I want to write like this – so bad.
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks,
the wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips aglow in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips, like chips of flint, as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
Sharon Olds is my favorite poet writer. I love the way in which she writes. The way her words flow – as if telling a story with mystery. She does not shy away from taboo subjects nor lessens the language needed to be used. She’s honest and brutal. Maybe I can’t say for sure that she’s bold, but she seems bold. I want my words to reflect things I am not ashamed to confess I have thought and written.
Her poetry has a sense of a story without outstanding confusing detail. She chooses words wisely and allows them to move the reader.
I haven’t written poetry in a long time, but when I do so again, I want to copy her model. I’ve always have. Currently, thanks to my sister, I have one book of hers, but I think it’s in the states. One more book one day, would be lovely. Maybe more.
She and Hemingway are my favorites. I think I need more of those.