a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and environmental activist. She is among the most-honoured authors of fiction in recent history; she is a winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award and Prince of Asturias award for Literature, has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize five times, winning once, and has been a finalist for the Governor General's Award seven times, winning twice.
While she is best known for her work as a novelist, she is also a poet, having published 15 books of poetry to date. Many of her poems have been inspired by myths and fairy tales, which have been interests of hers from an early age. Atwood has published short stories in Tamarack Review, ... more »
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Margaret Atwood Poems
A Sad Child
You're sad because you're sad. It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing
The world is full of women who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself if they had the chance. Quit dancing. Get some self-respect
You Fit Into Me
You fit into me like a hook into an eye a fish hook
This is a Photograph of Me
It was taken some time ago At first it seems to be a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flecks
This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible:
Variation On The Word Sleep
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep
Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry
Marriage is not a house or even a tent
Variations on the Word Love
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size for those warm blanks in speech, for those red heart- shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
Morning in the Burned House
In the burned house I am eating breakfast. You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast, yet here I am.
The City Planners
Cruising these residential Sunday streets in dry August sunlight: what offends us is the sanities:
Gone are the days when you could walk on water. When you could walk.
My daughter plays on the floor with plastic letters, red, blue & hard yellow, learning how to spell,
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Popular art is the dream of society; it does not examine itself.''Margaret Atwood (b. 1939), Canadian novelist, poet, critic. repr. In Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (1990). "A Question Of Metamorphosis," no. 4...
''If a stranger taps you on the ass and says, "How's the little lady today!" you will probably cringe. But if he's an American, he's only being friendly.''Margaret Atwood (b. 1939), Canadian novelist, poet, critic. repr. In Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (1990). "A Question Of Metamorphosis," no. 4...
''I feel that the task of criticizing my poetry is best left to others (i.e. critics) and would much rather have it take place after I am dead. If at all.''Margaret Atwood (b. 1939), Canadian poet and novelist. As quoted in Contemporary Poets, 3rd ed., by James Vinson (1980).
''Everyone thinks writers must know more about the inside of the human head, but that is wrong. They know less, that's why they write. Trying to find out what everyone else takes for granted.''Margaret Atwood (b. 1939), Canadian novelist, poet, critic. Dancing Girls, "Lives of the Poets," (1977).
''The beginning of Canadian cultural nationalism was not "Am I really that oppressed?" but "Am I really that boring?"''Margaret Atwood (b. 1939), Canadian novelist, poet, critic. repr. In Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (1990). "Dancing On the Edge of the Precipic...
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
A Sad Child
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream ...