David Koenig was born on March 25, 1944, in Danville, Illinois, raised in Catlin, Illinois, and now lives in Chicago and Buenos Aires. Koenig’s parents escaped Austria and the Nazis in 1939.
Koenig received his BA in English from Northwestern University, MA from the University of Chicago, and Ph.D.
from New York University. He spent 1974-75 in Germany as a Fulbright Lecturer in American Literature, and is
professor emeritus of Oakton Community College in Des Plaines, Illinois.
We would walk together, my brother and I,
(Too small to ride bikes or go alone.)
The three blocks from our house
To Dickerson's,
The only grocery store in town,
A block from the only cafe.
Dickerson's, with the big
Plate glass window out front,
Letting most of the light there was
Into that dim canyon of cans . . .
The Ladder of Memory
Feeling again today
As though something
Tall and German,
Like a great pine tree,
Were towering
Father-like
Above me,
Ready to command,
Or to judge
Or condemn me,
A work of music
Or poetry,
Ready to fall
From a sharp gash,
Slashing its way down,
Slithering
Through the forest
Like a felling
Of pine needles,
Hissing split wood,
Sinking its
Pointed summit fang
Into my low heart-
A work waiting to start.
The Ladder Of Memory