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About this poet

Cedar Sigo was raised on the Suquamish Reservation in the Pacific Northwest. He studied at The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute.

Sigo is the author of Royals (Wave Books, 2017), Language Arts (Wave Books, 2014), and Stranger in Town (City Lights, 2010). Of his work, Ron Silliman writes, “Cedar Sigo is a Frank O’Hara for the 21st century: witty, erudite, serious, with a terrific ear and eye for the minutest details, at home in the world of the arts.”

He has taught at St. Mary’s College and Naropa University. He lives in Lofall, Washington.


Selected Bibliography

Royals (Wave Books, 2017)
Language Arts (Wave Books, 2014)
Stranger in Town (City Lights, 2010)

Seriously Underdressed

Acid washed

Jeans, bitten down

Fingernails, I’ve been

Uptight all

This week wishing

Invisibility,

Scented tissue

I can tease

Into flowers, same

As ever My heart-

shaped collapsible

Locket is still

Missing & I miss

Wearing it open,

I remember a black

Fog inside so

Combed through, trapped

And willingly

Shining me on

From Stranger in Town (City Lights Publishers; Reprint edition, 2010) by Cedar Sigo. Copyright © 2010 by Cedar Sigo. Used with permission of the author.

From Stranger in Town (City Lights Publishers; Reprint edition, 2010) by Cedar Sigo. Copyright © 2010 by Cedar Sigo. Used with permission of the author.

Cedar Sigo

Cedar Sigo

Cedar Sigo is the author of Royals (Wave Books, 2017). He lives in San Francisco, California.

by this poet

poem

Leave the long fall between us (peak after peak)
Here were my paints and there were my powders
And then I was drunk and we lost each other
My shadow tumbled after
Soaking cinnamon leaves in the lake of the moon
The roll of the damned drum calls me to duty
The dice in the light of the

poem

Hung up on
my hearing
and deep in whose
playbook
one too many
nights and never
a black-out
Doing the best
I can, only a man
It hurts me too
Blues in the night
Verlaine Blues
sitting here thinking
a blues for Anne
(all nerves)
and mine

poem
Cinders 
in clotted 
smoke
stone of 
the war 
and its gleaming
battle plans 
reduced to 
perfection
the floors reappear 
in silent 
symphonic gestures,
a folded paper
calico window 
hung with tiger 
skins, knocking twice
at night 
Jerusalem red 
lamps
worn more 
as a garland 
than her smear turning 
trampled door
2