How sad to read of Adrienne Rich's passing this week. Yet, circumstance aside, seeing her gentle, wise face on the NYT page brought back the joy I felt when I read her collection An Atlas of the Difficult World, Poems 1988-1991 (W.W. Norton & Company, 1991. 60 pp.).
Supposedly a melon-baller scoop of black hole is of such density it would make endless piercings of Earth, up and down til the blue planet was no more. So, it is with the poetry of Adrienne Rich; this thin slice of her genius is about all my allotment of brain cells can absorb.
Which is fine. This volume alone is brilliance enough for a lifetime.
Remember when Bush Sr. decided on the Gulf War? (I marched against it, but Good Lord! The Gulf War was as noble as Gandhi's salt campaign compared to his Bush's son's high crimes and misdemeanors-laced tenure. Of this era Rich said
Flags are blossoming now where little else is blossoming
And in one short but truthfully massive line she captured the visual for recession and war.
Upon reading of her passing I set out on a hardbody, living quarter-wide search for my copy of "Atlas". On dog-eared page 5, the last six lines are underlined.
I drive inland over roads / closed in wet weather
I can see these roads; she lived in Santa Cruz, and these words put me in mind of the road north of the city, in the woods, that take one to Big Basin State Park.
Later:
These are not the roads / you knew me by. But the woman driving, walking, watching/ for life and death, is the same.
I just alway loved the duality and danger of this person, this woman who doesn't look like she can handle a pickup on slick roads parallel to the height of redwoods is doing just that.
Her power derives not from bravado, from tough talk ("dead or alive"). It comes from watching. From listening. Paying attention. Only such a human being is equipped to notice the sadness of flags blossoming where little else is.
Thank you, Adrienne Rich.
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