poem index


Campbell McGrath

Printer-friendly version
Campbell McGrath
Related Schools & Movements: 

Campbell McGrath was born in Chicago in 1962 and grew up in Washington, D.C. He received his BA in English language and literature from the University of Chicago and his MFA in creative writing from Columbia University in New York City.

He is the author of ten collections of poetry, including XX: Poems for the Twentieth Century (Ecco Press, 2016), In The Kingdom of the Sea Monkeys (Ecco Press, 2012), Shannon (Ecco Press, 2009), and Seven Notebooks (Ecco Press, 2007). His third book, Spring Comes to Chicago (Ecco Press, 1996), won the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award.

McGrath’s honors include a MacArthur Foundation “Genius” Grant, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and the Witter Bynner Fellowship from the Library of Congress.

About his work, David Biespiel writes, “McGrath has already developed a signature style that is brutally expansive, slangy, and rife with high- and low-toned jargon. His ‘promethean eruptions’ are at once explosive, swaggering, opportunistic, and flip. … a brilliant bubbling forth of a comic and serious intelligence.”

McGrath lives in Miami and teaches creative writing at Florida International University.

Selected Bibliography

XX: Poems for the Twentieth Century (Ecco Press, 2016)
In the Kingdom of the Sea Monkeys (Ecco Press, 2012)
Shannon (Ecco Press, 2009)
Seven Notebooks (Ecco Press, 2008)
Pax Atomica (Ecco Press, 2004)
Florida Poems (Ecco Press, 2002)
Road Atlas (Ecco Press, 1999)
Spring Comes to Chicago (Ecco Press, 1996)
American Noise (Ecco Press, 1993)
Capitalism (Wesleyan University Press, 1990)

by this poet


La Serenissima, in morning light, is beautiful.
But you already knew that. 
Palette of honeyed ochre and ship’s bell bronze, 
water precisely the color of the hand-ground pigment
with which the water of Venice has been painted for centuries, 
angled slats of aquamarine

Green and blue and white, it is a flag
for Florida stitched by hungry ibises.

It is a paradise of flocks, a cornucopia
of wind and grass and dark, slow waters.

Turtles bask in the last tatters of afternoon,
frogs perfect their symphony at dusk—

in its solitude we remember ourselves

I'm the original two-hearted brawler.
I gnaw the scrawny heads from prawns,
pummel those mute, translucent crustaceans,
wingless hummingbirds, salt-water spawned.
As the Catalonians do, I eat the eyes at once.
My brawny palms flatten their mainstays.
I pop the shells with my thumbs, then crunch.

Just watch me