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About this poet

Timothy Liu (Liu Ti Mo) was born in 1965 in San Jose, California, to parents from the Chinese mainland. He studied at Brigham Young University, the University of Houston, and the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.

He is the author of Polytheogamy (Saturnalia, 2009); Bending the Mind Around the Dream’s Blown Fuse (Talisman House, 2009); For Dust Thou Art (Southern Illinois University Press, 2005); Of Thee I Sing (University of Georgia Press, 2004), selected by Publishers Weekly as a 2004 Book-of-the-Year; Hard Evidence (Talisman House, 2001); Say Goodnight (Copper Canyon Press, 1998); Burnt Offerings (Copper Canyon Press, 1995); and Vox Angelica (Alice James Books, 1992), which won the Poetry Society of America's Norma Farber First Book Award.

About Liu's work, the poet Fanny Howe has said, "Timothy Liu writes out of an angry materialism, ill-fitting body, disappointment at every turn. He takes on his point of view wholeheartedly and compresses the consequences into phrases that echo and mimic each other, thereby increasing the sensation of claustrophobia and fever."

Liu’s honors and awards include a Pushcart Prize, Best American Poetry in 2002, and the Open Book Beyond Margins Award. He also edited Word of Mouth: An Anthology of Gay American Poetry, (Talisman House, 2000).

He has served as a core faculty member at Bennington College’s Writing Seminars, and is currently an associate professor at William Paterson University. He lives in Manhattan.



Bibliography

Poetry

Polytheogamy (Saturnalia, 2009)
Bending the Mind Around the Dream’s Blown Fuse (Talisman House, 2009)
For Dust Thou Art (Southern Illinois University Press, 2005)
Of Thee I Sing (University of Georgia Press, 2004)
Hard Evidence (Talisman House, 2001)
Say Goodnight (Copper Canyon Press, 1998)
Burnt Offerings (Copper Canyon Press, 1995)
Vox Angelica (Alice James Books, 1992)

Almost There

Timothy Liu
Hard to imagine getting
anywhere near another semi-
nude encounter down this concrete
slab of interstate, the two of us
all thumbs—

white-throated swifts mating mid-flight
instead of buckets of
crispy wings thrown down
hoi polloi—
an army of mouths

eager to feed
left without any lasting sustenance.
Best get down on all fours.
Ease our noses past
rear-end collisions wrapped around

guardrails shaking loose their bolts
while unseen choirs jacked on
airwaves go on preaching
loud and clear to every 
last pair of unrepentant ears—

Copyright © 2011 by Timothy Liu. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2011 by Timothy Liu. Used with permission of the author.

Timothy Liu

Timothy Liu

Timothy Liu (Liu Ti Mo) was born in 1965 in San Jose,

by this poet

poem
whistles past hacked-down fields of corn, 
heading towards a boy who whittles 
an effigy of himself. We go on sleeping 
through sirens and crimson strobes 
flashing on remains no one can identify 
till we line up at dawn to see who's 
missing. At the zoo this morning, a girl 
found half-devoured in a moat, two
poem
A room walled-in by books where the hours withdraw.


At the foot of an unmade bed a bird of paradise.


Motel carpet melted where an iron had been.


His attention anchored to a late night glory hole.


Of janitorial carts no heaviness like theirs.


Desire seen cavorting with the yes inside the no.


A soul
poem

Intermittent wet under
cloud cover, dry
where you are. All day
this rain without

you—so many planes
above the cloud line
carrying strangers
either closer or

farther away from
one another while
you and I remain
grounded. Are we