Advertisement -- Learn more about ads on this site.
VALERIEMAHA
50,000-59,999 SparkPoints 55,631
SparkPoints
 

A great woman....

Wednesday, March 28, 2012


One of our national treasures, poet and essayist Adrienne Rich, died today. She was one of America's foremost public intellectuals.
www.poetryfoundation.org
/bio/adrienne-rich



DREAMWOOD
by Adrienne Rich

In the old, scratched, cheap wood of the typing stand
there is a landscape, veined, which only a child can see
or the child's older self, a poet,
a woman dreaming when she should be typing
the last report of the day. If this were a map,
she thinks, a map laid down to memorize
because she might be walking it, it shows
ridge upon ridge fading into hazed desert
here and there a sign of aquifers
and one possible watering-hole. If this were a map
it would be the map of the last age of her life,
not a map of choices but a map of variations
on the one great choice. It would be the map by which
she could see the end of touristic choices,
of distances blued and purpled by romance,
by which she would recognize that poetry
isn't revolution but a way of knowing
why it must come. If this cheap, mass-produced
wooden stand from the Brooklyn Union Gas Co.,
mass-produced but durable, being here now,
is what it is yet a dream-map
so obdurate, so plain,
she thinks, the material and the dream can join
and that is the poem and that is the late report.
emoticon
If you would like one more, this was just shared by a former classmate of mine:

WHAT KIND OF TIMES ARE THESE

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light--
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.
emoticon
And this *postscript* from her:

What would it mean to live
in a city whose people were changing
each other's despair into hope? --
You yourself must change it. --
what would it feel like to know
your country was changing? --
You yourself must change it. --
Though your life felt arduous
new and unmapped and strange
What would it mean to stand on the first
page to the end of despair?
emoticon
RIP Adrienne Rich

Here is today's article from the Los Angeles Times:
latimesblogs.latimes.com
/jacketcopy/2012/03/adrien
ne-rich.html

Share This Post With Others
Member Comments About This Blog Post