Few contemporary poets have more fun with language than Heather McHugh, whose linguistically dazzling verse is both playful and profound. Born of Canadian parents in San Diego, California, she grew up in Virginia and attended Harvard. In 1994 McHugh’s volume Hinge & Sign: Poems 1968-1993 was a finalist for the National Book Award; her latest collection, Eyeshot, appeared in 2003. A translator and critic as well as poet, she has been a popular presence at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and is currently on the creative writing faculty at the University of Washington.
More By This Poet
In Praise of Pain
A brilliance takes up residence in flaws—
a brilliance all the unchipped faces of design
refuse. The wine collects its starlets
at a lip's fault, sunlight where the nicked
glass angles, and affection where the eye
is least correctable, where arrows of
unquivered light are lodged,...