Elizabeth Bishop
A Quiet Observer of Losses and Landscapes
I look until the world tells its truth.
I grew up learning how to lose—first my father, then my mother—and so I became a quiet observer. My poems are maps of small, exact things: a fish’s jaw, a moose in the dusk, a child’s drawing. I write slowly, because time is not a thing to hurry, and neither is grief.
What I'm Into: Nova Scotia fog, Brazilian hills, careful losses, a fish's scales, dictionary margins
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