Well, my mouth is hanging open. I know, not the loveliest image to conjure, but this one made me weep. First, I love/d Tillie Olson with everything I have. I haven't read "I Stand Here Ironing" in years, will reread today. And of course, "For a woman who writes, the first barricade is within."
I started late, as you know, and am so grateful that I finally dropped the barricade and decided it was time to shine. My parents both held me back, I'm sure not for the same reason or involving similar dynamics that you experienced with your mom, but I too, needed my dad to die for my true life to begin. It was the oddest blessing I've ever received. Go, live, be. Love to you, my dear and supremely talented friend! xo
Agreeing with you, Rona, and also with Nan. You're both important role models, examples of what it means to fertilize your own strength in order to bloom. I'm grateful to have found you both.
These lines, Rona. My stars, yes!
"Not every revolution strikes at a foe. For a woman who writes, the first barricade is within. To claim what you know, and tell it in your own voice, is a revolutionary act that not only remaps your emotional world but clears a path for others."
“To claim what you know, and tell it in your own voice, is a revolutionary act that not only remaps your emotional world but clears a path for others.”
Don’t be surprised if I adopt your words as a personal Mission Statement! So eloquently you remind all of us to get ‘what’s in there, out’ not only for the benefit of others, but also for our own emotional health. Thank you!
Tillie Olsen published a poem of mine when I was in my very early twenties in an anthology she put together about mothers and daughters. It was the only poem I ever had published, about being a teenager trapped at home with my mother, watching her fork scrape across her teeth as she drank Scotch at the dinner table. I never wrote another poem that I can recall, but I did continue writing about my mother for many decades, culminating in my memoir The Burning Light of Two Stars published just a few years ago.
Rona, I just love your masterful manipulation of words and use of language, and now I will never forget your mother‘s red pen or the force of her character.
I am so glad you decided to republish this gorgeoys tribute or I never would have had the pleasure of it being the first thing I read this morning. It was such a better way to start the day then reading yet another alarming piece of news.
This is wonderful to read. Tillie Olsen blurbed my first novel, Nerves, which did not deserve it, and her postcard with the quote she offered must have contained 200 words that I needed a magnifying glass to decipher. She was my hero, or one of them, along with Adrienne Rich and Katherine Anne Porter, and when I first read first "Tell Me a Riddle" I wept for two days. How could anyone take language to such a place? And "I Stand Here Ironing", well, I read it aloud to every class every semester for 40 years, pinching my leg so I would not cry. (When writers or teachers cry, I think we take up all the emotional in the room and embarrass our students.) Anyway, many years later, when I was on a book tour (what a joke!) with my novel Terminal Velocity, I had published a piece in the Village Voice about Katherine Anne Porter called "The Bad Mother: KAP and How I Grew," and Olsen had left me a note at my hotel saying that I should come see her. I had expected praise - Terminal Velocity was good and I knew it - but she just wanted to chastise me about Porter. "You didn't actually read her volume of letters, did you," she said, and, god damn it, she was right. I still think I was correct about what I said about Porter, but Olsen had caught me out about my sloppy research. Anyway, anyway.....Olsen also once took me to see the Monarch butterflies' migration through Santa Cruz, a magical. experience. But I also remember thinking, how can one of the greatest writers in English be living in such a small house?
Blanche, what a wonderful story about Tillie catching you out. She saw the potential in younger writers, but also the evasions. As for the small house, I think the great Jack Gilbert spent his last years living in a cabin.
This is crafted with such art. I was struck by so many of the same lines as others. But, three times a month I go into prison to write with inmates and will tell them of the silent lines that begin all writing of power “Listen up. This matters.” They need to hear and believe it. Thank you.
Thank you, Guy. At the writers’ intensive where I’m coaching this week, we begin all readings with “Get a load o’ this!” Alternative: “Listen up, bitches!”
A book of short stories? A novel? Your writing is so razor edged and wise that I want more! I met you briefly but never forgot you. I knew you as an intrepid editor but as a writer you are amazing! Thank you!
We met? Must have been at one magazine or another. You might enjoy my two memoirs: MY MOTHER’S DAUGHTER, about becoming myself because of and in spite of the controlling, captivating woman who formed me, and STARTER DOG. Come back soon.
The whole thing is perfection. And this spoke to me: “I loved her boundlessly, and yet her death opened a door. It took courage to say that I flourished without her.”
This is so timely, Rona. I was just recalling that feeling as a young woman of knowing I have more to contribute but holding myself back and resenting my boss for taking over projects when I procrastinated. I was torn between ambition and lack of confidence. I loved that Tillie Olsen found you in that room. It reminds me of meeting a luminary around that time and knowing that she was sent to give me permission to step out of the shadows. It would be lovely to be that person for someone now.
Well I missed the first time this was posted. So now I'm reading it at Casa Paloma where I'm sharing writing and thinking and feeling time with you and so it means even more than it might have before. Learning here: "Listen up. This matters."
