Rebecca Wolff (born 1967 New York City) is a poet, fiction writer, and the editor and creator of both Fence Magazine and Fence Books.
Wolff received her MFA from the Iowa Writers Workshop, where she was a student editor of the Iowa Review.
She created Fence Magazine in 1998, with an editorial staff including Jonathan Lethem, Frances Richard, Caroline Crumpacker, and Matthew Rohrer, and Fence Books in 2001. Fence is now headquartered at the University at Albany, where Wolff is a fellow at the New York State Writers Institute.
She was married from 2002 until 2012 to the novelist Ira Sher. She lives in Hudson, New York with their children Asher Wolff and Margot Sher.
There is a curiosity that knows
I know
deathless ceiling of unknowing
...
I can play songs in my head
Yes I can perfectly replicate
(the) full-on
orchestral
every note
(when the lights / do down / in the city)
yet I cannot
compose, for example
and though when I was young I believed
that the fullness meant
I could recreate the sounds
I heard in my head with my mouth
I learned through painful iteration
painfully unsatisfactory
shameful the rendition
so partial
almost unrelated
the qualities are: note tone scale register vocality musicality
incapacity
painfully shy of representation
is there anyone?
who is a record player
...
Careening over the
highway in
my lightweight
Japanese
Death Star
buffeted by the great and powerful
winds
icy winds
of winter warming
cold air with hot air
under it
accordion pleats
of natural disaster
my disaster
in the past if you were to say to me
or to rage at me
in a poem
about America I would charge you
a great failure
to even use the word. It is
banality
this land is suffering because poets—
their great cohort—
I look twice
to save lives.
...
there are some things up there
uptown
I want to see
I want to see I'm going to look at that and see
I want to go up and see
that show. That show
I went to see, I went to see.
There are some things up
there uptown
I want to
look at that and see. I'm going to see
what I look. What I look at, when I look, vessel,
I stood to see. I went to stand to look
to see. Venturing further I went outside myself to look
at that wall. It fed! There was a box inside that was not blank, I saw it.
It was really different from an aura, the thing had
colors, the thing was talking
to itself. And spoke
to me, not incidentally.
...
Let's go out and buy something. In the sun.
No, let's stay home and make something, the sun floods the room. It
could be green, on paper. It could be money. That's the way to create
new matter.
That's how I detach boats from moorings—my boat, my mooring—
the harbor
shallow in low tide
skiff propelled over buffeting sands flats on
sheer
puissance.
...