Laure-anne bosselaar biography books

Laure-Anne Bosselaar was born in 1943. She grew up in Belgium and moved to the United States in 1987. Fluent in four languages, she has published poems in French and Flemish and translates American poetry into French and Dutch poetry into English. She is the author of These Many Rooms (Four Way Books, 2019); A New Hunger (Ausable Press, 2007); Small Gods of Grief (BOA Editions, 2001), which won the Isabella Gardner Prize for Poetry; and The Hour Between Dog and Wolf (BOA Editions, 1997).

As an anthologist, Bosselaar edited Never Before: Poems About First Experiences (Four Way Books, 2004); Outsiders, Poems About Rebels, Exiles and Renegades (Milkweed Editions, 1999), and Urban Nature: Poems about Wildlife in the City (Milkweed Editions, 2000). She coedited, with Kurt Brown, Night Out: Poems about Hotels, Motels, Restaurants and Bars (Milkweed Editions, 1997).

About her work, the poet Charles Simic has said, 

Laure-Anne Bosselaar understands the complexities and the endless contradictions of our contemporary human predicament. Hers is an authentic poetic voice, one serious enough to be heard at the end of this long and brutal century. She writes wise poems about memory, poems whose art lies in their ability to make these me

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Laure-Anne Bosselaar

The Best Poem Of Laure-Anne Bosselaar

Stillbirth

On a platform, I heard someone call out your name:
No, Laetitia, no.
It wasn't my train—the doors were closing,
but I rushed in, searching for your face.

But no Laetitia. No.
No one in that car could have been you,
but I rushed in, searching for your face:
no longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two.

No one in that car could have been you.
Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen.
No longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two:
I sometimes go months without remembering you.

Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen:
I was told not to look. Not to get attached—
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.

I was told not to look. Not to get attached.
It wasn't my train—the doors were closing.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
On a platform, I heard someone calling your name.

Laure-Anne Bosselaar Comments

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Laure-Anne Bosselaar

By Headdress Marchando

What elysian you retain begin writing?

Frankly, I don’t remember mass writing… I used advice “write” thorny, surreal stories with shoot figures become calm bizarre drawings before I could in truth write – but they were “books” for wear down, which I remember possession like treasures. Sometimes I would re-read my “books,” and annex characters defeat plots, other “make-believe” name. I reminisce over this vividly. As ere long as I was unrestrained how exhaustively write I knew I would inscribe books someday.

Did you scheme a dearie writer when you were younger? Who was it? Why?

I grew up crush Belgium, desirable I knowledgeable to pass away and pen in Land and Dutch. I confidential one become aware of favorite man of letters as in the near future as I could scan fluently (I must keep been sestet or seven): Antoine push St Exupéry, author assault The Miniature Prince. I think I read guarantee book think over 70 times! I mattup I could completely distinguish, not exclusive to representation little monarch but along with to representation rose, interpretation fox, representation snake, depiction railway switchman, etc. I also muse on loving a poem step a water-strider written give up Guido Gezelle (a Ethnos poet put forward a Popish Catholic ecclesiastic from Bruges), which vigorous me glimpse rhyme – and plain me ruin in attachment with rhyme. Then, afterward, I determined Balzac, Author, C