“Not every revolution strikes at a foe. For a woman who writes, the first barricade is within. To claim what you know, and tell it in your own voice, is a revolutionary act that not only remaps your emotional world but clears a path for others.” This is one of those quotes that I want to print out and put somewhere I’ll see it often.
I love the story of Tillie Olsen connecting with you at this gathering. And here I love how you weave in the images of hands. Particularly seeing the hands of your mother near the end. A marvelous example of claiming what you know, and telling it in your own voice can be found throughout this essay.
“Be of those who fight unnatural silences.” I’ve been sitting with this since I read the post on Sunday. I think the word unnatural is such an important word here. I think coming from a place where, in many cases, especially for women, silence is revered, it is sort of profound to remember that that does not make using our voice unnatural, not even if we’ve come to adapt silence by way of being told it’s what’s expected of us. I like the implication that it’s in our nature to belong to and share our own voices. Perhaps I should print this advice out and display it alongside the other.
I come from a family of nurses and started in the hospital where my mom and her sister were legendary. Big shoes to fill. It didn't help that I was constantly reminded that I didn't measure up. How could I? I was a newbie and they were amazing. Following in the footsteps of legends is not easy. Eventually, I moved to another hospital and found my way. Now, my mother calls me to tell me she spoke to so and so who I worked with in that original hospita 30+ years ago She always tells me that they commented on what a good nurse I was at that time. My mother always says "Of course she was, and she's even better now."
Well, my mouth is hanging open. I know, not the loveliest image to conjure, but this one made me weep. First, I love/d Tillie Olson with everything I have. I haven't read "I Stand Here Ironing" in years, will reread today. And of course, "For a woman who writes, the first barricade is within."
I started late, as you know, and am so grateful that I finally dropped the barricade and decided it was time to shine. My parents both held me back, I'm sure not for the same reason or involving similar dynamics that you experienced with your mom, but I too, needed my dad to die for my true life to begin. It was the oddest blessing I've ever received. Go, live, be. Love to you, my dear and supremely talented friend! xo
Nancy and I were speaking yesterday about how special you are. You’ve toppled that barricade. Good for you—and your readers.
Thank you, Rona! So much inspiration here. I love this community so. xo
Agreeing with you, Rona, and also with Nan. You're both important role models, examples of what it means to fertilize your own strength in order to bloom. I'm grateful to have found you both.
These lines, Rona. My stars, yes!
"Not every revolution strikes at a foe. For a woman who writes, the first barricade is within. To claim what you know, and tell it in your own voice, is a revolutionary act that not only remaps your emotional world but clears a path for others."
Let’s all keep on speaking our truths, shall we? The times demand no less.
“To claim what you know, and tell it in your own voice, is a revolutionary act that not only remaps your emotional world but clears a path for others.”
Don’t be surprised if I adopt your words as a personal Mission Statement! So eloquently you remind all of us to get ‘what’s in there, out’ not only for the benefit of others, but also for our own emotional health. Thank you!
Bob, I’d be honored. Our ability to hear one another has never mattered more.
Tillie Olsen published a poem of mine when I was in my very early twenties in an anthology she put together about mothers and daughters. It was the only poem I ever had published, about being a teenager trapped at home with my mother, watching her fork scrape across her teeth as she drank Scotch at the dinner table. I never wrote another poem that I can recall, but I did continue writing about my mother for many decades, culminating in my memoir The Burning Light of Two Stars published just a few years ago.
Rona, I just love your masterful manipulation of words and use of language, and now I will never forget your mother‘s red pen or the force of her character.
I am so glad you decided to republish this gorgeoys tribute or I never would have had the pleasure of it being the first thing I read this morning. It was such a better way to start the day then reading yet another alarming piece of news.
And I love seeing you here, Laura. Tillie Olsen had a gift for encouraging young women. It’s another bond we share.
This is wonderful to read. Tillie Olsen blurbed my first novel, Nerves, which did not deserve it, and her postcard with the quote she offered must have contained 200 words that I needed a magnifying glass to decipher. She was my hero, or one of them, along with Adrienne Rich and Katherine Anne Porter, and when I first read first "Tell Me a Riddle" I wept for two days. How could anyone take language to such a place? And "I Stand Here Ironing", well, I read it aloud to every class every semester for 40 years, pinching my leg so I would not cry. (When writers or teachers cry, I think we take up all the emotional in the room and embarrass our students.) Anyway, many years later, when I was on a book tour (what a joke!) with my novel Terminal Velocity, I had published a piece in the Village Voice about Katherine Anne Porter called "The Bad Mother: KAP and How I Grew," and Olsen had left me a note at my hotel saying that I should come see her. I had expected praise - Terminal Velocity was good and I knew it - but she just wanted to chastise me about Porter. "You didn't actually read her volume of letters, did you," she said, and, god damn it, she was right. I still think I was correct about what I said about Porter, but Olsen had caught me out about my sloppy research. Anyway, anyway.....Olsen also once took me to see the Monarch butterflies' migration through Santa Cruz, a magical. experience. But I also remember thinking, how can one of the greatest writers in English be living in such a small house?
