I hosted a poetry event in Berkeley last weekend: Women of a Certain Age Read Poems on Sex and Death.
Talk about knowing you’ve arrived! I wrote a poem for the occasion.
Half my lovers are dead
Half my lovers fill the night
Ghosts on cat’s feet pitter-pat across my cunt
Almost,
Not Quite,
Incredible,
I-Don’t-Remember-Your-Name
But I remember your chest
Now all the lovers’ chests are lined at the edge of the bed
They were thirsty
It was too soon
They were too young
They were older than mud
We never said how lonely it would get
We didn’t know; we didn’t dig
But
I saw the hole in you. You saw the bone in me.
Reading Dorothy, Cover to Cover - The Video
I helped produce a memorial reading marathon last weekend for the late author, Dorothy Allison. She and I were friends back in the 80s, when all our work was in the underground press.
A group of us, young and old, performed Dorothy’s classic Bastard Out of Carolina, every page, from 9am to 9pm. I was an early shift.
I read Chapter 6, the best writing on being hungry I ever read. And then Chapter 8, when our 10-year-old protagonist “Bone” is really going through it— her stepfather’s abuse lands her in the hospital and that’s no help either. Only a mirror.
Allison “found the words” — she found the words and the story to describe poverty and incest and emotional awareness of the unspeakable, the spark inside— when no one else had done that. Not within a mile of it. She must have met a million people in the course of her life who said, “How did you know? This is my life and I never could say this.” That’s because abuse is endemic. It’s bonding, it’s prison-like shame. A bear-trap. And when you’re little and you don’t know anything else, it is what it is.
Below, a portion of my reading. I’m not mic’ed so the room sound is unfortunate. We read at the fine-art edition Arion Press, where I was once the acquiring literary editor, for a thrilling season. They have a new location at Fort Mason for their printing press, bindery and type room (worth the tour).
P.S. I just made a clean audio file, which is considerably better than the video sound. It kicks in after the first 3 seconds:
In Other News: Leaving the F
Dear friends,
I left Facebook.
Wow! It’s been a few decades. But doxxing is not fun, & so I bade adieu. Instead, you’ll find me here, of course. And my handle is susiebright on BlueSky.
Do stay in touch. I gotta find another way to remember your birthday . . . Let’s send real mail, eh?
Xox, Susie
In Case You Missed It
Bob Nash's Last Ride
One of my favorite poet friends, Bob Nash, died February 10th, in 2008. I was unexpectedly with him in the near hours, to be an impromptu pallbearer.
Wonderful poem, Susie. & I wish I'd been at the Dorothy reading.
Half My Lovers Are Dead is better than Half My Lovers Wish I Was Dead.