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Victoria Chang

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Victoria Chang

Victoria Chang has received degrees from the University of Michigan, Harvard University, and Stanford University, as well as an MFA from Warren Wilson College.

She is the author of Barbie Chang (Copper Canyon Press, 2017); The Boss (McSweeney’s, 2013), winner of a PEN Center USA Literary Award and a California Book Award; Salvinia Molesta (University of Georgia Press, 2008); and Circle (Southern Illinois University Press, 2005). Chang is also the editor of the anthology Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation (University of Illinois Press, 2004) and author of a picture book, Is Mommy? (Beach Lane Books, 2015), illustrated by Marla Frazee. Her collection OBIT, forthcoming in 2020 from Copper Canyon Press, won the 2018 Alice Fay Di Castagnola Award from the Poetry Society of America.

Of her work, Ilya Kaminsky writes, “To say simply that Chang takes the Modernist’s music and makes it new again, makes it alive, is to say only half-truth, for she truly re-inhabits it, re-kindles the flame. This radically new music is political, yes, but it is also ecstatic.”

Chang, who received a 2017 Guggenheim Fellowship, serves as a contributing editor of Copper Nickel and a poetry editor of Tupelo Quarterly. Chang also serves on the National Book Critics Circle Board. She teaches in the MFA program at Antioch University and co-coordinates the Idyllwild Writers Week. She will be the Poem-a-day Guest Editor in May 2019, and lives in Southern California.

Selected Bibliography

Barbie Chang (Copper Canyon Press, 2017)
The Boss (McSweeney’s, 2013)
Salvinia Molesta (University of Georgia Press, 2008)
Circle (Southern Illinois University Press, 2005)

by this poet

Once Barbie Chang worked on a
     street named Wall
once she sprinkled her yard with
     timed water once
she wore lanyards in large rooms
     all the chairs
pointed in the direction of one

Clothes—died on August 10, 2015.  We
stuffed them into lawn bags to donate. 
Shirt after shirt, button-down after
button-down, dress after dress, limb
after limb.  A few leapt out to me like
the flame from a nightmare, the kind of
flame that almost seems human in its
gestures.   I

If you are     like me and can     only see the horizon
that unreachable     don’t know that want     sheds and
grows and     sheds and     grows     please don’t
keep trying               the outline     is fine find a closer