Jonathan Vold

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Introduction	Don’t be a cipher, someone said. Show us the face that hides behind the poems you would let us read. Offer a glimpse beyond the mind of the poet who has edited his life down into metered lines, who gives his blog a leveled screed but nothing past the words he’s signed.
Interests	Here, then, you have my picture: See the aging and the fattening of fifty years, the lazy eye that looks like it is focusing on things in the periphery; see what’s in need of ironing, the fashions that have passed me by, the cry for different coloring. But there is more, of course. I could divulge my sordid history of marriage leading to divorce, of education forcing me to compromises, of a good career besmirched with obloquy. But there is always more, of course, than who I would pretend to be. With marriage, I have progeny with stories of their own to tell; with education, I have learned the fathoms of my earthly well of ignorance; and should you see the merchandise I try to sell, for every dollar fairly earned, my reputation’s mostly held. But turn away from all of this. What should it matter what I wear or how I always seem to look or just how well I comb my hair, if I’m a father with no wife, more lawyer than you’d have me be or if I lead a prosaic life? For now, and here, you have my poetry.

Introduction

Don’t be a cipher, someone said. Show us the face that hides behind the poems you would let us read. Offer a glimpse beyond the mind of the poet who has edited his life down into metered lines, who gives his blog a leveled screed but nothing past the words he’s signed.

Interests

Here, then, you have my picture: See the aging and the fattening of fifty years, the lazy eye that looks like it is focusing on things in the periphery; see what’s in need of ironing, the fashions that have passed me by, the cry for different coloring. But there is more, of course. I could divulge my sordid history of marriage leading to divorce, of education forcing me to compromises, of a good career besmirched with obloquy. But there is always more, of course, than who I would pretend to be. With marriage, I have progeny with stories of their own to tell; with education, I have learned the fathoms of my earthly well of ignorance; and should you see the merchandise I try to sell, for every dollar fairly earned, my reputation’s mostly held. But turn away from all of this. What should it matter what I wear or how I always seem to look or just how well I comb my hair, if I’m a father with no wife, more lawyer than you’d have me be or if I lead a prosaic life? For now, and here, you have my poetry.

Jonathan Vold

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About me

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