Emily wants to play flashlight10/28/2023 ![]() ![]() ![]() She, it turned out, was a poet so dizzyingly famous that she had earned a profile in The New Yorker-this was imparted in the hushed tones of both awe and scandal. “Who is she?” a few of us novelists asked. ![]() Thus, when Zucker was invited in January 2015 to speak to our low-residency MFA class in Paris (Paris, I know I try not to ask a lot of questions lest NYU realize how deliciously extravagant it is), a ripple shot through the circle of poets. The poet’s art is for art’s sake, and their obscurity is the ironclad proof. In my MFA program at NYU, the poets always look at the novelists the way a selfless social worker might look at a craven hedge-fund manager. Obscurity is a badge of honor among many poets I know, who seem to see their art as operating on a unique ethereal level. Or maybe I should say, famous for a living poet. Rachel Zucker is a unicorn: She is a famous living poet.
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