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poet

Hannah Sanghee Park

1986- , Tacoma , WA , United States
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Hannah Sanghee Park

Hannah Sanghee Park was born in Tacoma, Washington, on May 24, 1986. She holds a BA from the University of Washington and an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop.

Her book, The Same-Different, was selected by Rae Armantrout as the winner of the 2014 Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets, and will be published by Louisiana State University Press in 2015.

About The Same-Different, Armantrout writes, "The poems in The Same-Different, beginning with a set of gnomic sonnets, tell it slant, then slanter. They are so full of chiasmus, pun, and near-rhyme that their figures twist back on themselves like strands of DNA or a staircase by Escher. They are mirror-bright. This book is a literally dazzling debut."

Park is also the author of a chapbook, Ode Days Ode (The Catenary Press, 2011). Her poems have been published in Best New Poets 2013, Poetry, and Poetry Northwest.

Her honors include a Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship in 2013, as well as fellowships and grants from the Fulbright Program, 4Culture, the Iowa Arts Council/National Endowment for the Arts, and the MacDowell Colony.

Park attends the Writing for Screen & Television Program at the USC School of Cinematic Arts, where she is currently developing a television pilot and a feature-length screenplay. She lives in Los Angeles.

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Hannah Sanghee Park: Awards Ceremony Reading

Hannah Sanghee Park: Awards Ceremony Reading

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by this poet

poem

Like a frame within a frame the fossil
carried a carcass, a carapace,

and its own casket in another casket,
its own natural sarcophagus.

I never told anyone this story:
in a summer like this I ate a nectarine

until its rough corduroy pit, continued
rolling and chewing it until

poem

There you exist in water.
Unending sketch and erase

of waves on the sea surface.
Today, you’ll be all the words

I wanted to say: look, they’re so
pretty in that second they

surface. You almost didn’t
see them. You didn’t see them.

Sinuous, so commitment’s
a strange

poem
Q
May I master love, undo its luster
do in the thing that makes us lust? 
 
May I speed through the body’s sinew 
to marrow? Or is toiling a part of 
 
the gaining of