Lisa Fishman’s poems

Lisa Fishman is a poet from Chicago. I met Lisa at a conference on Jacques Derrida, where she combined her poetic and philosophical brilliance to open up audiences to pleasurable anguish of reading.

I read her collection Dear, Read and wanted to write a review, but I felt unable to articulate the praise I wanted to give her with the precision and feeling that Michael Palmer and Robert Creeley had already done.

Instead, I will treat you to a new unpublished poem of Lisa’s, which she wrote walking the woods outside Växjö University in Sweden. The poem is unedited, and presents the immediate impressions she had one of the evenings we spent there. I got the original written on a large postcard of the local Gothic castle.

Night in Växjö

And not a single scholar out among the trees

outside the castle where you could be free

in many places, under branches in the

no-moon night,

among the stones, or on the moss, or the water

has an edge. The water’s edge. The soul,

I mean the cold, has the soul of a windy night,

a scholar wrote to a cook or thief, who

sometimes cooked

the things he stole and sometimes stacked them

in the sun like logs: a pot, a stone, a pen.

She climbed the stack and looked and sat.

Also, they went running out among the trees,

the two of them, the many trees,

and the branches grew all around

all around, and the branches grew

Buy Lisa’ books at Ahsahtapress.

This is a video of my meager attempt to read Lisa’s poems.

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