- Director of MFA
- M.F.A., Iowa Writers' Workshop, 1998
- B.A., Wesleyan University, 1992
Areas of Emphasis or Expertise
- Creative Writing
- Ethnic Literature
- Gay/Lesbian Literature
- Chord: Poems, (Sarabande Books, 2015) : View Book
- Want: Poems, (Sarabande Books, 2008) : View Book
- Darker Fall: Poems, (Sarabande Books, 2002) : View Book
- UNT Rilke Prize, for Chord, 2016
- Finalist for the LA Times Book Prize, for Chord, 2016
- Finalist for the PEN Open Book Award, for Chord, 2016
- Civitella Ranieri Residency Fellowship, 2011
- K.T. Tang Award for Faculty Excellence in Research, 2010
- Artist Trust Fellowship Award, 2009
- Grub Street Book Prize, for Want, 2009
- Finalist for Lambda Literary Awards, for Want, 2009
- PLU Regency Advancement Award, 2007
Rick Barot has published three books of poetry with Sarabande Books: The Darker Fall (2002), which received the Kathryn A. Morton Prize; Want (2008), which was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award and won the 2009 Grub Street Book Prize; and Chord (2015), which received the UNT Rilke Prize, the PEN Open Book Award, and the Publishing Triangle’s Thom Gunn Award, and was a finalist for the LA Times Book Prize. He has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Artist Trust of Washington, the Civitella Ranieri Foundation, and Stanford University, where he was a Wallace E. Stegner Fellow and a Jones Lecturer in Poetry. His poems and essays have appeared in numerous publications, including Poetry, The Paris Review, The New Republic, Ploughshares, Tin House, The Kenyon Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, and The Threepenny Review. He lives in Tacoma, WA and is an associate professor of English at Pacific Lutheran University. He is the poetry editor of New England Review. He is the director of the Rainier Writing Workshop. In 2016 he received a fellowship from the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation.
Mentor. Workshops and classes in poetry. Oversight of program.
Statement: “I’ve always been intrigued by these two connotations of the word craft—that it refers to something like technique, and also that it refers to cunning. Which is to say that we writers handle materials that, when handled just so, lead to a sort of alchemy. The most powerful pieces of writing, then, contain an infinite complexity—a complexity that’s tangible and undefinable at the same time. And all of this is done in the writer’s solitude, which seems its own mixture of materiality and expansiveness.
Even though I believe that a strong piece of writing generates something like magic, I also believe in tough-minded examinations of the thematic and formal elements that we use as writers. As a teacher, I prefer discussions in which everyone seems to have a lab coat on, detailing the mechanics of the work at hand. How a piece achieves its force through writerly decisions—decisions which have been guided by thought and feeling, insight and intuition, analysis and imagination, failure and risk—this is what I care about.
As a necessary complement to the writer’s solitary work, the conversations we have about each other’s work can be as vital as the work itself. With as much rigor and delight as possible, we engage in what Czeslaw Milosz described as the purpose of poetry: ‘the passionate pursuit of the real.’”