The poem “I Go Back to May 1937,”
about Olds’s parents, (The Gold Cell, 1987), begins within a photograph’s
edges in a well lit pose:
"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 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. . . ."
This view of
her parents, before her conception, presents frozen portraits of two young
people with an unformed future ahead of them. The “wrought-iron gate” is still
ajar, although its presence makes it clear that confinement is pending; this is
another frame in the photograph. Its “sword-tips” are ominous. The young man
and woman, before parenthood, are tabula rasa, without knowledge of the oncoming
pain. The poet enters into the photograph with them, with awareness of their
future, and completes their story before it begins. Future and past collapse
together, and the narrator creates a present moment:
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. "
She erases
time sequence and creates a present moment in which volition is possible. Her
resolution is articulation—a great trust in the invisible readers outside the
frame of the poem. Her poems create memory wreaths, like the floral arrangements woven from family members' lockets of hair. She takes the past and creates mementos of the present.
Bio: SHARON
OLDS was born in San Francisco and educated at Stanford and Columbia
universities. Her first book, Satan Says (1980), received the inaugural
San Francisco Poetry Center Award. Her second, The Dead and the Living,
was both the Lamont Poetry Selection for 1983 and winner of the National Book
Critics Circle Award. The Father was short-listed for the T. S. Eliot
Prize in England, and The Unswept Room was a finalist for the National
Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award. Olds teaches in the
Graduate Creative Writing Program at New York University and is one of the
founders of NYU's writing workshops for residents of Goldwater Hospital, and
for veterans who served in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Academy of American
Poets page: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/205
Amazon.com
has a selection of poems from Stag’s
Leap: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0375712259
Poetry
Foundation link: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/sharon-olds