by Adrienne Rich<\/p>\n
Translations<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n by\u00a0Adrienne\u00a0Rich You show me the poems of some woman Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow obsessed<\/p>\n with Love, our subject: I begin to see that woman trying to make a call The phone rings endlessly who becomes her enemy ignorant of the fact this way of grief -Read at St. Lydia’s on September 13, 2013<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Adrienne Rich Translations by\u00a0Adrienne\u00a0Rich December 25, 1972 You show me the poems of some woman my age, or younger translated from your language Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow enough to let me know she’s a woman of my time obsessed with Love, our subject: we’ve trained it like ivy to our walls baked […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[9],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2515"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2515"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2515\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2516,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2515\/revisions\/2516"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2515"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2515"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stlydiasliturgy.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2515"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nDecember 25, 1972<\/p>\n
\nmy age, or younger
\ntranslated from your language<\/p>\n
\nenough to let me know
\nshe’s a woman of my time<\/p>\n
\nwe’ve trained it like ivy to our walls
\nbaked it like bread in our ovens
\nworn it like lead on our ankles
\nwatched it through binoculars as if
\nit were a helicopter
\nbringing food to our famine
\nor the satellite
\nof a hostile power<\/p>\n
\ndoing things: stirring rice
\nironing a skirt
\ntyping a manuscript till dawn<\/p>\n
\nfrom a phonebooth<\/p>\n
\nin a man’s bedroom
\nshe hears him telling someone else
\nNever mind. She’ll get tired.
\nhears him telling her story to her sister<\/p>\n
\nand will in her own way
\nlight her own way to sorrow<\/p>\n
\nis shared, unnecessary
\nand political<\/p>\n