Author Archives: Don Schofield

Born in Nevada and brought up in California, Don Schofield left America in 1980. Since that time, he has been living and writing in Greece, traveling extensively, teaching, and serving as an administrator at various universities—Greek, American, and British. Fluent in Greek, a citizen of both his homeland and his adopted country (or, more precisely, the country that adopted him), he has published several poetry collections as well as an anthology of American poets in Greece and translations of contemporary Greek poets. He has been awarded the Allen Ginsberg Award (US), the John D. Criticos Prize (UK), and a Stanley J. Seeger Writer-in-Residence fellowship at Princeton University. His first book, Approximately Paradise, was a finalist for the Walt Whitman Award, and his translations have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and the Greek National Translation Award. Recently retired, he and his companion live in both Athens and Thessaloniki.

Gods & Greyhounds: On Going Back to Sacramento

“Through revisiting those terrifying moments—the betrayals and abandonment, lies and abuse—in poem after poem, book after book, I’ve forged a new perspective on myself, and on those who did me harm. Through that process, other voices come out in my work from time to time. It’s not forgiveness they bring to the page (that’s one […]

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Homage to Place

“The more I traveled and wrote, the more I realized that here was a place I could write out of, where I could explore the territory of my childhood because the landscape around me was the territory of my childhood, or so it felt. What I was seeing and smelling often transported me to the sights […]

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“During the early 1980s, my first years in Greece, I would seek out rooms on remote corners of islands, on or near the sea, stone houses with wells instead of running water, shepherds’ huts with candles and oil lamps instead of electric lights, fishing villages with locals instead of tourists. Living and working in Athens, […]

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Broken Oars

“The children keep asking where/the other children are. Their mothers won’t say/phony life-vests pulled them toward the bottom/while breakers drove them into jagged cliffs./Tourists on their morning walk won’t see/the skins of boats along the fog-bound shores,/the flotsam of bodies torn and torn again./Terror this intense—it must be veiled.”—Don Schofield Imagination’s Favors By Don Schofield […]

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