Carolyn D. Wright

Carolyn D. Wright Poems

1.

A girl on the stairs listens to her father
Beat up her mother.
Doors bang.
She comes down in her nightgown.
...

Some nights I sleep with my dress on. My teeth
are small and even. I don't get headaches.
Since 1971 or before, I have hunted a bench
where I could eat my pimento cheese in peace.
...

You could ask any one of them up by the lake
It had presence

Fold of coldness folded over cold
...

The visitor woke early as visitors are often

curious as to what will happen next
...

The set was on when she fell asleep
In black and white
a woman was gliding through a garden in period clothes
and a child was touching
...

People study the dingy chenille clouds for a sign.
People did what they have done.
A town, a time, and a woman who lived there.
And left undone what they ought not to have did.
...

Three people drinking out of the bottle
in the living room.
A cold rain. Quiet as a mirror.
...

She was changing on the inside
it was true what had been written

The new syntax of love
...

has been written in mud and butter
and barbecue sauce. The walls and
the floors used to be gorgeous.
...

10.

the breath the trees the bridge

the road the rain the sheen

the breath the line the skin
...

a bed is left open to a mirror
a mirror gazes long and hard at a bed

light fingers the house with its own acoustics
...

Is the woman in the pool of light
really reading or just staring
at what is written
...

13.

If this is Wednesday, write Lazartigues, return library books, pick up passport form, cancel the paper.

If this is Wednesday, mail B her flyers and K her shirts. Last thing I asked as I walked K to her car, "You sure you have everything?" "Oh yes," she smiled, as she squalled off. Whole wardrobe in front closet.
...

I back the car over a soft, large object;
hair appears on my chest in dreams.
The paperboy comes to collect
with a pit bull. Call Grandmother
...

Naturally there would be frijoles tortillas habaneros and queso

there would be a man sharpening knives on a stationary bike

brass instruments and just this one time the absence of mariachis
...

Whether or not the water was freezing. The body

would break its sheathe. Without layer on layer

of feather and air to insulate the loving belly.
...

Night: wears itself away clouds too dense to skim
over the shear granite rim only a moment before
someone sitting in a mission chair convinced 101%
convinced she could see into her very cells
...

The hand was having a hard time holding the pen.

A superficial cut.

A long clear silent night.
...

The left hand rests on the paper.

The hand has entered the frame just below the elbow.

The other hand is in its service.
...

Whether or not the park was safe

she was going in. A study concluded, for a park

to be successful there had to be women.
...

Carolyn D. Wright Biography

Carolyn D. "C. D." Wright (born January 6, 1949) is an American poet. C. D. Wright was born in Mountain Home, Arkansas to a chancery judge and a court reporter. She earned a BA in French from Memphis State College (now the University of Memphis) in 1971 and briefly attended law school before leaving to pursue an MFA from the University of Arkansas, which she received in 1976. Her poetry thesis was titled Alla Breve Loving. In 1977 the publishing company founded by Frank Stanford, Lost Roads, published Wright's first collection, Room Rented by A Single Woman. After Stanford died in 1978, Wright took over Lost Roads, continuing the mission of publishing new poets and starting the practice of publishing translations. In 1979, she moved to San Francisco, where she met poet Forrest Gander. Wright and Gander married in 1983 and have a son, Brecht, and co-edited Lost Roads until 2005. In 1981, Wright lived in Dolores Hidalgo, Mexico and completed her second book of poems, Translation of the Gospel Back into Tongues. In 1983 she moved to Providence, Rhode Island to teach writing at Brown University where she is now Israel J. Kapstein Professor of English. In 2013, Wright was elected a chancellor of the Academy of American Poets. Stephen Burt has described her as an Elliptical Poet. while Joel Brouwer has said she "…belongs to a school of exactly one." Wright's poetry is rooted in a sense of place and time and often employs distinct voices in dialogue, particularly those of the American South. Her work is formally inventive and often documentary in spirit, in the sense that it honors those whose stories or voices might be lost were it not for her writing. Her diction mixes high and low to surprising effect, and her range of reference is both broad and deep, including phrases from other languages, allusions to other poems, and pieces of conversation. Her books include precisely distilled lyrics such as those collected in Tremble as well as book-length poems beginning with Just Whistle, her first collaboration with photographer Deborah Luster. In a 2001 interview with Kent Johnson, Wright said, "As to my own aesthetic associations / affiliations / sympathies: I have never belonged to a notable element of writers who identified with one another partly because I come from Arkansas, specifically that part of Arkansas known for its resistance-to-joining, a non-urban environment where readily identifiable groups and sub-groups are less likely to form." In the same interview, she states, "… The theoretically-driven San Francisco poets who were in cahoots with poets in New York and conversant with European vanguard movements — they provided me with a need to become critically aware of my back-home ways; sharpened me to a degree. I’m grateful for the exposure, the education. I am indebted to particular poets’ work from that point in time, but I am not an intellectual in the sense that qualifies or requires me to belong to a manifestoed-group. And of course one comes to take some pride in one's own outsider status." Wright has published literary maps of both Rhode Island and Arkansas. Wright's later work includes String Light; Deepstep Come Shining, a book-length poem; and One Big Self: Prisoners of Louisiana, another collaboration with photographer Deborah Luster. Her poems are featured in American Alphabets: 25 Contemporary Poets (2006) and many other anthologies. Her most recent book, One With Others (Copper Canyon Press, 2010) mixes investigative journalism, history and poetry to explore homegrown civil rights incidents and the critical role her mentor, a brilliant and difficult woman, played in a little-known 1969 March Against Fear in her native Arkansas.)

The Best Poem Of Carolyn D. Wright

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A girl on the stairs listens to her father
Beat up her mother.
Doors bang.
She comes down in her nightgown.

The piano stands there in the dark
Like a boy with an orchid.

She plays what she can
Then she turns the lamp on.

Her mother's music is spread out
On the floor like brochures.

She hears her father
Running through the leaves.

The last black key
She presses stays down, makes no sound
Someone putting their tongue where their tooth had been.

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