"Love, our subject:we've trained it like ivy to our walls.
Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.
~ Adrienne Rich ~
Photo by Ákos Szabó
Photo by Ian Turnell
Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.
More Adrienne Rich quotes
"and I ask myself and you, which of our visions will claim uswhich will we claimhow will we go on livinghow will we touch, what will we knowwhat will w...
"For now, poetry has the capacity - in its own ways and by its own means - to remind us of something we are forbidden to see.
"Poetry is above all a concentration of the power of language, which is the power of our ultimate relationship to everything in the universe.
"We may feel bitterly how little our poems can do in the face of seemingly out of control technological power and seemingly limitless corporate greed, ...
"We may feel bitterly how little our poems can do in the face of seemingly out of control technological power and seemingly limitless corporate greed, ...
"Poems are like dreams: in them you put what you don't know you know.
"...you look at me like an emergency
"Sexist grammar burns into the brains of little girls and young women a message that the male is the norm, the standard, the central figure beside whic...
"Re-vision--the act of looking back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction--is for women more than a chapter...
"Was it worth while to lay— with infinite exertion—a roof I can't live under? —All those blueprints, closings of gaps,measurings, calculations? A life ...
"Storm WarningsThe glass has been falling all the afternoon, And knowing better than the instrument What winds are walking overhead, what zone Of grey ...
"the phantom of the man-who-would-understand,the lost brother, the twin ---for him did we leave our mothers,deny our sisters, over and over?did we inve...
"Silence can be a planrigorously executedthe blueprint to a lifeIt is a presenceit has a history a formDo not confuse itwith any kind of absence
"No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees,sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air,dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding,our animal...