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Michael Dickman

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Michael Dickman

Born in Portland, Oregon, in 1975, Michael Dickman, his twin brother Matthew, and his younger sister were raised by their mother in the neighborhood of Lents. He received his MFA from the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin.

Dickman's first collection, The End of the West, was published in 2009 by Copper Canyon Press. He is also the author of Green Migraine (Copper Canyon Press, 2015) and the coauthor, with his brother, of 50 American Plays (Copper Canyon Press, 2012). His second collection of poetry, Flies (Copper Canyon Press, 2011), received the 2010 James Laughlin Award.

His many grants, fellowships, and residencies include honors from organizations such as the Michener Center for Writers, the Vermont Studio Center, the Fine Arts Work Center, and the Lannan Foundation. He was awarded the Hodder Fellowship from Princeton University for 2009-2010.

In addition to writing, Dickman appeared in the 2002 film Minority Report with his twin brother, worked for years as a cook, and has recently been active in the Writers in the Schools program. He lives in Portland, Oregon.


Green Migraine (Copper Canyon Press, 2015)
50 American Plays (Copper Canyon Press, 2012)
Flies (Copper Canyon Press, 2011)
The End of the West (Copper Canyon Press, 2009)


Michael Dickman, P.O.P

Michael Dickman, P.O.P

1 of 1

by this poet

My mother was led into the world
by her teeth

like a bull
into the 

She only ever wanted to be a mother her whole life and nothing else, not even a human being!

One body turned into 
another body

Pulled like that
by the golden voices of children

A bull 
out of hell


Something breathes
on a dead deer
and the hair inside its ears

Headlights and

Water fills the black eyeholes that keep seeing everything reflected back from skidding
         black macadam

Someone cut your feet off

Someone moved your

What are the birds called
in that neighborhood
The dogs

There were dogs flying
from branch to

My friends and I climbed up the telephone poles to sit on the power lines dressed like

Their voices sounded like lemons

They were a smooth sheet
They grew

black feathers