Bishop: Poems, Prose and Letters is a book to delve into again and again and be reminded and surprised by the wonderful writing of multi-award winning poet Elizabeth Bishop, who was Poet Laureate of the United States (1949 to 1950), won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry (1956, for Poems - North & South) and a National Book Award (1970, The Complete Poems).
Bishop’s father died when she was just eight months old. By age five her mother entered a mental hospital, never to see or live with her daughter again. Bishop was shuttled back and forth between her maternal and paternal grandparents until settling in with her aunt Florence Bishop, her father's sister. As the title states, Bishop's poems, prose, letters, and much more are all included here — translations, reviews of other poets' work, short stories. Her chronological biography reads as interestingly as her poetry, detailing the incidents, travels, friendships, and love affairs that made up her life and can be glimpsed in echoes through her poetry. Bishop's long-term relationships were with women, but she didn't make them the subject of her work. She was interested in people, but not self-revelation. Even her most "intimate" work is only generally erotic.
From "Vague Poem (Vaguely Love Poem)"
Just now, when I saw you naked again,
I thought the same words: rose-rock, rock-rose …
Rose, trying, working, to show itself,
forming, folding over,
unimaginable connections, unseen, shining edges.
Rose-rock, unformed, flesh beginning, crystal by crystal,
clear pink breasts and darker, crystalline nipples,
rose-rock, rose-quartz, roses, roses, roses,
exacting roses from the body,
and the even darker, accurate, rose of sex—
She lived an itinerant life. Bishop came from a wealthy family, so she could afford to travel, and she did, often. Even though she made her home in Brazil for 15 years, she used that home as a base to travel from, never seeming to stay in one place for too long. She also lived for many years in writers' haven Key West. Bishop was an alcoholic. So many writers from her generation became alcoholics that it's hard not to wonder if the true results of Prohibition were to grain-alcohol poison everyone. Because people certainly didn't stop drinking during Prohibition — they drank home-distilled versions of liquor that were many times more potent than what we drink now. And they were drinking mostly alcohol, not a recreational Chardonnay.
Whatever poem you're reading, wherever it is set, whether Newfoundland, New York, Florida, or Paris, you feel that Bishop really "gets" where she is. She has a gift for describing the place, the moment.
From "A Miracle for Breakfast"
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds — along with the sun
Her letters are interesting, a slightly different voice from her poetry, but still always describing her surroundings. A letter to mentor Marianne Moore describes a visit to her aunt's farm in such detail — how she had to walk out to the road in the early morning dark and use a flashlight to flag down the only bus to New York City — you feel you are there with her, out on the cold dirt road in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, wondering if she'll be able to hail the bus and make it back safe and sound to the city.
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