The Man Who Saved My Life
The world knew Gerald Stern as “one of the country’s most loved and respected poets.” I knew him as the man who saved my life.
By Michael Judge
“It happens to the best of us.” That’s what Gerald Stern would have said upon news of his own death, if, somehow, miraculously, he had outlived himself.
And, like all great poets, he has.
Jerry, as he was known to his family, friends, and students—including me—died last Thursday at the age of 97. I keep looking at that word died in disbelief. It’s hard to associate the word with Jerry, a man who described himself and his work as “part comedic, part idealistic, colored in irony, smeared with mockery and sarcasm,” and whose poems and essays are so alive you can imagine sharing a beer or a pastrami sandwich with them.
Born in 1925 in Pittsburgh—“beautiful filthy Pittsburgh,” as he calls it in his 19-line masterpiece “The Dancing”—to immigrant parents, a father from Ukraine and a mother from Poland, Jerry published 20 collections of poetry and four books of essays, receiving nearly every award pos…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The First Person with Michael Judge to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.