Stuart Dischell
Photo by David Wilson
Bio
Stuart Dischell is the author of four books of poetry: Backwards Days (Penguin, 2007), Dig Safe (Penguin, 2003), Evenings & Avenues (Penguin, 1996), and Good Hope Road, a National Poetry Series Selection (Viking, 1993). His poems have appeared widely in periodicals, including The Atlantic, Kenyon Review, The New Republic, and Slate, and in anthologies such as Hammer and Blaze, The Pushcart Prize: the Best of the Small Presses, Good Poems, and Essential Pleasures. He has won fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation and the North Carolina Arts Council. He teaches at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro.
Author's Statement
The poems in the fellowship application were my attempt to cool hot thoughts through structure and craft and to temper them when I could with wit in order to make the poems more durable. I still write with first principles-loss, death, love, despair-and try to give my poems a sense of physicality and location in the human landscape.
The fellowship from the NEA could not have come at a better moment for me as a writer. It will allow me to take time off from my teaching responsibilities and immerse myself in my poetry. During this period I plan to make great headway on poems that I hope will comprise my fifth collection.
SHE PUT ON HER LIPSTICK IN THE DARK
I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once. It
was in the garden of a museum Where I saw
her touching the statues. She had brown hair
and an aquamarine scarf.
It was in the garden of the museum I told her I
was a thief disguised as a guard. She had
brown hair and an aquamarine scarf. She told
me she was a student from Grenoble.
I told her I was not a thief disguised as a guard.
We had coffee at the little commissary. She said
she had time till her train to Grenoble. We talked
about our supreme belief in art.
We had coffee at the little commissary
Then sat on a bench near the foundry. We
talked about our supreme belief in art. She
leaned her head upon my chest.
We kissed on a bench near the foundry. I
closed my eyes when no one was watching.
She leaned her head upon my chest. The
museum was closing. It was time to part.
I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once. I
never saw her again and she never saw me.
In a garden she touched the statues. She put
on her lipstick in the dark.
I close my eyes when no one is watching. She
had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf. The
museum was closing. It was time to part. I
never saw her again and she never saw me.