For me, there is always something that feels a little more special in my mind about a person who has grown up in the very same place that I did—Ohio. She might have read some of the same beloved books that I did and could have found them in a public library that may have looked a lot like mine. I imagine that she may have studied Ohio history in sixth grade, just as I did. The thought that she may have walked down the same familiar streets that I did while she lived in Oberlin, both of us raising a daughter at the time, creates for me a unique and profound connection in which I secretly delight. Her accomplishments are myriad and outstanding, to be sure. Poet Laureate Rita Dove makes me proud to be a fellow Ohioan; she makes me prouder still to be a woman.

**Rita Dove**

Rita Dove was born in Akron, Ohio in 1952. A 1970 Presidential Scholar, she attended Miami University of Ohio, Universität Tübingen in Germany, and the University of Iowa, where she earned her creative writing MFA in 1977. In 1987 she received the Pulitzer Prize for her third collection of poetry, *Thomas and Beulah*, and from 1993 to 1995 she served as U.S. Poet Laureate at the Library of Congress. Author of a novel, a book of short stories, essays, and numerous volumes of poetry, among them the National Book Award finalist and NAACP Image Award winner *Collected Poems 1974-2004*, she also edited *The Best American Poetry 2000* and *The Penguin Anthology of 20th-Century American Poetry* (2011) and wrote weekly poetry columns for *The Washington Post* from 2000 to 2003 and *The New York Times Magazine* from 2018 to 2019. Her drama *The Darker Face of the Earth* opened at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in 1996 and the Kennedy Center in Washington in 1997, followed by its European premiere at the Royal National Theatre in London in 1999. Her song cycle *Seven for Luck*, with music by John Williams, was premiered by Cynthia Haymon with the Boston Symphony at Tanglewood in 1998, and her song cycle *A Standing Witness*, 14 poems with music by Richard Danielpour, was originally sung by Susan Graham at the Kennedy Center and other venues in 2021. Also in 2021, W.W. Norton published Rita Dove’s latest volume of poems, *Playlist for the Apocalypse*.
Source: https://www.folger.edu/bio/rita-dove/

Rita Dove made history on May 19, 1993 as the first African American to be appointed as the Poet Laureate of the United States. Dove's selection was a significant milestone, reflecting the growing recognition and appreciation of diverse voices in American poetry. As Poet Laureate, Dove used her platform to promote poetry's accessibility and relevance, particularly among underrepresented communities. Her tenure was marked by a commitment to fostering a deeper understanding and appreciation of the art form, inspiring a new generation of poets and readers alike.

James H. Billington, on making the appointment said:

“I take much pleasure in announcing the selection of a younger poet of distinction and versatility. Having had a number of Poet Laureates who have accumulated multiple distinctions from lengthy and distinguished careers, we will be pleased to have an outstanding representative of a new and richly variegated generation of American poets. Rita Dove is an accomplished and already widely recognized poet in mid-career whose work gives special promise to explore and enrich contemporary American poetry.”

— James H. Billington, Librarian of Congress

Dove went on to serve two terms as poet laureate (1993-1995).

Rita Dove's poetry constructs a rich and intricate tapestry of human experiences, skillfully weaving together a myriad of themes that encompass identity, history, and the complex nuances of the human condition. Her work frequently delves into the profound intersections of race, gender, and cultural heritage, effectively giving voice to marginalized perspectives and challenging the often rigid boundaries of traditional narratives. Dove's poetic language is both inherently lyrical and remarkably accessible, inviting readers from all walks of life to engage deeply with the emotional resonance and intellectual depth of her compositions. Through her masterful and deliberate use of vivid imagery, compelling metaphor, and innovative narrative structure, she crafts poems that illuminate the universal truths that bind us together as human beings, while also celebrating the unique stories and diverse perspectives that shape our identities and experiences. One of her most well-known collections of poems poignantly tells the story of her grandparents, Thomas and Beulah. In this evocative work, Dove recounts their journey, representing their lives during the challenging era of the Great Migration. The reader is thoughtfully instructed that the poems present two sides of a single story and are designed to be read in sequence for maximum impact. In this way, Dove skillfully controls the narrative of her grandparents’ lives with a simplicity that is both elegant and profoundly graceful.

Selected Poem

Maple Valley Branch Library, 1967

For a fifteen-year-old there was plenty
to do: Browse the magazines,
slip into the Adult Section to see
what vast tristesse was born of rush-hour traffic,
décolletés, and the plague of too much money.
There was so much to discover—how to
lay out a road, the language of flowers,
and the place of women in the tribe of Moost.
There were equations elegant as a French twist,
fractal geometry’s unwinding maple leaf;

I could follow, step-by-step, the slow disclosure
of a pineapple Jell-O mould—or take
the path of Harold’s purple crayon through
the bedroom window and onto a lavender
spill of stars. Oh, I could walk any aisle
and smell wisdom, put a hand out to touch
the rough curve of bound leather,
the harsh parchment of dreams.

As for the improbable librarian
with her salt and paprika upsweep,
her British accent and sweater clip
(mom of a kid I knew from school)—
I’d go up to her desk and ask for help
on bareback rodeo or binary codes,
phonics, Gestalt theory,
lead poisoning in the Late Roman Empire,
the play of light in Dutch Renaissance painting;
I would claim to be researching
pre-Columbian pottery or Chinese foot-binding,

but all I wanted to know was:
Tell me what you’ve read that keeps
that half smile afloat
above the collar of your impeccable blouse .

So I read Gone with the Wind because
it was big, and haiku because they were small.
I studied history for its rhapsody of dates,
lingered over Cubist art for the way
it showed all sides of a guitar at once.
All the time in the world was there, and sometimes
all the world on a single page.
As much as I could hold
on my plastic card’s imprint I took,

greedily: six books, six volumes of bliss,
the stuff we humans are made of:
words and sighs and silence,
ink and whips, Brahma and cosine,
corsets and poetry and blood sugar levels—
I carried it home, past five blocks of aluminium siding
and the old garage where, on its boarded-up doors,
someone had scrawled:

I can eat an elephant
if I take small bites.

Yes , I said, to no one in particular: That’s
what I’m gonna do!