What Is Lisa Robertson Doing These Days

So, you’re wondering what Lisa Robertson is up to these days? Well, grab a comfy chair and maybe a cup of tea, because this is a fun one. We’re talking about the poet, essayist, and all-around word-wrangler who makes language do backflips. She’s not exactly hiding in a cabin in the woods—though honestly, that would be on-brand and very chic.

First thing’s first: Lisa Robertson is still deeply in love with words. But her love affair has taken some wild turns. She’s not just writing poems you’d find in a dusty literary journal anymore. Oh no, she’s been busy rethinking everything about how we describe our world.

The Fugitive Architect of Language

You might know her from books like The Weather or Occasional Work and Seven Walks from the Office for Soft Architecture. That last title? Yeah, it’s a mouthful—like a fancy cheese plate for your brain. But her latest projects are all about architecture, but not the boring kind with blueprints and hard hats.

Think of her as a fugitive architect. She’s asking: What if a building could be made of conversation? What if a city was just a giant, breathing poem? She’s been giving talks and workshops that feel more like playful experiments than lectures. I bet she laughs at her own jokes, and that’s a good sign.

Recently, she collaborated with visual artists and dancers. Yes, dancers! Imagine a poet telling a dancer, “Okay, now your body is a colon, and this movement is a semi-colon.” That’s the kind of weird, wonderful energy she’s channeling. It’s poetry, but with leg warmers.

Writing in the Wild

But wait, there’s more! Lisa has been spending a lot of time in British Columbia, her old stomping grounds. She’s been walking through forests and along coastlines, taking notes on moss. Yes, moss. Because why not? Moss is patient, stubborn, and never in a hurry—just like her prose.

She published a collection called The Baudelaire Fractal a few years back, which was a huge hit. It’s a novel about a young poet in Paris, but it’s also a secret manifesto about the chaos of creativity. Fans went nuts. And she’s currently working on something new that she describes as “a kind of botanical diary for the end of the world.” No pressure, right?

She’s also been teaching, but not the boring “sit down and read this” kind. She did a residency at the University of California, Berkeley, where she basically told students: “Forget the rules. Let’s build a poem out of traffic noises and old receipts.” Her classes sound less like school and more like a heist. I’d sign up in a heartbeat.

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Politics, But Make It Poetic

Of course, Lisa can’t ignore the world’s dumpster fires. She’s been writing about climate change and capitalism, but in her signature twisty way. She doesn’t just shout “Save the planet!” She asks, “What if the planet is already screaming, and we just don’t have the right ears to hear it?” Deep, right?

She’s got a new essay series called “The Anxious Sublime” floating around online. It’s about how we feel both terrified and awed by the world. Like when you see a giant storm cloud and think, “Wow, that’s beautiful,” but also, “I should probably run.” She captures that weird feeling perfectly. And she makes it funny. Seriously, she’s got jokes about disaster. “It’s just a little bit of apocalypse, darling,” she seems to say.

And speaking of the internet, she’s not really active on social media. You won’t find her tweeting about breakfast. She says it’s “a machine for forgetting.” But she does pop up in weird corners—like an art gallery’s Instagram story, reading a poem about a parking lot. It’s bizarre, and I love it.

The Everyday Magic

So what does a typical day look like for Lisa Robertson right now? Probably something like this: Wake up, stare at a tree for 20 minutes, write one perfect sentence, then delete it. Then go for a walk, find a strange rock, and write a haiku about its existential crisis. Then maybe bake bread while listening to old radio broadcasts of weather reports. It’s the life of a poet: equal parts chaos and calm.

She’s also been translating! She’s been working on versions of French poet Anne-Marie Albiach, whose work is famously difficult—like a crossword puzzle written in fog. But Lisa loves a challenge. She says translation is “like kissing through a veil.” Oof, what a line. That’s so her.

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Let’s not forget the little things. She’s been gardening—growing tomatoes, beans, and probably a few plants that are purely decorative and philosophical. She told an interviewer once that she talks to her tomato plants in Latin. That’s either genius or madness. Probably both. I stan a queen who yells at vegetables.

The Big Takeaway

So, what is Lisa Robertson doing these days? Everything, and nothing you’d expect. She’s not on a marquee. She’s not chasing fame. She’s just quietly—or not so quietly—rewriting the dictionary of how we see the world. She’s making poems out of moss, buildings out of sentences, and hope out of chaos.

And you know what? That’s incredibly uplifting. It’s a reminder that creativity isn’t about having a big audience or a fancy publisher. It’s about looking at a parking lot and seeing a cathedral of possibilities. It’s about taking a deep breath and finding beauty in the rubble.

So next time you’re feeling stuck, just ask yourself: What would Lisa Robertson do? She’d probably write a poem about your stuckness, then go dance in the rain. And that, my friend, is a pretty good way to live. Keep being weird, keep being curious, and remember: even moss has its moment in the sun.

Now go outside and find something tiny to admire. Lisa would approve. 😊