goes into the Woods from NYQ books.

For interviews, photographs, more bio material, reviews, prose, samples of work and more, please visit her web site: www.lynlifshin.com

DREAMING IN SPANISH

the bougainvillea flutter
as the moon moves over the
Mediterranean, pale light
on the waves moving in.
Footprints dissolve
on white sand mist blurs
the closed awnings
on Ramblas, the cut flowers
still dripping night are
cut in the dark as morning
begins to crawl in and
you still need a sweatshirt
for hours. The homeless man
curls closer to his golden
dog who sighs, moves
closer to his owner’s scent

DREAMING IN SPANISH

Bird venders turn over
in their sleep, half hear
flower vendors open the
shutters. The Mediterranean
laps pale sand. Night
birds’ prints dissolve in the
froth. In hours music
and mimes will fill the
Rambla and El Raval. But
for now lovers reach
for each other in darkness
until light breaks thru
mist on Ramblas, the
street Federico Garcia
Lorca called the only one
in the world he wished
would never end.
October blooms were
on the Rambla, wild colors,
the birds, the flowers.
Here the gray morning,
doves, in days, goslings

DREAMING IN SPANISH

only 6 months from the
street Federico Garcia Lorca
said was the only one in
the world he wished
would never end. Here
cherry petals, a pink snow
after heavy rain. Green
unfurls overnight. I think
of the walk from Barri Xine’s
toward the sea, scarlet
blossoms. silver bikinis,
the man who said we will
meet again. Mahogany
eyes burning holes
in the night. The drug
of his closeness
dangerous as
heroin

DREAMING IN SPANISH

she said she was sun
dazed. There was something
in the Mediterranean air.
Or was it his smile,
cocky, more intimate than
a hand inside her thighs.
It must have been
the scent of lilies or
roses, incense that burned.
She said she could feel
his eyes on her
body intense as a bruise

DREAMING IN SPANISH

salt air laps the
verandahs. Jasmin
fills with night dew.
Somewhere down the
street the homeless man’s
dog barks in his sleep
while in Sant Pau del Camp,
the red light district,
a sequin garter hangs on
the rail of the balcony.
The moon licks the
sparkles and spits them
around the pealing
paint before s sliver of
light creeps into
the onyx sky at the
Boqueria food market.
A man with a limp
moves among the cinnamon,
basil and tarragon,
sweeps shells and crumbs
from the day before
as fresh fish glisten
and wriggle on the
day’s table

For other contributions by Lyn Lifshin, please follow the links below: