Eileen Myles





Eileen Myles

Author profile


born
in Cambridge, MA, The United States
January 01, 1949

website

genre

influences
New York School


About this author

Eileen Myles (born 1949, Cambridge, Massachusetts) is probably America's best-known unofficial poet. Her latest book is Sorry, Tree in which she describes “some nature” as well as the transmigration of souls from the east coast to the west. Bust Magazine calls Myles "the rock star of modern poetry" and Holland Cotter in The New York Times describes her as "a cult figure to a generation of post-punk females forming their own literary avant garde."


Average rating: 4.09 · 3,333 ratings · 428 reviews · 41 distinct works · Similar authors
Cool for You
3.83 of 5 stars 3.83 avg rating — 467 ratings — published 2000 — 2 editions
Inferno
4.08 of 5 stars 4.08 avg rating — 418 ratings — published 2008 — 5 editions
Chelsea Girls
4.19 of 5 stars 4.19 avg rating — 216 ratings — published 1994 — 4 editions
Sorry, Tree
3.95 of 5 stars 3.95 avg rating — 229 ratings — published 2007 — 3 editions
The Importance of Being Ice...
4.21 of 5 stars 4.21 avg rating — 170 ratings — published 2009
Not Me
4.38 of 5 stars 4.38 avg rating — 130 ratings — published 1991
Snowflake / different streets
4.03 of 5 stars 4.03 avg rating — 99 ratings — published 2012
The New Fuck You: Adventure...
by
3.84 of 5 stars 3.84 avg rating — 161 ratings — published 1995
Skies
4.13 of 5 stars 4.13 avg rating — 78 ratings — published 2001 — 3 editions
School of Fish
4.4 of 5 stars 4.40 avg rating — 65 ratings — published 1997 — 3 editions
More books by Eileen Myles…

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“Listen, I have been educated.
I have learned about Western
Civilization. Do you know
What the message of Western
Civilization is? I am alone.”
Eileen Myles

“All the details of my life were in exact order and yet I was tumbling in them-out of order like a tremendous wave had hit me and I was thrown off the ship and I awoke or dreaming, or dead I knew not-no I couldn't speak.”
Eileen Myles, Inferno

“The poet’s life is just so much crenellated waste, nights and days whipping swiftly or laboriously past the cinematic window. We’re hunched and weaving over the keys of our green our grey or pink blue manual typewriter maybe a darker stone cold thoritative selectric with its orgasmic expectant hum and us popping pills and laughing over what you or I just wrote, wondering if that line means insult or sex. Or both. Usually both.”
Eileen Myles, Inferno

Topics Mentioning This Author

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