“After you flew across the country we got in bed, laid our bodies delicately together, like maps laid face to face, East to West, my San Francisco against your New York, your Fire Island against my Sonoma, my New Orleans… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
Poems come from ordinary experiences and objects, I think. Out of memory - a dress I lent my daughter on her way back to… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
There are some fine books and essays about that. Lewis Hyde has written about alcoholism and poets and the role that society gives its… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
I'm not asking a poem to carry a lot of rocks in its pockets. Just being an ordinary observer and liver and feeler and… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
“How do they do it, the ones who make love without love? How do they come to the come to the come to the… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
She'd crack A joke sharp as a tin lid Hot from the teeth of the can-opener, And cackle her crack-corn laugh. — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
If I wrote in a sonnet form, I would be distorting. Or if I had some great new idea for line breaks and I… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
Many poets write books. They'll tell you: Well, I've got my next book, but there are two poems I need to write, one about… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
“as if languagelessness was a step up, in evolution, from the chatter of consciousness.” — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
Maybe we can use a metaphor for it, out of dance. I think for many years I was aware of the need, in dance… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
Who wants to put together something that will bear some relationship to the vision or memory or experience or story or idea or dream… — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
“I put my arms around a trunk and squeezed it, then I lay down on my father's grave.” — Sharon Olds Copy Share Image
