Kathy O’Fallon
An in-depth look at our 2026 Henry Morgenthau III Poetry Prize Winner, Kathy O’Fallon, and her new book of poetry, Proof of Life.
TRANSCRIPT
Passager’s latest book—just out—is by California poet Kathy O’Fallon, Proof of Life. Passager will host a Zoom reading with Kathy this Sunday, October 18, at 2:00 Eastern time. You can register for the Zoom on Passager’s web site.
On this edition of Burning Bright, some poems from Kathy’s new book.
Former California Poet Laureate Perie Longo said Kathy’s a dynamic realist and a romantic, She said Kathy’s book turns a long, ordinary life into an extraordinary adventure not to be missed.” Here’s Kathy O’Fallon’s poem “Listening for Tchaikovsky” with the epigraph “Violin Concerto Op. 35.”
Sometimes, when his band would get a gig, my dad
would be gone for hours—a wedding or dance
if he was lucky—his lips wet with the spit
of the trumpet’s mouthpiece (and who knows what else),
valves oiled, and slides, greased pistons, pipes.
And with his instrument all polished and shiny,
the smooth sounds of Belafonte and the jazz of Louis.
My dad, dimple-chinned, long and lean—Cary Grant,
some thought—man, he could really blow a horn,
but home was where I lived, greedy for evenings
without the slingshot of his tempers, where I could rest
my head to the click of Mom’s violin case opening,
the clack of the music stand unfolding, the oily smell
of resin-stroked bow-hairs, knowing what she loved
was tucked under her chin, right elbow cocked
like a wing, ready for take-off, and the sound of Heifetz
leading his flock to Romeo and Juliet, where music flew
to the cage of my dreams, safe as unsafe could be.
“Listening for Tchaikovsky,” Kathy O’Fallon.
Poet Steve McDonald said, “In poems that celebrate the innocence of the newly born, the sensuality of the physical world, and the sometimes-heartbreaking awareness that ‘all rescue’s temporary,’ award-winning poet Kathy O’Fallon reflects on the struggles and joys that accompany a full life. Here’s Kathy’s poem “Gazing Out the Window, Memories.”
There, across the field, little steepled
churches glide across a heaven too far
to see, brave webbed feet beneath reaching
for the earthly surge of silt and twig
and pollywog, and from a rooftop,
church bells ring, swans announcing union,
rock to feather.
Inside a preacher drones and Grandpa snores,
heat forms beads of sweat that rain like tears
down dampened faces, wilted children
begging to be freed to bare feet, gleeful
splashing at the water’s edge, wedded
to the pond and swans that look like churches,
frogs like gods.
Kathy O’Fallon’s poem “Gazing Out the Window, Memories” from her new book Proof of Life.
Next, “Plum.”
The unassuming plum clothed in earthy
purple, festooned with gray-green velvet.
From the Neolithic—a great survival
instinct. And who can help but notice
its resemblance to a testicle, fertile vessel,
musky as honey, hanging, blemished skin—
burls and scars from the trunk’s war of growth.
Not since Neruda have I tasted fruit
this juicy, sweet and spunky as a kiss
on a cliff above the surf at St. Tropez.
Mouth sucking magenta, 1812 Overture
from the waves, its finale exploding
down my lined and weathered chin,
begging to be licked—yes, violined.
No lover in my midst but my tongue.
“Plum,” Kathy O’Fallon. Poet Julia B. Levine said, “This collection is that kind of fruit: juicy, deep, begging to be carefully savored.”
One of our interns, Sunaina Deshpande, liked Kathy’s poem “Overcoming My Fear of Dentists.” Here’s what she said about it:
I first read this poem in a noisy little cafe in Berkeley. The hustle and bustle dimmed around me as I began, I could almost see the little wren in the poem building his home in one of the trees swaying behind the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me. The bird’s activity captured me like it captured the speaker; I was ‘hypnotized’ to the point where I was unknowingly audibly reacting to the last line–I was almost startled and certainly delighted by the unexpected humor, but not as startled as the boy sitting across from me when I burst into a fit of giggles. I hope you like it as much as I did.
“Overcoming My Fear of Dentists”
His wall a window,
while this new dentist picks and drills,
I hyper focus on the house wren outside
building a mansion in a quaking aspen
(apropos of my wringing hands),
bringing to its nest reeds three times
the length of its body, maybe taken
from the irises I noticed at the entry.
It scatters at the whine of an EMT truck
and I wish I could too, but returns
with a twig, deposits it, then repeats
the process, in and out of view,
like a metronome. It should get paid
for the gig, I think, a hypnotist.
My head gets heavy with a poem.
Eyes of smoky quartz
behind the dentist’s goggles,
and streaming on the ceiling—
Hawaiian sea turtles—but
the expanding nest now the size
of a salad bowl keeps me focused
on the wren. Overkill, I question,
between mouth spits, the eggs so tiny,
but who am I to judge. The dentist
explains the male must provide
a safe place for his mate
to raise their young. On what basis
does he know this, and could I
get him to take me home?
“Overcoming My Fear of Dentists,” Kathy O’Fallon.
To buy Kathy’s book Proof of Life, or to subscribe to, donate to, or learn more about Passager and its commitment to older writers, visit passagerbooks.com.
Passager offers a 25% discount on the books and journal issues featured here on Burning Bright. Visit our website to see what’s on sale this week.
For Christine, Rosanne, Mary, Johnny, and the rest of the Passager staff, I’m Jon Shorr.
Due to the limitations of online publishing, poems may not appear in their original formatting.
