This book contains a continuously numbered series of poem sequences.
Epigraph: If you stop believing in Hermes he doesn't go away, you just stop understanding what's happening to you. Russell Hoban.
* Contents derived from the Paddington,Kings Cross area,Inner Sydney,Sydney,New South Wales,:Paper Bark Press,1987 version. Please note that other versions/publications may contain different contents. See the Publication Details.
Sharon Olds, Gwen Harwood and Dorothy Hewett: Truth, Lies, PoetryAnn-Marie Priest,
2016single work essay — Appears in:
Cordite Poetry Review,November
56.02016;'In 2008, US poet Sharon Olds came out about her poetry, admitting that her writing is based on her own life. Since the publication of her first book, Satan Says, in 1980, when she was thirty-seven, she’d been evading questions about the biographical basis of her work. In her rare interviews, she would gently correct ‘personal’ to ‘apparently personal’ as a description of her poems and emphasise with kindly patience that they were works of art, not autobiography. Then, in her late sixties, she changed her mind. She confirmed that the man dying slowly from a throat tumour in her book The Father was her own father; that the woman who in a number of poems ties her young daughter to a chair was the poet’s own mother; that the marriage whose end is painfully documented in Stag’s Leap was Olds’s own thirty-two-year marriage. In an email to an interviewer, she explained her re-think with reference to a reading she once gave at a high school. ‘A student said: ‘If I thought you’d made up all the stuff in your poems, I’d be really mad at you,’’ she writes. ‘And I knew how he felt, and in his place I’d feel the same way.’ Far from being offended by the idea that a reader might connect her poems with her life, she had taken that link for granted. She had assumed that the reader would know the poems had emerged from her own experience, even if she had never explicitly said so. ‘It had not crossed my mind really that anyone would make up a life, make up these stories,’ she goes on. ‘It seemed so obvious to me they were being told, sung, from some inner necessity that rose in an actual life.’' (Publication extract)