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The Middle Room by Jennifer Moxley

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Moxley’s detailed and lushly-written memoir is set largely in San Diego and follows her life thus far from childhood to marriage. Consistently focused on poetry and poets, it dwells on the curious ways Americans now find their way into the literary life. “There was a secret force deep in my psyche which, like a Cold War double agent, worked in tandem with my insecurity, a sort of wicked interior spy that emerged at the most inopportune moments to make sport of all my fears and fill me with crippling self-doubt as regards my natural fitness to live the life of the mind”–from the text.

The Middle Room cover
ISBN-13: 978-1930068360
Published 2007
Available at Amazon.com and SPDBooks.org

Jennifer Moxley teaches creative writing and literature at the University of Maine. Her books of poetry include Imagination Verses, Often Capital, The Sense Record and The Line.

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3 responses to “The Middle Room by Jennifer Moxley”

  1. A Friend in Boston

    […] Though I didn’t often make copies of my letters, I do have a photocopy of one from this early period in our exchange, dated June 28, 1995 (see it in the Archive). In it I continue the discussion of “work and poetry” Dan had begun: “I still use the word ‘work’ for poetry” I write, “and yet a while back I vowed not to.” This vow would lead to a failed project titled “Why Poetry Is Not Working.” I had forgotten all about this essay until I came across a letter from Dan responding to it. Reading through his old letters I am struck by how consistently I have relied on him as a first reader for much of what I write—especially work I feel nervous or unsure of. I worried, in that June 1995 letter, that the writing of my memoir might take two more years. It took nine. I have a letter from Dan, dated 2004, that includes a detailed response to a finished draft of The Middle Room. […]

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  2. What Goes Around

    […] “Most poets begin writing poetry in secret,” writes Carolyn Forché in the introduction, “As with love . . . there is a first time and it is remembered.” I don’t know if this is true for everyone, but I certainly remember writing my first poem. I was twenty years old, long past my teenage years. I was only fourteen, however, when I first encountered Carolyn Forché. Here’s an abridged version of the story excerpted from The Middle Room: […]

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  3. Thirty Years Ago Today

    […] from The Middle Room […]

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