Ellen Bass
Autor/a de The Courage to Heal
Sobre l'autor
Crèdit de la imatge: Janet Bryer
Obres de Ellen Bass
I Never Told Anyone: Writings by Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse (1983) — Editor — 174 exemplars
Incest och andra sexuella övergrepp : handbok för överlevare. Arbetsbok för både kvinnliga och manliga överlevare (1996) 2 exemplars
Obres associades
Ink Knows No Borders: Poems of the Immigrant and Refugee Experience (2019) — Col·laborador — 66 exemplars
Buzz Words: Poems About Insects (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series) (2021) — Col·laborador — 31 exemplars
The Golden Shovel Anthology: New Poems Honoring Gwendolyn Brooks (2017) — Col·laborador — 16 exemplars
Collective Brightness: LGBTIQ Poets on Faith, Religion & Spirituality (2011) — Col·laborador — 14 exemplars
Dear America: Letters of Hope, Habitat, Defiance, and Democracy (2020) — Col·laborador — 3 exemplars
Peace or perish : a crisis anthology — Col·laborador — 3 exemplars
Nimrod International Journal: Awards 22: Food for Thought: Volume 44 Number 1: Fall/Winter 2000 (2000) — Col·laborador — 1 exemplars
Etiquetat
Coneixement comú
- Nom normalitzat
- Bass, Ellen
- Data de naixement
- 1947-06-16
- Gènere
- female
- Nacionalitat
- USA
- Llocs de residència
- Santa Cruz, California, USA
- Educació
- Russell Sage College (1965-1966)
Goucher College (AB | 1968)
Boston University (AM | 1970)
Boston Psychodrama Institute (1972-1973) - Professions
- poet
counselor
lecturer - Biografia breu
- Ellen Bass co-edited (with Florence Howe) the groundbreaking No More Masks! An Anthology of Poems by Women (Doubleday, 1973), has published several previous volumes of poetry, including Mules of Love (BOA, 2002) which won the Lambda Literary Award. Her poems have appeared in hundreds of journals and anthologies, including The Atlantic Monthly, Ms., The American Poetry Review, The Kenyon Review, Ploughshares, and Field. She was awarded the Elliston Book Award for Poetry from the University of Cincinnati, Nimrod/Hardman's Pablo Neruda Prize, The Missouri Review's Larry Levis Award, the Greensboro Poetry Prize, the New Letters Poetry Prize, the Chautauqua Poetry Prize, a Pushcart Prize, and a Fellowship from the California Arts Council. Her non-fiction books include Free Your Mind: The Book for Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Youth (HarperCollins 1996), I Never Told Anyone: Writings by Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse (HarperCollins, 1983) and The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse (Harper Collins 1988), which has sold over a million copies and has been translated into ten languages. She currently is teaching in the low residency MFA program at Pacific University and has taught poetry and creative writing in Santa Cruz, CA and at other beautiful locations nationally and internationally--since 1974.
Membres
Ressenyes
Premis
Potser també t'agrada
Autors associats
Estadístiques
- Obres
- 20
- També de
- 17
- Membres
- 1,811
- Popularitat
- #14,204
- Valoració
- 4.0
- Ressenyes
- 14
- ISBN
- 54
- Llengües
- 4
- Preferit
- 1
I love her poetry. For me it is very personal and warm and human. I realize that the persona in a poem is not necessarily the author but much of Bass's poetry seems like snippets from her own life or experiences.
Looking through the reviews a lot of people seem to concur with me and I also noticed quotes from a number of the same poems I like. But there were plenty of other poems in this collection that are, perhaps, less talked about but also resonated with me because of my own experiences.
The Last Week
I thought she would want to save me
from it, the stench and the shame,
but in the last week of dying,
my mother let me change her diaper,
let me wipe her with a warm, wet cloth
and slide the sheet under her hips,
the flesh softening, bones widening,
gravity pulling her back to earth like fallen fruit.
I need to say how precise she was.
She had a rage for order, my mother.
In the store she wrapped half-pints of cheap gin
with the same care she gave to Chivas Regal.
She smoothed the glossy holiday paper,
folding the torn edge under, sharpening
the crease with her thumbnail,
tucking the ends into a humble origami.
I thought she'd cling to her dignity
but she seemed to forgive her body,
all its chaos and collapse,
or maybe it was a final ripening of trust or love, abandon.
I'm not sure what to call it.
I like the lines,
."the flesh softening, bones widening,
gravity pulling her back to earth like fallen fruit."
and the later references to fruit again,
"she seemed to forgive her body,
all its chaos and collapse,
or maybe it was a final ripening of trust or love, abandon."
and the final poignant line,
I'm not sure what to call it.
What do you call it? I remember thinking similar thoughts during the months long deterioration of my mother's health in a nursing home and eventual passing away in the hospital. Dignity abandoned or maybe it just doesn't matter any more? It was hard to say.… (més)