Quote

You are built to pull a cart, to lift a heavy load and bear it, to haul up the long slope, and so am I, peasant bodies, earthy, solid shapely dark glazed clay pots that can stand on the fire.

Marge Piercy

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Marge Piercy
Age: 88
Born: 1936
Born: March 31
Activist
Climate Activist
Feminist
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Detroit
Michigan
Strength
Solid
Slopes
Stand
Lifts
Carts
Shapely
Fire
Pull
Haul
Glazed
Dark
Bodies
Peasants
Earthy
Body
Bear
Pot
Slope
Long
Heavy
Clay
Pots
Bears
Load
Cart
Built
Lift
Peasant

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Sleeping together is a euphemism for people, but tantamount to marriage with cats.
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Art is a game only if you playat it, a mirror that reflects from the inside out.
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The real writer is one who really writes.
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The powerful don't make revolutions
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Remember that every son had a mother whose beloved son he was, and every woman had a mother whose beloved son she wasn't.
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I said, I like my life. If Ihave to give it back, if theytake it from me, let me onlynot feel I wasted any, let menot feel I forgot to love anyoneI meant to love, that I forgotto give what I held in my hands,that I forgot to do some littlepiece of the work that wantedto come through.
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My grandmother was very important to me. She gave me my religious education. She gave me a sense of the female side of Judaism, of the rich store of stories and legends of the women of the schtetl.
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A strong woman is a woman at work, cleaning out the cesspool of the ages, and while she shovels, she talks about how she doesn't mind crying, it opens the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up develops the stomach muscles, and she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.
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Shared laughter is erotic too.
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Whatever is not an energy source, is an energy sink.
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Every Jewish holiday has a religious significance, a historical significance, and a relevance to the time of year in the natural calendar of the seasons and trees and growing things, as well as a personal significance. So you are always looking backward, outward, inward and forward.
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The price of seeing is silence.
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The anger of the weak never goes away, Professor, it just gets a little moldy. It molds like a beautiful blue cheese in the dark, growing stronger, and more interesting. The poor and the weak die with all their anger intact and probably those angers go on growing in the dark of the grave like the hair and the nails.
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Every artist creates with open eyes what she sees in her dream.
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I am a driven writer. I feel guilty if I don't write, not self-indulgent if I do.
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Suppose that a person writes what she must. That is only the first step of becoming a writer. The work must survive the moment of creation. It must get out to an audience. She or he must dare to show the work. She must risk ridicule, misunderstanding, scandal, condemnation, & what's often worse, none of the above: silence. No attention at all.
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Shall I tell you something I've been noticing? The mistrust this society has for women. All kinds of experts and officials are terrified because so many women are working. They really think that women have to be coerced into having babies and raising kids.
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Your anger was a climate I inhabited like a desert in a dry frigid weather of high thin air and ivory sun, sand dunes the wind lifted into stinging clouds that blinded and choked me where the only ice was in the blood.
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I wasn't afraid of being poor I rather took it for granted. I was good at getting by with very little. I couldn't imagine sacrificing my writing to anything else.
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I did not always know I would be a writer. Until I had a room of my own, I did not write much at all - no more than any other child who read a lot of books. I began to write fiction and poetry when I first had a room that was truly my own with a door that shut and some measure, however fragile, of privacy.
Marge Piercy