writers' hub
Liane Strauss
Liane Strauss

Liane Strauss was born in Queens, New York, and grew up in Bergen County, New Jersey. She is the author of Leaving Eden (Salt, 2010) and Frankie, Alfredo, (Donut Press, 2009). Her poems have appeared in a variety of journals in the US and the UK, including The Hudson Review, The Georgia Review, Poetry Review, The Iowa Review, Prairie Schooner, Magma and Poetry, and her work is represented in a number of anthologies, including The Art of Wiring, Drifting Down the Lane, The Poet's Quest for God and A Poetic Primer for Love and Seduction: Naso Was My Tutor. She teaches literature and creative writing at Birkbeck College, The Poetry School and The City Literary Institute and lives in North London with her two sons.

Photo: Derek Adams

Member Link.
(http://www.lianestrauss.c om)
   01.09.14 1 | 2 | 3    
Liane Strauss Poetry   (Page 1 of 3)

We’re All Fine

You’re fine. I’m fine.
The children are fine.
Caroline, across the street, who’s forever
peering through the curtains, is fine, as is Miles,
whose father gave his inheritance to his ex-wife.
He wasn’t happy, but he’s fine.
The coalition is fine, for now.
The Taliban are fine.
Osama bin Laden, according to all reports, is somewhere,
and fine. Iraq and Afghanistan are fine.
Not ideal, perhaps. But still fine.
The murderers sitting side by side
on a long bench down a dim and narrow corridor
like school children waiting to see the principal,
are fine.
There’s nothing wrong with the universe.
It’s fine.
The couple next door who fight so hard
our dishes rattle in the cupboards are fine.
We wave to each other as we get into our cars in the morning
to show that we haven’t heard, so that’s fine.
Their cat, who was nearly run over, is fine.
Their other cat, who did get run over, is also fine.
Everybody in every unhappy marriage is fine,
and all their children and pets are equally fine.
My sister is absolutely fine. Her nine year old daughter
who is about to become a child star is also fine.
She will be fine.
The children in my grammar school who were molested by their father
all have good jobs and houses and spouses and children of their own.
They are all fine.
Obama is fine. We complain about him, but he’s fine.
Complaining is fine. Not complaining is either noble or martyrdom,
and that’s fine.
The weather is fine. Even when it’s terrible, it’s fine.
It could be worse.
And in another sense altogether, sometimes the rain is fine,
the way my hair is fine, and I have so much of it.
My distinctions are fine. Sometimes, indeed, they are too fine.
Hillary and Bill and Britney and Eminem and Rhianna and Paris are all fine.
The regulars at the pub on each corner are fine.
Everyone who goes to Soho on a Monday night is fine.
Everyone we know who’s on tryptophan is fine, even the ones
we don’t know are on it, even the ones we’re not supposed to know
are on it, are fine.
But most of all, you, you are fine, and, don’t worry about me,

I’m absolutely fine. And the children, of course the children
are fine.
Everybody’s fine.

   01.09.14 1 | 2 | 3    


Poetry Writing Exercises: Who Are You?
Liane Strauss


Pascale Petit Poetry
Pascale Petit

Forty-Five Square Poetry
Forty-Five Square Poetry Journal

Moyra Donaldson Poetry
Moyra Donaldson