Jeannie, it's wonderful to hear from you and know there are flickers of Searching in these Substack pieces. It's my most popular book, and best reviewed, so I love to think that I am carrying its attributes along! I find joy in your writing as well, so it's a circle of admiration here.
I see flickers of SEARCHING FOR MERCY STREET in your post today! It is fascinating to receive a glimpse into your childhood, and what I love most is that you received this informal education about the world of writing from your mom. It was better than anything you could have achieved at a university level! Honestly, I was clueless about writing when I was a kid. Every aspect of it I romanticized. But you knew from a young age that writing was arduous, and you were willing to invest in the necessary multiple revisions. I am not surprised you were able to find your own creative voice and share it with the world. How glad I am you have and continue to do so.
Jeannie I posted a previous reply for your comment, but it seems to have gone into the wrong place, beneath someone else's comment. I hope you still see it!
As usual, your writing is powerful and honest. Although I don't always understand all the poetry I read, I still find it reaches me in a way that fiction doesn't. How does one say so much in so little words?! I have thoroughly enjoyed Poetry Month, as I know you have too.
I love Poetry MOnth, as you can see from the piece. It takes me back to all those days of reading Mom's poems and writing my own. I think it's great you love it too--how wonderful to hear you say that it still reaches you in a way fiction doesn't. I think most people would say the opposite!
My mother, who had a doctorate from Radcliffe in Milton and carried the English canon in her head, gave me a copy of TRANSFORMATIONS. In my teens, I found it a wonderfully unsettling gift. To work on that book with your mother must have been an even more challenging, unforgettable gift.
It was a gift. So much of our relationship was a gift. I often write about the troubled times,, but I try also to focus on those where we were all on the same team as well. From all I know from your work and Joyce's, your mother was a FORCE to be reckoned with!
What a beautiful uplift to hear/see your voice again. Thank you for this wonderful memoir piece. In 2023 I was so touched by your outreach and by the poignancy of your sudden painful loss. I meditated on the ways you, your mother, and other writers have touched me. This is just something I penned informally back then as stranger who had no way to help in reality… I simply put words of gratitude on the page and shared them with a few of my my longtime poetry pals. I hope that my clumsy attempt at self-soothing from two years ago is not harmful to you in any way as you re-emerge into communion with others. I share this with you as a way to appreciate your resilient spirit and to celebrate your return to us.
Batons
A Gratitude
Poet Ellen Bass was in a small
workshop circle with Anne Sexton,
Boston University in 1970—
over a half a century ago,
when she was only 23.
Put your ear down close to your soul
and listen hard Anne said to Ellen
and the few in that breakthrough workshop.
The real function of metaphor is
to establish intimacy she said.
Anne told the circle she was
not a confessional poet.
I am a storyteller she insisted.
Ellen went on to invite writers into small circles
to share her early stories and to listen to metaphors
and stories from budding poets for decades to come.
There is so much that interests me in what you've written that I think I need a day to digest it all. Most of all, the idea that my mother called herself "a storyteller" at the end of her life really knocked me over for a personal reason. WHenever my husband complains that I am running on at the mouth, I remind him, coolly, that I am a storyteller and that he is obligated to listen!
ANd thank you for all the ways you have so understood me here, and what I am going through; to call it bravery strikes me, I must admit, as very accurate. WHatever I am doing here, scribbling around day to day, I certainly agree that it requires some sort of courage. Am I giving myself too much credit? God, I hope not!
Yay, your own way, Linda! ❤️
Yay, Anne Sexton's "Her Kind"! ❤️
JM, I love "yay your own way" and couldn't agree more about Her Kind
Jeannie, it's wonderful to hear from you and know there are flickers of Searching in these Substack pieces. It's my most popular book, and best reviewed, so I love to think that I am carrying its attributes along! I find joy in your writing as well, so it's a circle of admiration here.
