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The gold cell : poems / by Sharon Olds

By:

Olds, Sharon

Material type: Text

TextSeries: The Knopf poetry series ; ; 25Publication details: New York : Knopf : Distributed by Random House , 1987.Edition: 1st edDescription: ix, 91 p. ; 22 cmISBN:

9780394747705

Subject(s):

Poetry, American

DDC classification:

811.54 OLD

LOC classification:

PS3565.L34 G6 1987

Summary: Beneath the surface of life Olds discovers ``what all of us want never to know''her own sexuality. Her obsessive descriptions of sex are too candid to be erotic: ``the condom/ripped and the seed tore into me like a/ flame.'' With evocative imagery (``We think about bones twisted like white/ saplings''), Olds searches through ``all the eloquence of the body'' for the means to assess her roles as daughter, lover, wife, mother, and woman. Despite a too-easy solipsism (``I looked at you and I tell you I knew you were God/ and I was God''), the best poetry occurs when Olds presents moments of awakening as though they had just happened--her baby's arms ``bent like a crab's rosy legs, the/ thighs closely-packed plums in heavy syrup.'' For poet and reader such moments are purifying.

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Holdings
Item type	Current library	Call number	Status	Date due	Barcode
Libro - Monografía	Biblioteca Pública de San Miguel de Allende, A.C.	811.54 OLD (Browse shelf(Opens below))	Available		031007

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Beneath the surface of life Olds discovers ``what all of us want never to know''her own sexuality. Her obsessive descriptions of sex are too candid to be erotic: ``the condom/ripped and the seed tore into me like a/ flame.'' With evocative imagery (``We think about bones twisted like white/ saplings''), Olds searches through ``all the eloquence of the body'' for the means to assess her roles as daughter, lover, wife, mother, and woman. Despite a too-easy solipsism (``I looked at you and I tell you I knew you were God/ and I was God''), the best poetry occurs when Olds presents moments of awakening as though they had just happened--her baby's arms ``bent like a crab's rosy legs, the/ thighs closely-packed plums in heavy syrup.'' For poet and reader such moments are purifying.

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