Monday, June 23, 2025

Erica Jong / Driving Me Away

 


Driving Me Away
by Erica Jong 

Driving me away
is easier
than saying
goodbye-

kissing the air,
the last syllable
of truth
being always
two lips compressed
around
emptiness-

the emptiness
you dread
yet return to
as just punishment,
just reward.

Who
loved you
so relentlessly?
Who lost you
in that howling void
between infancy
and death?

It is punctuated
by the warm bodies
of women,
who hold you for a while
then run
down that echoing corridor
doing
as they are told.

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Flying At Forty by Erica Jong

 

Erica Jong in Venice

Flying At Forty
by Erica Jong

You call me
courageous, 
I who grew up
gnawing on books,
as some kids
gnaw
on bubble gum,

who married disastrously
not once
but three times,
yet have a lovely daughter
I would not undo
for all the dope
in California.

Fear was my element,
fear my contagion.
I swam in it
till I became
immune.
The plane takes off
& I laugh aloud.
Call me courageous.

I am still alive.


Friday, June 20, 2025

Erica Jong / Catching Up

 


Erica Jong

Catching Up 
by Erica Jong

We sit on a rock
to allow our souls
to catch up with us.

We have been traveling
a long time.

Behind us are forests of books
with pages green as leaves.
A blood sun stares
over the horizon.

Our souls are slow.
They walk miles behind
our long shadows.

They do not dance.
They need all their strength
merely to follow us.

Sometimes we run too fast
or trip climbing
the rotten rungs
in fame's ladder.

Our souls know
it leads nowhere.

They are not afraid
of losing us.




Tuesday, June 17, 2025

Erica Jong / Dear Colette

 

Colette


Dear Colette 
by Erica Jong


Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.

I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.

I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.

I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.

I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.

I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."

Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!

Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .

But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.

Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:

for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .

Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.


Sunday, June 15, 2025

Erica Jong / The Dirty Laundry Poem

 

EL HUASO Y LA LAVANDERA,1835
Juan Mauricio Rugendas


THE DIRTY LAUNDRY POEM
By Erica Jong

This is the dirty laundry poem
because we have traveled from town to town
accumulating soiled linen & sweaty shirts
& blue-jeans caked & clotted with our juice
& teeshirts crumpled by our gloriously messy passion
& underwear made stiff by all our joy.
I have come home to wash my clothes.
They patter on the bathroom floor like rain.
The water drips away the days till you.
The dirty water speaks to me of love.

Steamy in the bubbles of our love,
I have plunged my hands into hot water
as I might plunge them
in your heart.

After years of spots & splatters,
I am finally coming clean.
I will fly to you with a suitcase of fresh laundry,
strip my clothes off, heap them on the floor,
& let you scrub my body with your love.

Thursday, June 12, 2025

Good Bones by Maggie Smith

 

Maggie Smith


GOOD BONES
by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Maggie Smith / At Youtube ave, I Word a darkness




AT YOUR AGE, I WORE A DARKNESS
by Maggie Smith

several sizes too big. It hung on me
like a mother’s dress. Even now,

as we speak, I am stitching
a darkness you’ll need to unravel,

unraveling another you’ll need
to restitch. What can I give you

that you can keep? Once you asked,
Does the sky stop? It doesn’t stop,

it just stops being one thing
and starts being another.

Sometimes we hold hands
and tip our heads way back

so the blue fills our whole field
of vision, so we feel like

we’re in it. We don’t stop,
we just stop being what we are

and start being what?
Where? What can I give you

to carry there? These shadows
of leaves—the lace in solace?

This soft, hand-me-down
darkness? What can I give you

that will be of use in your next life,
the one you will live without me?

Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Stitches by Maggie Smith

 


STITCHES
by Maggie Smith

Twice they opened me
and twice, after sewing me shut,

they said the thread would dissolve,
they said my body would dissolve

the thread. But see how frugal
I’ve become, saving every stitch

for future alterations and repairs.
Any woman with my blood

saves—is a saver. When given one
sheet of paper, my daughter

cuts out the heart she wants
and keeps the scraps for stars,

snowflakes, flowers. Twice
they cut babies from my body,

but the body remains.
See how nothing is wasted.

The more they cut, the more I have.


Monday, June 9, 2025

I’m Reconsidering Burial by Maggie Smith

 

RECLINING WOMAN BY WILL BARNET


I’m Reconsidering Burial
by Maggie Smith

because if I were lying
in that narrow twin bed

under the sod, you might be
tempted to lie down there

at night, the stone a cold
headboard, and look up

at the sky—moon, stars,
wisps of cloud, etcetera—

and feel you are falling
asleep on the top bunk

and I am still tucked in
below you, telling you

my secrets in the dark.




