Benjamin S. Grossberg was educated at Rutgers and the University of Houston. From 2000 to 2008, he worked at Antioch College in Ohio, where he purchased a small farm and planted the Granny Smith orchard for which his second book was named. He is currently Director of Creative Writing and an Associate Professor of English at the University of Hartford, in Hartford, Connecticut. Ben is the author of Space Traveler (University of Tampa, 2014); Sweet Core Orchard (University of Tampa, 2009), winner of the Tampa Review Prize and a Lambda Literary Award; and Underwater Lengths in a Single Breath (Ashland Poetry Press, 2007), winner of the Snyder Prize. He has also published a chapbook, The Auctioneer Bangs his Gavel, with Kent State University Press (2006). His poems have appeared widely, including in the Pushcart Prize and Best American Poetry anthologies, Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, and the magazines Paris Review, Southwest Review, New England Review, Missouri Review, and The Sun. A recipient of individual artist grants from the states of Ohio and Connecticut, he serves as Assistant Poetry Editor and regular book reviewer for the Antioch Review. Ben is also a distance runner and a vegetarian, and lives with a small, unnamed cat.

Other poems by Benjamin S. Grossberg in Verse Daily:
November 7, 2011:   "The Space Traveler's Tense" "My species has one for nouns..."
February 8, 2008:   "One Last Thought" "And what if one finally can't be found? What if Leander..."
December 20, 2006:   "Time and Place" " Because I seem unable to get a handle..."
October 13, 2006:   "Stepping on the Dog" " The high squeal, the instant retraction..."

Books by Benjamin S. Grossberg:

Other poems on the web by Benjamin S. Grossberg:
"Our Never"
Two poems
"The Space Traveler's Moon"
"The Space Traveler's Crush"
"The Magic Of Macy's"
Two poems
"Child Bride Dies of Internal Bleeding on her Wedding Night"
Two poems

About An Elegy:

"Difficult as it is to describe honestly the spectacle of living, to describe death and dying is to go almost where language can't: past knowledge, experience, or the reliable image. Yet what An Elegy achieves, through its own assured music, is this very contradiction: to go 'in places where you never were,' to honor the dead as well as to reimagine them, knowing that grief is as much the mind's 'calculus of human work' as it is the heart's. Here are words worth their urgency."
—Rickey Laurentiis