In 1981, Wyoming established a state poet laureate position, which has been held by Barbara Smith since 2023.
Find poetry readings, workshops, festivals, conferences, literary organizations, and poetry-friendly bookstores, and learn more about poets laureate, in your area.
In 1981, Wyoming established a state poet laureate position, which has been held by Barbara Smith since 2023.
Type | Title | State |
---|---|---|
Writing Program | University of Wyoming | Wyoming |
Colony | Ucross Foundation | Wyoming |
Colony | Jentel Artist Residency Program | Wyoming |
Poetry-Friendly Bookstore | Personally Recommended Books/The Second Story | Wyoming |
Poetry-Friendly Bookstore | Night Heron Books | Wyoming |
Poetry-Friendly Bookstore | Valley Bookstore | Wyoming |
Literary Organization | Wyoming Arts Council | Wyoming |
Literary Organization | Wyoming Writers, Inc. | Wyoming |
Literary Organization | WyoPoets | Wyoming |
Conference | Jackson Hole Writers' Conference | Wyoming |
Paisley Rekdal is the author of six volumes of poetry, most recently Nightingale (Copper Canyon Press, 2019). An inaugural Academy of American Poets Laureate Fellow, Rekdal is the Guest Editor for Poem-a-Day in December 2019. She is the Poet Laureate of Utah and lives in Salt Lake City.
A former poet laureate of Wyoming, David Romtvedt is the author of several poetry collections, including Some Church (Milkweed Editions, 2005). He teaches at the University of Wyoming.
Eugene Gagliano is a retired elementary school teacher, children’s author, and poet. In 1966, he received his AAS degree in ornamental horticu
I saw the hawk ride updraft in the sunset over Wyoming. It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray jags Of mercilessness, past whiteness, into the gloaming Of dream-spectral light above the lazy purity of snow-snags. There—west—were the Tetons. Snow-peaks would soon be In dark profile to break constellations. Beyond what height Hangs now the black speck?
Dear train wreck, dear terrible engines, dear spilled freight,
dear unbelievable mess, all these years later I think
to write back. I was not who I am now. A sail is a boat,
a bark is a boat, a mast is a boat and the train was you and me.
Dear dark, dear paper, dear files I can't toss, dear calendar
Ed Trafton turns from the shimmering water
of Shoshone Lake to the first of fifteen tourist coaches,
pulls the black silk neckerchief up the bridge of his nose,
plants himself in the road and says, “Please step out
and come this way.” Black is so hot. “Drop your valuables
on the blanket.” Maybe the neckerchief isn’t necessary.
“Kindly take a standing seat and witness the convention.”