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In praise of Adrienne Rich, 1929–2012

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We lost a couple more just recently, Earl Scruggs and the poet Adrienne Rich. Here's a taste of Rich, one of the finest of the moderns:

December 25, 1972

You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from your language

Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she's a woman of my time


with Love, our subject:
we've trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power

I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn

trying to make a call
from a phone booth

The phone rings endlessly
in a man's bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
Never mind. She'll get tired.
hears him telling her story to her sister

who becomes her enemy
and will in her own way
light her own way to sorrow

ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political
From The Nation: Five Poems by Adrienne Rich; h/t Welcome to Pottersville 2.

I wanted to tag this Music, but I didn't.


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