Biography of Christianne Balk
Christianne Balk is an American poet.
She graduated in biology with honors from Grinnell College.
Her work has appeared in Pequod, Crazy Horse, Sulfur, The Centennial review The Missouri Review, Sonora Review, Prairie Schooner Harper's, and The New Yorker.
She taught at the University of British Columbia.
She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her husband and daughter.
1985 Walt Whitman Award
1994 Verna Emory Award
Alaska Council on the Arts travel grant
Christianne Balk's Works:
Linda Svendsen, ed. (1990). "Elegy; How Stories Get Started". Words we call home. University of British Columbia Press.
"Lauds for St. Germaine Cousin". The Atlantic Monthly. September 2002.
Bindweed. Collier Books
Desiring Flight. Purdue University Press. 1995
William J. Walsh, Jack (INT) Myers, ed. (2006). "Lauds for St. Germaine cousin; Dusk Choir; Dear Hippopotamus". Under the rock umbrella. Mercer University Press
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Christianne Balk Poems
The Kitchen Shears Speak
This division must end. Again I'm forced to amputate the chicken's limb; slit the joint, clip the heart, snip wing from back,
Thousands of tiny fists tamping the surface of the lake flowing like a wide river gone crazy, southeast, westnorth
Lauds For St. Germaine Cousin (1579-1601...
Blessed is the One who lifts the slow sun above this morning's raw orange edge, who moves the ewe to nudge her birth- stunned lamb into the flock's heat, who
Heavy-hocked, barrel-bellied, exhaling billows of steam, they wait while the corn, wheat, clover, and potato fields surround us, finished
Sun salved, we sit on the front porch, careful when we speak, watching the crows swagger near the property line, dabbing – what. A nest of grubs? Ice-wintered berries? New grass shoots?
Sun salved, we sit on the front porch, careful
when we speak, watching the crows swagger near
the property line, dabbing – what. A nest
of grubs? Ice-wintered berries? New grass shoots?
Such purposeful pecking. They pause, sky-tipped.
Resume their work. Curious, we step close –
a starling twitches at their feet. One eye
gone, the other blinking fast, rib cage open
to the sun as the snow unravels from