Gloria Beckerman

M5 Bus--And Beyond

About

Here is the blurb from the back of the book. I can’t attest that all of it is true.

About this book

Gloria Beckerman has lived an interesting life. This book of her poems is a kind of autobiography. She reaches back in memory, in nostalgic reveries. Sometimes the details of her past just bubble up, prompted by some detail--a song, a sound, an old toy or street game. She seems to have remembered everything, something as small as a skate key. Not everyone these days recognizes the reference. In New York City, kids used to attach skates to their shoes with a skate key and use the parks or streets for their outdoor adventures. This book is filled with moments that we of those times all recognize. Remember the typewriter and learning to type? Remember dating and mating and having children? Remember tragedies and the dark side of life? It's all here in this wonderful collection of poems, full of sharp images and freedom of forms.

About the author

Gloria Brim Beckerman: poet, wife, mother, actress, and professor. Married at sixteen, she continued her education at Julia Richman High School, City College of New York, Hofstra University, and the Yale Drama School. Later, she was for many years Professor of Literature at Adelphi University. Her poetry has been published in Yale Poetry Review, PM, Pulse Magazine, and Buffalo Spree. With William Coco she edited Theatrical Presentation, Performer, Audience by Bernard Beckerman. She is now married to Jeremiah Stamler, MD. They live in four places: New York, Chicago, Sag Harbor and Italy.

Excerpt

WHAT DID I KNOW?


Years ago, I repeated jokes about
     varicose veins,
     wrinkle removers,
likewise hair dye, puffy ankles,
the whole bit.
What did I know?

Living is a crossword puzzle.
I look for the right letter, word, fact,
to fill squares.
Even if I forget
who wrote, or rewrote,
Boris Godunov,
I know Chaliapin sang it.
I hear his mighty voice reverberating
along with my father’s irate warning:
drop the needle gently.
My "old" father
and I'm older than he ever was.

Autumn has its tang,
the lure of books and friends,
but memory
is the marrow
in my bones:
seeding, stretching, linking.
Age? a mask we get to wear.