Eric is now on Facebook.
Eric Torgersen
Eric Torgersen has published eight books and chapbooks of poetry, two of fiction, and a full-length study of Rainer Maria Rilke and Paula Modersohn-Becker. He also translates German poetry, especially that of Rainer Maria Rilke and Nicolas Born. He was born in Melville, New York. He has a BA in German Literature from Cornell University; after two years in the Peace Corps in Ethiopia, he earned an MFA in poetry from the University of Iowa. He retired in the spring of 2008 after 38 years of teaching writing at Central Michigan University. He lives in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan with his wife, the quilt artist Ann Kowaleski. He’s available for workshops and readings. (photo by Peggy Brisbane)
Eric has finished his last term as Honorary Chancellor of the Poetry Society of Michigan. The third person to be given this honor, he succeeded Laurence Thomas and Jack Ridl. Congratulations to new Chancellor Patricia Barnes.
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Eric's most recent book, In Which We See Our Selves: American Ghazals, can be ordered at:
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Baba Juga
In the dream, baba juga meant big snake.
My sister who has Alzheimer’s
pointed and said it, baba juga, and there it was.
In the dream she could still speak.
Once, when we thought
she was just about finished with words,
we told her anyway on FaceTime that we missed her
and she said very clearly in the old voice I miss myself.
In the dream she was holding the hand
of a small, somehow shining girl,
leading her, I thought, down a steep, descending path,
teaching her words for a new place
and what to watch out for.
But of course it was that girl
leading my sister, who’d lost her way
but could still repeat the lesson, baba juga.
I have no idea where that path is;
under my feet already, snakes and all, for all I know.
But how, if I have to, will I find that shining girl
and take her hand?
first appeared in Dunes Review
In the dream, baba juga meant big snake.
My sister who has Alzheimer’s
pointed and said it, baba juga, and there it was.
In the dream she could still speak.
Once, when we thought
she was just about finished with words,
we told her anyway on FaceTime that we missed her
and she said very clearly in the old voice I miss myself.
In the dream she was holding the hand
of a small, somehow shining girl,
leading her, I thought, down a steep, descending path,
teaching her words for a new place
and what to watch out for.
But of course it was that girl
leading my sister, who’d lost her way
but could still repeat the lesson, baba juga.
I have no idea where that path is;
under my feet already, snakes and all, for all I know.
But how, if I have to, will I find that shining girl
and take her hand?
first appeared in Dunes Review