HeyJaredStuart Anderson
I have taught physics, mathematics, and engineering at the University of Washington since 1987. In 2010 I won the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 29, 2026
Latest issues
Tower of Birds (opens the original)
Read excerpt
This poem started as a writing exercise in a workshop some months ago. The task was to take a single line from an existing poem, but out of context, not seeing the rest of the poem first, and write from that line forward.Then Maya C. Popa had an article on revision, and posed another challenge: revise a poem to make the nouns and verbs do the work instead of using so many adjectives, and eliminate wherever possible the verb “to be” and its variants.This is the result. Thanks to Authors Publish f
Dogberry Jelly (opens the original)
Read excerpt
<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1456" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!Z6L7!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F88a63873-fa5f-42fd-a8d3-18f0c7936d0f_2560x2560.
The Judgment of Squeaky (opens the original)
Read excerpt
These sonnets recount an incident which occurred many years ago. I was still a boy when my aunt brought her execrable boyfriend to our farm for a visit. This is what happened.Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published The Judgment of Squeaky 1. He sat, unwelcome, in the easy chair, my aunt's new boyfriend whom she'd dragged along. And we all felt that there was something wrong with him, besides his slicked back barfly hair. It wasn't really that, nor was it just his
The False Death (opens the original)
Read excerpt
First, the poem itself, then a bit of explanation.Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published The False Death I awaken somewhere beyond maps foreign to compasses or bearings. Where is this place? My eyes are open to darkness, my ears attuned to silence. There is no breeze to feel, no sense of warm or cool, only this inward-turning self in a nurtureless womb. I seem to remember living, but not my life. Who am I now? This is not the time before birth, no, this is that
Not an essay on The Odyssey (opens the original)
Read excerpt
Today, having seen The Odyssey, I thought I would give the world the benefit of my unique insights in the form of yet another critical evaluation of the film vis-a-vis the poem. Sadly, my muse is a bit of an idiot and had a fit of the giggles today, so what came out instead is far from the measured respectable intellectual product I intended. In fact, somehow I found myself rewriting the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody to be about the Iliad. Note that my drunken muse did not even get the right volum
Publishing over time
Last 90 days. Choose a month to open its work.
Recurring subjects
Named in the text we hold. One piece can cover several.
Audience
No verified audience measurement yet.
About this data
Counts cover the work we have indexed. Tone needs enough text and a confident classification. Excerpts and episode notes are not full articles or transcripts.
Identity or attribution wrong? Suggest a correction.