We watched the people walking in the open square— one of them was a specialist in killing, fear was the way of others. Remember the trees in springtime, we ate candy beneath them, shouts from the playground, static of yellowjackets, your fresh new haircut. But we were lustrous from time to time, in a garden in a city in a wood melodious with pine. Blur of speech in the gullet, gale of want in the throat.
Thick last week of waiting. Too fat to graze, slothing up Park to the doctor. Too tight for a walk too lagging and always in a hot funk and stalled there now. Have you a taste for a birth, for a bludgeoning?
Raise a glass to the stethoscope, the belly, the tongs and slashery, to creeping around slippery and hopeful on all fours. The teleprompter reads liberty reads Deborah landau reads zany, loose, glucose, says get ready to plonk one out.
A birth, a hurdle to vault, and then the toes the scum, the potty and bumpers of it. Tell us about the making of this poem. The wildness of the language was energizing and propelled the poem along; it has a messy headlong energy that I hope captures the forcefulness and weird joy of that experience.
What are you working on right now? These are the good days. My life is full of love, and work that I love. I feel fortunate to get up every day and read poems and write poems and talk with friends and colleagues and students about poems.
How long have you lived in Brooklyn? What neighborhood do you live in? What do you like most about it? When I first moved here from the Village, then SoHo the Mister Rogers Neighborhood of it all was rather shocking and took some getting used to.
Wisteria grows along my office window. Lots of nice people live nearby.
Share with us a defining Brooklyn experience, good, bad or in between. Walking along the street feeling annoyed by all the babies and dogs, then realizing that I have a baby and a dog.
Because of his music and life force and eroticism, and for wisdom such as: It seems to me that every thing in the light and air ought to be happy, Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave let him know he has enough.In celebration of this year’s Banned Books Week, today’s #PENpodcast features Deborah Landau reading Whitman’s poems “Leaves of Grass” and “Respondez!” at the Paradise Banned: Poetry Readings from Banned Books event, co-hosted by PEN American on September 30, The poems of My Alexandria transform homophobic narratives about the disease, offer comfort to those living with HIV, and encourage empathy from those whose lives have not yet been affected by the virus.
Deborah Landau is the author of Orchidelirium, which won the Anhinga Prize for Poetry, and The Last Usable Hour (Copper Canyon Press, ). She was educated at Stanford, Columbia, and Brown, where she was a Javits Fellow and received a Ph.D. in E. Genealogy profile for Deborah Landau Deborah Landau ( - ) - Genealogy Genealogy for Deborah Landau ( - ) family tree on Geni, with over .
Landau's most recent book, The Uses of the Body, was published in by Copper Canyon Press and was a Lannan Literary Selection.  Deborah Landau is currently director of the Creative Writing Program at New York University.
Deborah Landau is the author of three collections of poetry. Her poems have appeared in The Paris Review, Poetry, The New Yorker, Tin House, and The New York Times.
She directs the Creative Writing Program at New York University and lives in ashio-midori.coms: 2.