Poet Laureate | City of Santa Fe, New MexicoJACOBSON.HEADSHOT.

Elizabeth Jacobson’s second book, Not into the Blossoms and Not into the Air, won the New Measure Poetry Prize, selected by Marianne Boruch, and was published in January 2019, by Free Verse Editions/Parlor Press. Her other books include two chapbooks, A Brown Stone and Are the Children Make Believe? both from Dancing Girl Press and a full-length collection, Her Knees Pulled In, from Tres Chicas Books. She is the founding director of the WingSpan Poetry Project, a not-for-profit that conducts weekly poetry classes in battered family and homeless shelters in New Mexico.  WingSpan has received four grants from the Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry. Her work has appeared in the American Poetry Review, JuxtaProse, Orion Magazine, Ploughshares, Plume, Poet Lore, Taos Journal of Poetry, The American Journal of Poetry, The Laurel Review, Terrain, and elsewhere. She has received residencies from Atlantic Center for the Arts, Key West Literary Seminar, Herekeke Arts Center, and the Mable Dodge Luhan House where she was the 2018 writer-in-residence. Elizabeth has taught writing for over thirty years in colleges, public schools, and for programs with community outreach.  Currently, she is teaching a weekly community poetry class in conjunction with the Santa Fe Railyard Art Project. Elizabeth is the Reviews Editor for and Poet Laureate of Santa Fe, New Mexico.


Please see what we are doing at the WingSpan Poetry Project by visiting our blog:

from Ploughshares, 2017



From Miriam’s Well:

3 Questions for Elizabeth Jacobson

Published October 15, 2012 — Miriam Sagan

1. What is your personal/aesthetic relationship to the poetic line? That is, how do you understand it, use it, etc.

The poetic line is a continuously endless place of discovery. As human beings it seems that it is so difficult for us to accept the wavering life that is always in front of us. The line helps with this as it lets me be ok with waiting, with stillness, with shouts and chaos – with the loss of control. To wander into and then around in a line of poetry is one of my greatest pleasures as an artist. I find that it is an immense arena of stillness where an energetic, creative mind can practice deeply and transform something seemingly linear into something spacious. Connecting the lines in creation of a poem is so much fun – for me it is like a puzzle – and I get to be a detective as well as a writer.

2. Do you find a relationship between words and writing and the human body? Or between your writing and your body?

A few years ago it felt important to me to write a definition of what I thought a poem was. This is what I came up with: A poem is a moment seized in vision, and the sensations of awareness. I like this because a poem seems to come at me through my body, through the senses — it is visual, it is aural. It may have a taste, a smell — and then somehow lands in the mind, like a magpie — begins to scrounge around and flap its hefty wings. This is the physicality of a new poem coming into being.

3. Is there anything you dislike about being a poet?

The other night I was having dinner with my cousins and their kids, who are 13 and 11 and 11, at their home. I brought them a copy of my book, Her Knees Pulled In, and it was so great that they were all excited about it – even the kids – it was like turning them on to a new cool app – they all wanted to have a look, read some poems, wanted me to read some poems – everyone was engaged and curious. How refreshing it would be if this were the norm. Forget the candles and paper napkins as hostess’s gifts and bring some poetry instead. What saddens me is that this is not the norm in the United States, like in other cultures, where poetry may be what people want to talk about…. don’t turn away from, but rather dive right in and get going.


Full blue harvest moon
the mesa in the distance looks as if it is lit up with lights
everything resplendent
blue jackrabbits in the tall grass eating
when they should be hiding from being eaten
the rocks a wavy expanse of phosphorescence
like the curl of ocean waves under the chill aluminum sky
under water that is now air
she finds lava, mica, green stones the color of tarnished copper
all the elements have passed this space
time being kind
lifts its dress and lets her feel the tender parts
lets her see how the body yields to everything in between hot and cold
inconsistency the steady backbone of this natural place
is what balances a large rock on top of a small one
carves holes in boulders with its storming saliva and breath
she tastes the contradiction on her arm
salty sea air skin in the red dusty desert
her clothes peel off like scale
she shivers, sweats
irony offers its hand, polishes her in the tin of the moment

from Her Knees Pulled In

Tres Chicas Books, 2012
| 2012 © Elizabeth Jacobson | Comments always welcome


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