Marge Piercy: Poetry With A Vibrant Sense of Self and Community

The following quote is by poet Marge Piercy. She is a most brilliant and prolific writer: she is the author of fourteen poetry books, several novels, a play, numerous essays and her work is included in many anthologies. According to her,

“The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.”

This is from a poem entitled “For the young who want to” and the entire poem can be read at http://archer-books.com/Piercy/young.htm.

Piercy believes in working and working hard. Her work is writing and fortunately, Marge Piercy loves to write! Born in Detroit, Michigan in 1936 to a father who grew up in a coal mining town in Pennsylvania and a mother who grew up in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Cleveland during the Depression era, Marge gained respect for both work and play. Her mother strongly encouraged Marge to read, read, and read. This was part of the work. The other part was for Marge to be a keen observer and sharp memorist. Marge’s play was listening to her maternal Jewish grandmother who came from a Lithuanian town spin tales. Often the stories rallied characters like gollums and rabbis.

Due to her mother’s dedication and devotion to Jewish traditions, Marge was raised in the Jewish religion. In addition to the influence of her mother and grandmother, a bout with German measles that resulted into rheumatic fever provided another opportunity for Marge to develop her love of reading even more. After recuperating from the illness, Marge no longer was as robust as before, and she devoted much of her time to books. As a result, Marge Piercy was the first person in her family to attend a university. Little did anyone realize that the foundation also had been richly fertilzed for Marge who was to become such a strong revolutionary literary poet.

The following poem brings to the reader a sense of the poet’s difference of feelings and connections that she had between herself and her mother and between her grandmother.

“Snowflakes, my mother called them”

Snowflakes, my mother called them.
My grandmother made papercuts
until she was too blind to see
the intricate birds, trees, mogen
davids, moons, flowers
that appeared like magic

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