Marge Piercy
Marge Piercy
Marge Piercyis an American poet, novelist, and social activist. Piercy is the author of Woman on the Edge of Time; He, She and It, which won the 1993 Arthur C. Clarke Award; and Gone to Soldiers, a New York Times Best Seller and sweeping historical novel set during World War II...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth31 March 1936
CountryUnited States of America
baby children pain
Every baby born unloved, unwanted, is a bill that will come due in twenty years with interest, an anger that must find a target, a pain that will beget pain. A decade downstream a child screams, a woman falls, a synagogue is torched, a firing squad is summoned, a button is pushed and the world burns.
doorways sacred
Doorways are sacred to women for we are the doorways of life and we must choose what comes in and what goes out.
stubborn dirt committed
When midlist writers are treated like dirt, I would desist were I less stubborn and less committed.
laughter erotic
Shared laughter is erotic too.
hands dust done
The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. But the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
world mud common
The work of the world is common as mud.
reading cat body
I like communicating with cats. I know them and their body language - as my own cats know mine very well. Cats are adept at reading subtle signals.
hair long may
Long hair is considered bohemian, which may be why I grew it, but I keep it long because I love the way it feels, part cloak, part fan, part mane, part security blanket.
powerful revolution
The powerful don't make revolutions
eye angel brain
When I work I am pure as an angel tiger and clear is my eye and hot my brain and silent all the whining grunting piglets of the appetites.
stars butterfly rocks
One of the best gifts you can give a poet is to present them with field guides - to rocks, to stars, to birds, to wildflowers, to trees and bushes, to butterflies, to reptiles and amphibians. Because when you look at anything long enough to be able to identify it, you see far more clearly and you make a tiny beginning at understanding the life, the place, the history of that bird or rock or mammal.
imagine utopia knows
We can only know what we can truly imagine. Finally what we see comes from ourselves.
hands purple erotic
Purple as tulips in May, mauve into lush velvet, purple as the stain blackberries leave on the lips, on the hands, the purple of ripe grapes sunlit and warm as flesh....
daughter mother novel
I am my mother's daughter,... I am her only novel.