Adrienne Rich, z”l

A few words on the death this week of the poet Adrienne Rich:

Adrienne Rich /AP Photo by Stuart Lamson

I first encountered her work in the early 1970s when my high school boyfriend Ron was assigned some of her poetry. Today, almost 40 years later, I still remember the opening lines to one of those poems, “Trying to Talk With a Man,” about a marriage at the breaking point:

Out in thisĀ desert we are testing bombs
that’s why we cameĀ here.

I next encountered Rich in person, in the late 1980s, when I was living in Sacramento and involved with the local chapter of a national group called New Jewish Agenda. We were a motley collection of Jewish ex-hippies and Old Leftists and young yuppies who shared progressive politics and didn’t connect with the organized Jewish community. We needed a speaker at some kind of event… and somehow we got her phone number and called her…. and she came! All the way from Santa Cruz to Sacramento, to speak to our little group of a few dozen people, for free. Or maybe we paid her $50, I don’t remember. But she was already a National Book Award winner. She could have demanded hundreds or thousands of dollars. And she didn’t.

When I found Rich again — perhaps the most important encounter for me — it was shortly after I had given birth to my daughter. I was home with the baby, exhausted, disoriented, fearing I’d lost my identity as an independent adult forever, and wondering why I wasn’t feeling blissed out with motherhood like everyone else seemed to be. This was before the spread of mommy blogs, before Ayelet Waldman’s Bad Mother, before all those jokey coffee table books about three-martini play dates. There was really nobody giving voice to the ambivalence I felt except maybe Anne Lamott and… Adrienne Rich, in her book of essays called “Of Woman Born.”

Now I’m looking for my copy to quote from it, and I can’t find it. But I remember an essay where she unflinchingly described the dark side of motherhood — the murderous impulses, the anger as passionate as the love. It was a stunning beam of light in the darkness. It helped me feel I wasn’t crazy. I carried Rich around in my head while I wrote my novel The Mother’s Group. If I ever get it published, she is one of the people to whom it will be dedicated.

With her death, I’m ashamed by how little I have actually read of her writing over the past four decades. And amazed by how much she affected me, especially given how little of her work I’ve read.

Adrienne Rich was one of our modern-day incarnations of a Biblical prophet — driven by a moral compass, speaking truth to power, and speaking it with precision, clarity and beauty.

May her memory be a blessing, and may there be someone like her for my daughter’s generation.

Tags: , , , , , ,

5 Responses to “Adrienne Rich, z”l”

  1. Judy Says:

    That is such a beautiful dedication to Adrienne Rich. I have not read her week, But hope to. Thank you fo sharing….as always! Judy

  2. laurawrites1 Says:

    I too posted about this giant of a Jewish woman yesterday. We need a place to collectively sit Shiva together for Adrienne.

    It’s a blessing to be in this world with like-minded women.


  3. laurawrites1 Says:

    Part two. Or perhaps better than sitting Shiva, we need to come together in small groups of women, to talk about her, what we learned from her and how she affected us and to read her work aloud to one another for an evening. Or for a week, or for shloshim– the traditional first 30 days of mourning.

    All the best to you,


  4. Roberta Guise (@RobertaGuise) Says:

    That you’ve carried her around in your head and let her guide you in some of your darkest hours would seem to me to be more valuable than if you had read all her work and then…nothing. What you wrote here is in itself a gift.

    Shabbat shalom! Roberta

  5. Nat Kuhn Says:

    Thanks Ilana! Enjoyed your post, glad to finally sit myself down and read the poem I’ve been hearing about for decades, and very glad to be introduced to!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: