Elizabeth Bishop was an American poet who won the 1956 Pulitzer Prize for her collection Poems: North & South/A Cold Spring. She also won the National Book Award in 1970 and taught at Harvard University. She was awarded an Academy Fellowship in 1964 for her lifetime achievement. She greatly resisted the confessional forms of poetry that were becoming popular in the 1960s, preferring a more distant and abstracted poetic voice.
‘One Art’ by Elizabeth Bishop reveals the extent to which people will deny the possibility of grief as a way of coping with inevitable loss, comparing it to an art form that can be easily mastered.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
‘Over 2,000 Illustrations and a Complete Concordance’ is about a struggle to reconcile the immediacy of experience with the abstraction of meaning.
Thus should have been our travels:
serious, engravable.
The Seven Wonders of the World are tired
and a touch familiar, but the other scenes,
Bishop’s poem, ‘First Death in Nova Scotia’, is the detailed description of a child’s first encounter with death and the emotions this discovery causes.
Below them on the table
stood a stuffed loon
shot and stuffed by Uncle
Arthur, Arthur's father.
‘The Fish’ by Elizabeth Bishop is considered to be one of her best poems. In it, readers can find some clues about her personal life.
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
‘The Imaginary Iceberg’ plays with notions of reality, fantasy, and beauty by describing the grandeur of the titular iceberg.
We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship,
although it meant the end of travel.
Although it stood stock-still like cloudy rock
and all the sea were moving marble.
Through vivid detail and contemplation, ‘At the Fishhouses’ by Bishop explores the intricate bond between humans and nature.
Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,
element bearable to no mortal,
to fish and to seals . . . One seal particularly
I have seen here evening after evening.
‘Filling Station’ by Elizabeth Bishop describes a speaker’s initial reaction, and later feelings, about the value of a dirty filling station.
Oh, but it is dirty!
–this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
‘I Am In Need of Music’ by Elizabeth Bishop describes the desire a speaker has to be held, calmed down and consumed by the music she loves.
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Bishop’s ‘In the Waiting Room’ delves into a young girl’s unsettling insights into adulthood and identity through an emotional upheaval.
In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
In ‘Questions of Travel,’ Bishop navigates the complexities of wanderlust and belonging, capturing the essence of travel’s paradox.
Think of the long trip home.
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
‘Sestina’ by Bishop explores home and solitude through a grandmother and child, blending reality with fantasy in a poignant narrative.
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
Bishop’s ‘Song for the Rainy Season’ captures a home’s quiet, lush life amid the rain, hinting at nature’s transient beauty.
Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
Bishop’s ‘The Armadillo’ contrasts fire balloons’ beauty with their destructive wake, highlighting nature’s vulnerability.
This is the time of year
when almost every night
the frail, illegal fire balloons appear.
Climbing the mountain height,
‘The Bight’ by Elizabeth Bishop describes low tide in a bight where birds, shattered boats, fishermen and the poet herself are part of the scenery.
At low tide like this how sheer the water is.
White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare
and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.
Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,
‘The Map,’ written in 1934, is the signature poem of Elizabeth Bishop that transcends the boundaries of the real and imaginatively inspects the topographical features within a map.
Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.