Morgenthau Prize Winner

A three-poem preview of Proof of Life by Kathy O’Fallon, winner of the 2026 Henry Morgenthau III First Book Poetry Prize.

TRANSCRIPT

One of literature’s most prestigious awards is the Henry Morgenthau III Poetry Prize which Passager awards for a first book of poetry by a writer age 70 or older. The prize was established in 2018 by the Morgenthau children to honor their father Henry Morgenthau III. He began writing poetry in his 90s. The prize includes publication of her book and a $2,000 award. This year’s just-announced winner is Kathy O’Fallon.

Kathy said this about her book. “As I was choosing which poems to include in the collection, a theme began to emerge—the phrase, “proof of life,” which, for me evokes the danger of life being taken away, the risks we take to prove we are alive, and the hope of an afterlife.” She said, “Poetry is a voice, a lyrical representation of life, a lifeline in my case, from the most personal to the most universal. A calm amidst the storm.”

On this episode of Burning Bright, three poems from Kathy’s award-winning manuscript.

One of the recurring themes in Kathy’s book is family love and trauma. Here’s her poem “Inheritance.”

The pistol-shot of Dad’s voice fires from below. I sneak down the dark hallway,
crouch at the top stair, peer between the railing. Someone’s under the gun.

Let’s call me look-out-girl, other names I haven’t owned at only nine.
Dad, let’s call him horn-blower, bread-home-bringer, slap-stick-humor,

powder keg. Mom, she’s Peace—the rosebush by the back door high
as the header; tree-swing rocking her babies to sleep; sandbox castles

and dug-down tunnels; the bow-stroked violin. Just so we know who’s who.
But am I not long-legged too, first-born to boot, my mother’s daughter?

It’s she who Dad throws over his lap, sitting on the couch like a suitor,
sleeves pushed up to his elbows, who yanks down her slacks, ass up—

the caught tender of fish-white. Palm of his hand open above her, bulls-eyed.
Her cries. My ears. His boot-kick verse: slap-jack, thunder-crack, yellow-jack,

I bullet down the stairs, piggy-back target his shoulders, fist-pound.
Call me chop-off-the-old-block? Quick-crazed to call Grandma before

he grabs the phone to sing the liar’s song, as the garage door yawns open,
and Peace tunnels free. String-whine, horn-blare, town-crier me.

Kathy O’Fallon’s poem “Inheritance” from her forthcoming book Proof of Life. Next, “The Golden Gate.” It begins with this epigraph:

“for JP, 1949-1976 – Until 2023 when a net was placed under
the Golden Gate Bridge, it averaged thirty suicides a year.”

If you were born lucky
your family had a car
and maybe on road trips

you learned to hold your breath
and count on a bridge over water
though you’d run out of    air first

No    I mean if you were born lucky
you had a family
who drove you safely

across water on a bridge
too high and too long
and when it was done

no one laughed
that you’d covered your head
with a blanket    to escape

No    I mean if you were born lucky
you were loved and beautiful
bridges wouldn’t tempt you    to jump

Kathy O’Fallon’s poem “The Golden Gate.”

Nationally known poet and Morgenthau Prize judge Alicia Ostriker said this about Kathy’s book: “Philosophical, conversational, sharply observant, Proof of Life surges through a lifetime of energy, experience, and wisdom–everywhere a pleasure to read.”

We’ll end this episode of Burning Bright with one of several poems Kathy wrote about music, “That’s the Sound of the Men.”

Just eleven when the butter of Sam Cooke’s tenor
basted my body: all-day-long-they’re-sayin’

moist as dark meat on a rotisserie: uh ah, uh ah, uh ah,
the primal beat a purple vein of heat steaming up

her basement juke box, sound trumping words—
the moaning-their-lives-away lyrics—four friends

cheek-to-cheek or sliding the Stroll, wrist-kissing
for warm-ups, by twelve a quick brush on the lips.

We were daylight against the black crow of Jims,
knew nothing of suffering in this earthly world—

the thistle of whips slashing a chain gang. But
the night my mother dies into that brightness

you blink from after a work-is-so-hard sentence,
a large black bird, like a shadow puppet, flaps

across my dream, and I wake all grown, knowing,
fall from the soul of girlhood into the arms of the blues.

Kathy O’Fallon’s poem “That’s the Sound of the Men.” It’s from her manuscript titled Proof of Life, the book that poet Alicia Ostriker selected to win Passager’s Henry Morgenthau III Prize for a First Book of Poems by a Writer 70 or Older. The book’s publication date is early this fall. We’ll tell you more about it as that date gets closer.

This is the fourth time Passager has awarded the Morgenthau Prize. Previous winners were Winifred Hughes, Mark Elber, and Dennis Lee. To read about or buy their books, 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, Asher, 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.