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About this poet

Michael Benedikt was born in 1935 in New York City. He received his B.A. from New York University and earned a Master's Degree in English & Comparative Literature from Columbia University. He was an Editorial Assistant for Horizon Press from 1959 to 1962, and in 1963-64 served as Managing Editor for the literary magazine Locus Solus.

Prior to publishing his first collection of poetry, Benedikt co-edited three anthologies of 20th-Century Poetic Theatre from abroad: Modern French Theatre: The Avant-Garde, Dada, & Surrealism (1964); Post-War German Theatre (1966) and Modern Spanish Theatre (1967). His anthology of twentieth-century American plays, Theatre Experiment, was issued in 1968. He is also the editor of two landmark anthologies of twentieth-century poetry: The Poetry of Surrealism (1974); and The Prose Poem: An International Anthology (1976). A critical Festschrift, Benedikt: A Profile was issued by Grilled Flowers Press in 1978. Benedikt was Poetry Editor for The Paris Review from 1975 to 1978. His editorial selections are represented in The Paris Review Anthology (1990). Occasionally active as a critic/journalist, he is also a former Associate Editor of Art News and Art International. His literary criticism has appeared in Poetry and The American Book Review.

Michael Benedikt's books of poetry include The Badminton at Great Barrington; or, Gustave Mahler & The Chattanooga Choo-Choo (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1980), Night Cries (prose poems, 1976), Mole Notes (prose poems, 1971), Sky (1970), and The Body (1968). Poems as yet uncollected in book form have appeared in the 1990's in such literary magazines as Agni, Iowa Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, The New Republic, The Paris Review, and Partisan Review. His honors include a New York State Council for The Arts Grant, a Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship, and an NEA Fellowship. He has taught at Bennington, Sarah Lawrence, Vassar, and Hampshire Colleges; and at Boston University. Michael Benedikt died on February 9, 2007.</

Portland Taxis

Michael Benedikt
If were on Mars, and wanted to get back-to-home, I would 
Hail a taxi. There's nothing I like better
Than hailing a taxi, they have saved me many times
From the spectre of fiscal responsibility. From the bottom
Of a well comes my voice, hailing a taxi: "Get Me 
Out Of This Oubliette"! Beside the bed where I make love 
The business cards of taxicab companies are tacked up.
Taxicab salesmen surround my every motion
Hinting I'd be better off as a driver, but it's
Hailing a taxi I relish, not threading my way
All day thorough the midtown traffic. Buses won't do
Either, the exquisite squalidness and rash of
Public transportation is not the point, but
Something about in these little moving cubicles
Filled with me on demand. I feel crammed-in on a plane
Because there is no room for me to lift my arm, there,
To hail a cab. In a cab there's no room to hail
A cab, but then you're already in one, it's ridiculous
To even think of, unless you have the hots
For hailing a cab, thousands of cabs, as I apparently do.
    But then I
Digress, I wish a taxi would come, grind and screech
To a halt, and take me someplace, anyplace else, and get me
    out of this alluringly mind-boggling love-mess

Such as, to Portland.

From The Badminton at Great Barrington; Or, Gustave Mahler & The Chattanooga Choo-Choo, published by University of Pittsburgh Press (1980). Copyright © 1980 and © 1999 by Michael Benedikt. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Michael Benedikt

Michael Benedikt

Michael Benedikt was born in 1935 in New York City. He received

by this poet

The last time they did any harm to anyone was probably thousands 
    of years ago;--therefore we catch them and cut them up into coats,
Their frolicsomeness, too, sliced up by contemptuous human analysis;
Yes, through the binoculars of the human in the dinghy, like a text
    beneath some mad scientist's
The European Shoe is covered with grass and reed, bound up and wound
    around so that it may slip easily over the wearer's head.

In case you are an aircraft pilot, you must take care that the 
    European Shoe does not creep off your foot, and begin to 
    make its way carefully across the fusilage
True, I have always been happy that all the things that are inside 
    the body are inside the body, and that all things outside 
    the body, are out

I'm glad to find my lungs on the inside of my chest, for example; 
    if they were outside, they'd keep getting in the way, 
    those two great incipient