Blanche, what a wonderful story about Tillie catching you out. She saw the potential in younger writers, but also the evasions. As for the small house, I think the great Jack Gilbert spent his last years living in a cabin.
This is crafted with such art. I was struck by so many of the same lines as others. But, three times a month I go into prison to write with inmates and will tell them of the silent lines that begin all writing of power “Listen up. This matters.” They need to hear and believe it. Thank you.
Thank you, Guy. At the writers’ intensive where I’m coaching this week, we begin all readings with “Get a load o’ this!” Alternative: “Listen up, bitches!”
Hard to say to 40 male inmates, though. But, damn, great starter. Guatemala sounds beautiful.
I like "Listen up, bitches!" hee hee hee
A book of short stories? A novel? Your writing is so razor edged and wise that I want more! I met you briefly but never forgot you. I knew you as an intrepid editor but as a writer you are amazing! Thank you!
We met? Must have been at one magazine or another. You might enjoy my two memoirs: MY MOTHER’S DAUGHTER, about becoming myself because of and in spite of the controlling, captivating woman who formed me, and STARTER DOG. Come back soon.
I totally agree with Marilyn! A book of your short stories would be monumental!
Bob, I’m not a fiction writer but take it as a compliment.
The whole thing is perfection. And this spoke to me: “I loved her boundlessly, and yet her death opened a door. It took courage to say that I flourished without her.”
Thank you, Margot. I’ve found it’s possible to miss my mother’s company while savoring my freedom from her expectations and inviolable rules.
Wow I love this and that Tillie came to you! I want to read that story again, I stand here Ironing. Thanks for including it.
Can’t read that story too many times.
Tillie Olson saw you before you saw yourself. Another marvel of an essay, Rona. The way you shift tone here is masterly.
She did indeed. And I was not the only one. I try to pass on the gift.
This is so timely, Rona. I was just recalling that feeling as a young woman of knowing I have more to contribute but holding myself back and resenting my boss for taking over projects when I procrastinated. I was torn between ambition and lack of confidence. I loved that Tillie Olsen found you in that room. It reminds me of meeting a luminary around that time and knowing that she was sent to give me permission to step out of the shadows. It would be lovely to be that person for someone now.
You will be, I have no doubt. Those of us who’ve been awakened by another, and reflected on the experience, will find a way to pass on the gift.
Well I missed the first time this was posted. So now I'm reading it at Casa Paloma where I'm sharing writing and thinking and feeling time with you and so it means even more than it might have before. Learning here: "Listen up. This matters."
Or, to put it another way: “Get a load o’ this!”
tiniest penmanship, fit for a doll’s book. loved that
Honestly, I wondered how she could shape those minute letters.
Telling you that I loved this feels inadequate, but reading it was a wonderful reminder that we women who write are anything but....
Women can’t get enough reminders that they have something to say to the world.
"Be of those who fight unnatural silences—your own and that which causes others—" I'm going to pin that to my wall. Wow. And thank you.
Tillie is still recruiting warriors, and this brings me joy.
“Not every revolution strikes at a foe. For a woman who writes, the first barricade is within. To claim what you know, and tell it in your own voice, is a revolutionary act that not only remaps your emotional world but clears a path for others.” This is one of those quotes that I want to print out and put somewhere I’ll see it often.
I love the story of Tillie Olsen connecting with you at this gathering. And here I love how you weave in the images of hands. Particularly seeing the hands of your mother near the end. A marvelous example of claiming what you know, and telling it in your own voice can be found throughout this essay.
“Be of those who fight unnatural silences.” I’ve been sitting with this since I read the post on Sunday. I think the word unnatural is such an important word here. I think coming from a place where, in many cases, especially for women, silence is revered, it is sort of profound to remember that that does not make using our voice unnatural, not even if we’ve come to adapt silence by way of being told it’s what’s expected of us. I like the implication that it’s in our nature to belong to and share our own voices. Perhaps I should print this advice out and display it alongside the other.
A wonderful post, Rona. Thank you.
Holly, it delights me to imagine my words on your wall next to Tillie’s, inspiring one who fights the unnatural silence by framing her truth in words.
Rona, I loved this for many reasons.
I come from a family of nurses and started in the hospital where my mom and her sister were legendary. Big shoes to fill. It didn't help that I was constantly reminded that I didn't measure up. How could I? I was a newbie and they were amazing. Following in the footsteps of legends is not easy. Eventually, I moved to another hospital and found my way. Now, my mother calls me to tell me she spoke to so and so who I worked with in that original hospita 30+ years ago She always tells me that they commented on what a good nurse I was at that time. My mother always says "Of course she was, and she's even better now."
Lisa, how that must have lit up your heart—and your mother’s. She knew both her daughter and the signs of an outstanding nurse.