Maggie Smith is the author of Weep Up (Tupelo Press, September 2017); The Well Speaks of Its Own PoisonLamp of the Body; and three prizewinning chapbooks. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Best American Poetry 2017Paris Review, Ploughshares, Kenyon Review, Southern Review, and elsewhere. In 2016 her poem “Good Bones” went viral internationally and has been translated into nearly a dozen languages. The recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Ohio Arts Council, and the Sustainable Arts Foundation, Smith is a freelance writer and editor.


Saturday, June 7, 2025

The Master by Donald Hall

  

Illustration by Triunfo Arciniegas


THE MASTER

by Donald Hall

 

Where the poet stops, the poem
begins. The poem asks only
that the poet get out of the way.

The poem empties itself
in order to fill itself up.

The poem is nearest the poet
when the poet laments
that it has vanished forever.

When the poet disappears
the poem becomes visible.

What may the poem choose,
best for the poet?
It will choose that the poet
not choose for himself.

Thursday, June 5, 2025

‘He lived inside poetry’ / Toby Jones and Helena Bonham Carter perform poems in memory of lost loved ones

 



Poems to remember

‘He lived inside poetry’: Toby Jones and Helena Bonham Carter perform poems in memory of lost loved ones

Actors including Asa Butterfield, Stephen Mangan and Susan Wokoma share poems as part of ‘Celebration Day’, a new annual moment dedicated to commemorating family and friends


Ella Creamer and Lucy Knight
Wed 21 May 2025 

Helena Bonham Carter, Toby Jones and Asa Butterfield are among actors performing poems in memory of family members and friends who are no longer with us, to mark Celebration Day later this month.




The initiative, conceived in 2022 by high-profile figures including Stephen Fry, Prue Leith, film director Oliver Parker and writer and poetry curator Allie Esiri, sets aside a day in the calendar each year to celebrate the lives of loved ones no longer with us, inspired by celebrations such as Mexico’s Day of the Dead. The first Celebration Day was held on 26 June 2022, and now it runs on the last bank holiday Monday in May, which this year will be 26 May.

Stephen Mangan, Nathaniel Parker and Susan Wokoma were also filmed reading poems at Abbey Road studios in London. The videos will be published exclusively on the Guardian website in the lead up to Celebration Day, with the first, which features Bonham Carter reading Don’t Let That Horse by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, available to watch today.

Wilfred Owen and Sheenagh Pugh are among the poets whose works were selected by the actors. Jones, known for his roles in Mr Bates vs the Post Office and Detectorists, picked Portrait of a Romantic by ASJ Tessimond, in memory of his father, who died a year after Jones introduced him to the poem.

Poems “were like clothing” to his father, said Jones – he “wanted to live inside” them, and memorised a number of them, including Portrait of a Romantic. “We decided to use the second stanza of this poem on his gravestone”, said Jones. “When I read the poem, inevitably I reflect on my Dad, and the huge influence he’s had on both what I do, and how I feel about what I do.”

Bonham Carter chose Don’t Let That Horse in memory of her grandmother, who was known as “Bubbles”. A painter who made “sort of fake Chagalls”, Bonham Carter described her grandmother as an “eternal child” who “always had a sense of play”.

‘An eternal child’ … Helena Bonham Carter holding a picture with her grandmother, Bubbles. Photograph: Rory Langdon-Down

“She died at 89, but frankly she never really grew older emotionally than about seven. A good reminder that no matter how serious it gets, you’ve got to remember to have fun.”

Lost loved ones “remain part of our fabric, our internal world”, the actor added. “We need permission to stop – a day in which we can invoke them and remember them, and let them live again through us.” After losing somebody, “you might lose what you were when you were with them. And that relationship needs to carry on, somehow”.

The actors worked with Esiri, who compiled 365 Poems for Life and A Poem for Every Day of the Year, to choose their poems. Most of us reach for poetry at significant moments in life, like weddings and funerals, because poems “help us express things that most of us find really difficult to express”, said Esiri.

The language of poetry “gives you a path when you’re suffering eviscerating feelings of grief and you’ve lost your hold on the earth and everything’s very very fractured”, she added. The “great poet gives you words, and it’s sort of like holding your hand across time”.

Star pin badges will be on sale at WH Smith stores until 27 June, with proceeds going to charities Mind, the Royal Marsden Cancer Charity, Make-A-Wish and Hospice UK. The public are encouraged to share memories of loved ones on social media using the hashtag #ShareYourStar.

Parker, who directed the videos, said the project “was a genuinely memorable experience”.

“Sometimes with a light touch, sometimes deeply moving, they are small, intimate acts of sharing, whether defiant, mournful or inspiring,” he said.







A Poem for Every Day of the Year by Allie Esiri (Pan Macmillan, £19.


THE GUARDIAN