Sharon Olds
Autor de The Dead and the Living
Sobre El Autor
Sharon Olds was born in San Francisco. She lives in New York City.
Créditos de la imagen: Catherine Mauger
Obras de Sharon Olds
Blood, Tin, Straw 1 copia
What Does an Elegy Do? (The Judith Lee Stronach Memorial Lecture on the Teaching of Poetry) (2010) 1 copia
Olds, Sharon Archive 1 copia
In the Hospital Near the End (included in The Norton Introduction to Literature - 5th Edition) 1 copia
Obras relacionadas
Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry, and Drama (1995) — Contribuidor, algunas ediciones — 917 copias
The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry (1990) — Contribuidor, algunas ediciones — 751 copias
For the Love of Books: 115 Celebrated Writers on the Books They Love Most (1999) — Contribuidor — 452 copias
Poetry Speaks Expanded: Hear Poets Read Their Own Work from Tennyson to Plath (2007) — Contribuidor — 151 copias
Buzz Words: Poems About Insects (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series) (2021) — Contribuidor — 32 copias
The Artists' and Writers' Cookbook: A Collection of Stories with Recipes (2016) — Contribuidor — 18 copias
Revise the Psalm: Work Celebrating the Writing of Gwendolyn Brooks (2017) — Contribuidor — 11 copias
When She Named Fire: An Anthology of Contemporary Poetry by American Women (1900) — Contribuidor — 11 copias
Poetry East : number twenty & twenty-one fall 1986 : poetics — Contribuidor — 1 copia
Etiquetado
Conocimiento común
- Nombre canónico
- Olds, Sharon
- Fecha de nacimiento
- 1942-11-19
- Género
- female
- Nacionalidad
- VS
- Lugar de nacimiento
- San Francisco, Californië, VS
- Lugares de residencia
- San Francisco, Californië, VS
- Educación
- Stanford University
Columbia University - Ocupaciones
- teacher
poet - Organizaciones
- New York University
- Premios y honores
- Fellowship of the Academy of American Poets (2002)
Robert Frost Medal (2022)
Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize (2022)
Miembros
Reseñas
Balladz por Sharon Olds
While the book may have been longlisted for the National Book Award, this is not a book I would recommend. She writes a lot about COVID-19 and the quarantine, the George Floyd situation, and problems in her upbringing. The Amherst ballads section is written in an unusual form (which is probably why it was longlisted for the award). My biggest problem with the book is in crude verbiage. As my mom would say, "She needs to wash her mouth out with soap." Ms. Olds will go on my "Do not read" list.
Honest and accessible. I enjoyed the focus on the 'ordinary' and the introspection. It's still not my favorite style and characteristically I most enjoyed a few lines that tie the 'political' to the very personal.
Don't know what to say/think about this one; maybe it represents my struggle to figure out how to weigh/understand poetic craft vs. content. There's no right answer, of course—but this is one of those instances where I don't feel like I can say much that's just in the way of legitimate criticism—only that a good portion of the collection didn't sit well with me. (And here I am, feeling like I'm heading off the topic-cliff of taste and its whims.)
Longlisted for the National Book Award, Balladz by Sharon Olds was my introduction to the poet. Social media friends told me that Olds was a favorite poet. Although I read contemporary poetry in my younger years, I became out of touch after decades of living in rather isolated communities. I am thrilled to be able to discover all that I have been missing.
Olds style, so direct and filled with visceral images, can be jarring. The first section of the book are quarantine poems. Secluded in a rural cabin, Olds battles with loneliness–and mice, setting traps, dealing with the blood bath afterwards. She writes a poem to the centipede that she also kills, noting, “Of course I am a killer. I am/human.” And in the next poem she asks, “Is it impossible/for me to be good. Is it possible for us/ to try harder to kill this planet/slower. Would I kill this animal again/it it did its undulation above me/alone the wall. Is this the best that I can/do this morning to work against the killing/done in my name all over the earth.”
She writes angrily about the death of George Floyd. And in Anatomy Lesson for the Officer, of the human connection we share: “And that is a human throat you are kneeling/on. That is our throat, our brother’s,/our son’s, maybe our father’s throat. /That is your mother’s, your father’s, your son’s,/your daughter’s throat. That is your daughter’s throat.”
Amherst Ballads are in the style of Emily Dickinson, and I will need to take my time with them.
The Balladz section includes Best Friend Ballad, in which she remembers “the power of her house, and of the approach to it,” then recalls the girl’s death, praying “for a sleep tonight in which, 9 and 9, we can hold each other in a green dream.” I was transported back to when I was 9 years old, walking to my best friend’s 1900s farm house down the road, filled with grief knowing that she had died decades ago of disease.
And in Ballad Torn Apart, Olds vividly describes the car accident that killed a friend. In Album from a Previous Existence, she writes about her mother and childhood, and it is this harsh mother, who she talks about in earlier poems as tying her in a chair and beating her that is so hard to encounter, my own mother who, for all her flaws, was so giving, her love was like a tether that could not break with death.
Olds writes about her body, her self-image, the self-acceptance of growing old. “Now I’m better at talking to people without/thinking my face makes them want to throw up,”
I have not read all the poems. Poems on the death of her father and husband. There are some poems I need to go back to; I rushed through them, disturbed or confused. But then, is there any end to studying a poem, none the less nearly two hundred pages of poetry? It takes a life time. At least.
I received a free book from A. A. Knopf. My review is fair and unbiased.… (más)
Olds style, so direct and filled with visceral images, can be jarring. The first section of the book are quarantine poems. Secluded in a rural cabin, Olds battles with loneliness–and mice, setting traps, dealing with the blood bath afterwards. She writes a poem to the centipede that she also kills, noting, “Of course I am a killer. I am/human.” And in the next poem she asks, “Is it impossible/for me to be good. Is it possible for us/ to try harder to kill this planet/slower. Would I kill this animal again/it it did its undulation above me/alone the wall. Is this the best that I can/do this morning to work against the killing/done in my name all over the earth.”
She writes angrily about the death of George Floyd. And in Anatomy Lesson for the Officer, of the human connection we share: “And that is a human throat you are kneeling/on. That is our throat, our brother’s,/our son’s, maybe our father’s throat. /That is your mother’s, your father’s, your son’s,/your daughter’s throat. That is your daughter’s throat.”
Amherst Ballads are in the style of Emily Dickinson, and I will need to take my time with them.
The Balladz section includes Best Friend Ballad, in which she remembers “the power of her house, and of the approach to it,” then recalls the girl’s death, praying “for a sleep tonight in which, 9 and 9, we can hold each other in a green dream.” I was transported back to when I was 9 years old, walking to my best friend’s 1900s farm house down the road, filled with grief knowing that she had died decades ago of disease.
And in Ballad Torn Apart, Olds vividly describes the car accident that killed a friend. In Album from a Previous Existence, she writes about her mother and childhood, and it is this harsh mother, who she talks about in earlier poems as tying her in a chair and beating her that is so hard to encounter, my own mother who, for all her flaws, was so giving, her love was like a tether that could not break with death.
Olds writes about her body, her self-image, the self-acceptance of growing old. “Now I’m better at talking to people without/thinking my face makes them want to throw up,”
I have not read all the poems. Poems on the death of her father and husband. There are some poems I need to go back to; I rushed through them, disturbed or confused. But then, is there any end to studying a poem, none the less nearly two hundred pages of poetry? It takes a life time. At least.
I received a free book from A. A. Knopf. My review is fair and unbiased.… (más)
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- Reseñas
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- ISBNs
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