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Rhina P. Espaillat was born in the Dominican Republic under the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo. After Espaillat’s great-uncle opposed the regime, her family was exiled to the United States and settled in New York City. She began writing poetry as a young girl—in Spanish and then English—and has published in both languages.
Espaillat’s numerous poetry collections include And After All (2019); Her Place in These Designs (2008); Playing at Stillness (2005); Rehearsing Absence (2001), recipient of the 2001 Richard Wilbur Award; a bilingual chapbook titled Mundo y Palabra/The World and the Word (2001); Where Horizons Go (1998), winner of the T.S. Eliot Prize; and Lapsing to Grace (1992).
On Rehearsing Absence, Robert B. Shaw wrote in Poetry, “To Rhina Espaillat the quotidian is no malady … it is the source of inspiration. Hers is a voice of experience, but it is neither jaded nor pedantic. She speaks not from some cramped corner but from somewhere close to the center of life.” Awarding Espaillat the 1998 T.S. Eliot Prize for Where Horizons Go, X.J. Kennedy noted that “such developed skill and such mastery of rhyme and meter are certainly rare anymore; so is plainspeaking.”
Espaillat’s work has garnered many awards, including the Sparrow Sonnet Prize, three Poetry Society of America prizes, the Der-Hovanessian Translation Prize, and—for her Spanish translations of Robert Frost—the Robert Frost Foundation’s Tree at My Window Award. She is a two-time winner of The Formalist’s Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award and the recipient of a 2008 Lifetime Achievement Award from Salem State College. She is a founding member of the Fresh Meadows Poets and a founding member and former director of the Powow River Poets. For over a decade, she coordinated the Newburyport Art Association’s Annual Poetry Contest.
-bio via Poetry Foundation
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0:00.0 | Welcome back to the Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. |
0:04.1 | I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Thursday, November 14th, 2004. |
0:09.7 | Today's poem is by Rina Espayat, and it's called Changeling. |
0:14.1 | It is a wrenching description of seeing one's aging parent change before your eyes, but it opens onto an insight into all |
0:26.0 | human love. I'll read it once before making a few comments and then read it once more. |
0:32.2 | Changeling. I want to tell myself, she is not you, this sullen woman wearing Mama's eyes all wrong, |
0:41.4 | whose every gesture rings untrue and yet familiar. In your harsh disguise, I sometimes need to |
0:47.6 | find you, sometimes fear I will if I look closely into her. I want to tell myself you are not here, |
0:55.1 | trapped in this parody of what you were. |
0:57.4 | But love was never safe. |
0:59.5 | It lives on danger, |
1:01.2 | finds what can't be found by any other power on earth or over it. |
1:05.4 | This stranger is you, |
1:07.2 | is all the you there is, |
1:09.5 | my mother whose gentler face is gone beyond recall, |
1:13.1 | and I must love you so, or not at all. |
1:16.9 | For someone who has gone through what this poem is describing, |
1:21.1 | even to read the poem becomes a kind of reenacting of what the poem is describing, |
1:26.8 | even to read these lines is to come uncomfortably close |
1:32.5 | to this difficult and often painful experience of seeing a loved one disappear before their life |
1:41.5 | runs out, like those who suffer from Alzheimer's or dementia or some similar condition. |
1:47.3 | And SBAT captures really effectively the pain of looking too closely, which is usually the act of love. |
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