Occupation Poet, Professor Children Lev Grossman Period 1959-2009 | Nationality USA Role Poet Name Allen Grossman | |
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Born January 7, 1932Minneapolis, Minnesota ( 1932-01-07 ) Books Descartes' loneliness, How to do things with tears, The sighted singer : t, The long schoolroom, The ether dome and other poe Similar People |
Getting the child to bed allen grossman
Allen Grossman (January 7, 1932 – June 27, 2014) was a noted American poet, critic and professor.
Contents
- Getting the child to bed allen grossman
- Allen Grossman Lecture Series
- Biography
- Poetry
- Books
- Selected Prose
- Prizes and Awards
- Criticism
- Reviews
- References

Allen Grossman - Lecture Series
Biography

Born in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1932, Grossman was educated at Harvard University, graduating with an MA in 1956 after several interruptions. He went on to receive a PhD from Brandeis University in 1960, where he remained a professor until 1991. In 1991, he became the Andrew W. Mellon Professor in the Humanities at The Johns Hopkins University where until 2005 he taught in the English Department, primarily focusing on poetry and poetics. He continued to write after his retirement from teaching.

Grossman's first marriage ended in divorce; afterwards he married novelist Judith Grossman, and they stayed married until his death. His children are Jonathan Grossman and Adam Grossman from the first marriage, and Bathsheba Grossman, Austin Grossman, and Lev Grossman from the second.

On November 11, 2006, on the occasion of his retirement, several friends, colleagues, and students of Grossman held a joint reading in his honor. These included Michael Fried, Susan Howe, Ha Jin, Mark Halliday, Breyten Breytenbach, Susan Stewart and Frank Bidart. The event culminated with a reading by Grossman of poetry from his latest book of poems, Descartes' Loneliness.

Grossman died of complications from Alzheimer's at a nursing home in Chelsea, Mass. on June 27, 2014. He was 82.
Poetry
Books
Selected Prose
Prizes and Awards
Criticism
Reviews
Mary Karr:
I'd like to crown him one of our great Low Moderns; he's Wallace Stevens with stronger stories to anchor lame minds such as my own; he's Eliot without footnotes. Like all great poets, he faithfully serves both word and world -- and us.
James Longenbach:
Here is the inevitable mix of everything Grossman can offer: a lyric tenderness, the weight of learning, and a strangeness matched only by poets now dead so long that it's hard to imagine resurrecting their prophetic energies in the language of twenty-first century America. Hard to imagine, except that by embracing what he once disdained as the "dreary language of carnal origin," this is exactly what Grossman has accomplished. "Weird river," says the rising sun as it weeps, "flow on."