Linda,
I see flickers of SEARCHING FOR MERCY STREET in your post today! It is fascinating to receive a glimpse into your childhood, and what I love most is that you received this informal education about the world of writing from your mom. It was better than anything you could have achieved at a university level! Honestly, I was clueless about writing when I was a kid. Every aspect of it I romanticized. But you knew from a young age that writing was arduous, and you were willing to invest in the necessary multiple revisions. I am not surprised you were able to find your own creative voice and share it with the world. How glad I am you have and continue to do so.
Jeannie I posted a previous reply for your comment, but it seems to have gone into the wrong place, beneath someone else's comment. I hope you still see it!
Got it, Linda! ☺️
So deeply moving, Linda!
Thanks, Heather! Makes me feel great to hear YOU say that!
As usual, your writing is powerful and honest. Although I don't always understand all the poetry I read, I still find it reaches me in a way that fiction doesn't. How does one say so much in so little words?! I have thoroughly enjoyed Poetry Month, as I know you have too.
I love Poetry MOnth, as you can see from the piece. It takes me back to all those days of reading Mom's poems and writing my own. I think it's great you love it too--how wonderful to hear you say that it still reaches you in a way fiction doesn't. I think most people would say the opposite!
My mother, who had a doctorate from Radcliffe in Milton and carried the English canon in her head, gave me a copy of TRANSFORMATIONS. In my teens, I found it a wonderfully unsettling gift. To work on that book with your mother must have been an even more challenging, unforgettable gift.
It was a gift. So much of our relationship was a gift. I often write about the troubled times,, but I try also to focus on those where we were all on the same team as well. From all I know from your work and Joyce's, your mother was a FORCE to be reckoned with!
shorter please... ty!
Dear Linda,
What a beautiful uplift to hear/see your voice again. Thank you for this wonderful memoir piece. In 2023 I was so touched by your outreach and by the poignancy of your sudden painful loss. I meditated on the ways you, your mother, and other writers have touched me. This is just something I penned informally back then as stranger who had no way to help in reality… I simply put words of gratitude on the page and shared them with a few of my my longtime poetry pals. I hope that my clumsy attempt at self-soothing from two years ago is not harmful to you in any way as you re-emerge into communion with others. I share this with you as a way to appreciate your resilient spirit and to celebrate your return to us.
Batons
A Gratitude
Poet Ellen Bass was in a small
workshop circle with Anne Sexton,
Boston University in 1970—
over a half a century ago,
when she was only 23.
Put your ear down close to your soul
and listen hard Anne said to Ellen
and the few in that breakthrough workshop.
The real function of metaphor is
to establish intimacy she said.
Anne told the circle she was
not a confessional poet.
I am a storyteller she insisted.
Ellen went on to invite writers into small circles
to share her early stories and to listen to metaphors
and stories from budding poets for decades to come.
Anne’s daughter Linda struggled after
her mother’s suicide in the fall of ’74,
and she attempted suicide several times herself.
Keats’ half in love with death gave Linda
the title of her memoir that helped her,
and some others of us, to heal.
She reached out to readers and writers
with her hard-won wisdom harvested after
years in the desolate fields of depression.
Several weeks after I signed on to receive
Linda’s Letters which invited me with
I am inspired by life, love, writing, family,
and sometimes even dogs. A warm
welcome to you! Linda wrote again to say,
after the suicide of her son, Alexander,
I am rendered mute.
Thank you, Anne, for your breakthrough literary
stand against the gale winds of mental illness.
Thank you, Ellen, for your hopeful storytelling.
Thank you, Linda, for your brave persistence.
May you rest your ear next to your soul,
hear echos of our scribbler family love.
There is so much that interests me in what you've written that I think I need a day to digest it all. Most of all, the idea that my mother called herself "a storyteller" at the end of her life really knocked me over for a personal reason. WHenever my husband complains that I am running on at the mouth, I remind him, coolly, that I am a storyteller and that he is obligated to listen!
ANd thank you for all the ways you have so understood me here, and what I am going through; to call it bravery strikes me, I must admit, as very accurate. WHatever I am doing here, scribbling around day to day, I certainly agree that it requires some sort of courage. Am I giving myself too much credit? God, I hope not!