Biography of Deborah Ager
Deborah Ager is an American poet.
Ager founded the poetry magazine known as 32 poems or 32 Poems Magazine in 2003 with the poet John Poch. She was educated at the University of Maryland (B.A.) and the University of Florida (M.F.A.).
Her writing has appeared in New England Review, The Georgia Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Los Angeles Review, Barn Owl, North American Review, and Best New Poets 2006. She has received fellowships and/or scholarships from the MacDowell Colony, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, the Atlantic Center for the Arts, the Mid Atlantic Arts Foundation. She was a Walter E. Dakin fellow at the Sewanee Writers' Conference as well as a Tennessee Williams Scholar.
Her manuscript, Midnight Voices, was a semifinalist for the A. Poulin, Jr. Poetry Prize in 2007 before being accepted for publication by Cherry Grove Collections.
In 2011, she edited the poetry anthology Poetry Doesn't Need You with the poet John Poch and scholar Bill Beverly. The book is forthcoming in 2012.
Deborah Ager's Works:
From the Fishouse, May 2011
"The Problem With Describing Men"
"Mangos", Delaware Poetry Review, March 2003
"Alone"; "Dear Deborah"; "Morning", La Petite zine, 2002
"The Lake", Connecticut Review, 2002
"Night in Iowa", Georgia Review, 2000
"Night: San Francisco", New England Review, 2002
"Santa Fe In Winter", New England Review, 2002
"The Space Coast", American Literary Review, 2002
"The Tortoise In Keystone Heights" American Literary Review, 2002
Poetry Doesn't Like You: The First 10 Years of 32 Poems Magazine. WordFarm Press. 2012. 1st edition WordFarm Press, edited with John Poch and Bill Beverly
Midnight Voices. Wordtech Communications. 2009. 1st edition Cherry Grove Collections
Deborah Ager Poems
We are what we repeatedly do. —Aristotle You know how it is waking
Santa Fe In Winter
The city is closing for the night. Stores draw their blinds one by one, and it's dark again, save for the dim
Night: San Francisco
Rain drenches the patio stones. All night was spent waiting for an earthquake, and instead
The yard half a yard, half a lake blue as a corpse. The lake will tell things you long to hear: get away from here.
Over the fence, the dead settle in for a journey. Nine o'clock. You are alone for the first time today. Boys asleep. Husband out.
The Space Coast
Florida An Airedale rolling through green frost, cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves
They tell me that your heart has been found in Iowa, pumping along Interstate 35. Do you want it back?
Night In Iowa
The Tortoise In Keystone Heights
When I knew, it was raining. Winter in decline. I was tired. You in your soaked shirt diffused into the western sky bulging with clouds,
The factory siren tells workers time to go home tells them the evening has begun. When living with the tall man
Night In Iowa
Nimbus clouds erasing stars above Lamoni.
Jaundiced lights. Silos. Loose dogs. Cows
whose stench infuses the handful of homes,
whose sad voices storm the plains with longing.