As far as I can tell, this is the first (August 1996) tribute and fansite dedicated to Elizabeth Bishop.   Perhaps it's a dubious achievement, but I still feel pretty smart about it.
    Bishop's poems are beautiful and deeply moving, but quietly, as when an exterior landscape suddenly throbs in time to an interior one.
Her life and times were "interesting", yet she often felt lonely and alienated. She had the knack of seeing a beauty in unexpected places. Fond of understatement, she called herself "a minor female Wordsworth", but her work takes that romantic "isn't it all marvelous, this gay world" sensibility and holds it against a lost generation sense of horror.  As an orphaned, asthmatic, alcoholic, self-exiled queer woman (yes all that), Bishop looked at life from an outsider's perspective.  Her take on ordinary miracles like breakfast and birds is like some alien poet struggling to make sense of humanity's bizarre sense of normality.   Well that's the best nutshell I can muster.
    I've transcribed below some of my favorite poems and occasionally I attempt to track down other Bishop-related websites (see the links).
    Please note, I'm only an ardent fan, and I don't have any right to present these poems here, but who is to lose from their being read for free?  No children, nieces, or nephews exist to miss the royalties.

"Seeing, touching, and loving of objects are not without their difficulties, since there is a fine line between seeing and overseeing, touching and appropriating, loving and possessing."

"While the surrealists liked to simulate a sense of mental instability by upsetting our assumptions about reality, Bishop showed us that familiar objects were weird enough when left in their customary settings."

From a Key West Notebook

Creeping under over hanging boughs
In the dew-drenched total dark
Meeting a hollow wind like a coffin in the air
Searching for that rumoured pool--

There are stars in the roof of your mouth
And a glowworm at the root of your tongue
--1930s

Letter To Miss Pierson

[a reader requesting advice on how to become a poet]
from One Art: Selected Letters

437 Lewis Wharf
Boston, MA
May 28, 1975

...I think you have set up difficulties for yourself that perhaps don't really exist at all. I don't know what "poetic tools & structures" are, unless you mean traditional forms. Which one can use or not, as one sees fit. If you feel you are "moralizing" too much--just cut the morals off--or out. (Quite often young poets tend to try to tie everything up neatly in 2 or 3 beautiful last lines and it is quite surprising how the poems are improved if the poet can bear to sacrifice those last, pat, beautiful lines.) Your third problem--why shouldn't the poet appear in the poem? There are several tricks--"I" or "we" or "he" or "she" or even "one"--or somebody's name. Someone is talking, after all--but of course the idea is to prevent that particular tone of voice from growing monotonous.

From what you say, I think perhaps you are actually trying too hard--or reading too much about poetry and not enough poetry. Prosody--metrics--etc. are fascinating--but they all come afterwards, obviously. And I always ask my writing classes NOT to read criticism.

Read a lot of poetry--all the time--and not 20th-century poetry. Read Campion, Herbert, Pope, Tennyson, Coleridge--anything at all almost that's any good, from the past--until you find out what you really like, by yourself. Even if you try to initiate it exactly--it will come out quite different. Then the great poets of our own century--Marianne Moore, Auden, Wallace Stevens--and not just 2 or 3 poems each, in anthologies--read ALL of somebody. Then read his or her life, and letters, and so on. (And by all means read Keats's Letters.) Then see what happens.

That's really all I can say. It can't be done, apparently, by willpower and study alone--or by being "with it"--but I really don't know how poetry gets to be written. There is a mystery & a surprise, and after that a great deal of hard work...