Biography of Mark Wunderlich
Mark Wunderlich (1968 – ) is an American poet. He was born in Winona, Minnesota and grew up in a rural setting near the town of Fountain City, Wisconsin. He attended Concordia College's Institute for German Studies, before transferring to the University of Wisconsin, where he studied English and German literature. After moving to New York City, he attended Columbia University from which he received an MFA (Master of Fine Arts) degree.
Mark Wunderlich has published two collections of poetry, most recently Voluntary Servitude (Graywolf Press, 2004). He worked on his first book, The Anchorage, as his MFA thesis at Columbia University and finished it while living in Provincetown, Massachusetts. There he was friends with the poet Stanley Kunitz (1905–2006). A third book of poems, The Earth Avails, is forthcoming from Graywolf Press.
Wunderlich has published individual poems, essays, reviews and interviews in the Paris Review, Yale Review, Boston Review, Chicago Review, Fence and AGNI. Wunderlich has taught at Stanford, San Francisco State University, Ohio University, Barnard College, and Columbia University. Since 2004, he has been a member of the literature faculty at Bennington College in Vermont, where he is also a member of the faculty of the Graduate Writing Seminars. He lives in New York's Hudson River Valley near the town of Catskill.
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Mark Wunderlich Poems
The Bruise Of This
The night I woke to find the sheets wet from you, like a man cast up on the beach, I hurried you off to the shower to cool you down,
A story: There was a cow in the road, struck by a semi-- half-moon of carcass and jutting legs, eyes already milky with dust and snow, rolled upward
In the town of my childhood, little of note ever happened so when the albino deer was found drowned in the slough having been driven onto the punky ice by dogs, the game warden brought the dead beast to the school.
Prayer For A Birthday
My privilege and my proof, pressing your eternal skin to mine— I feel your fingers touching down on the crown of my head where I pray they remain during this life and in the next.
The Bruise Of This
The night I woke to find the sheets wet from you,
like a man cast up on the beach,
I hurried you off to the shower to cool you down,
dressed you, the garments strict and awkward in my hands,
and got you into a taxi to the hospital,
the driver eyeing us from his rearview mirror--
The blue tone of the paging bell,