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Diving Into the Wreck
"I came to explore the wreck. / The words are purposes. / The words are maps. / I came to see the damage that was done / and the treasures that prevail." These provocative poems move with the power of Rich's distinctive voice.
62 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1973
About the author
Adrienne Rich
132 books1,396 followersWorks, notably
Diving into the Wreck
(1973), of American poet and essayist Adrienne Rich champion such causes as pacifism, feminism, and civil rights for gays and lesbians.
A mother bore Adrienne Cecile Rich, a feminist, to a middle-class family with parents, who educated her until she entered public school in the fourth grade. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Radcliffe college in 1951, the same year of her first book of poems, A Change of World. That volume, chosen by W. H. Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award, and her next, The Diamond Cutters and Other Poems (1955), earned her a reputation as an elegant, controlled stylist.
In the 1960s, however, Rich began a dramatic shift away from her earlier mode as she took up political and feminist themes and stylistic experimentation in such works as Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law (1963), The Necessities of Life (1966), Leaflets (1969), and The Will to Change (1971). In Diving into the Wreck (1973) and The Dream of a Common Language (1978), she continued to experiment with form and to deal with the experiences and aspirations of women from a feminist perspective.
In addition to her poetry, Rich has published many essays on poetry, feminism, motherhood, and lesbianism. Her recent collections include An Atlas of the Difficult World (1991) and Dark Fields of the Republic: Poems 1991–1995 (1995).
A mother bore Adrienne Cecile Rich, a feminist, to a middle-class family with parents, who educated her until she entered public school in the fourth grade. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Radcliffe college in 1951, the same year of her first book of poems, A Change of World. That volume, chosen by W. H. Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award, and her next, The Diamond Cutters and Other Poems (1955), earned her a reputation as an elegant, controlled stylist.
In the 1960s, however, Rich began a dramatic shift away from her earlier mode as she took up political and feminist themes and stylistic experimentation in such works as Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law (1963), The Necessities of Life (1966), Leaflets (1969), and The Will to Change (1971). In Diving into the Wreck (1973) and The Dream of a Common Language (1978), she continued to experiment with form and to deal with the experiences and aspirations of women from a feminist perspective.
In addition to her poetry, Rich has published many essays on poetry, feminism, motherhood, and lesbianism. Her recent collections include An Atlas of the Difficult World (1991) and Dark Fields of the Republic: Poems 1991–1995 (1995).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 435 reviews
January 4, 2015
With language as clinically apocalyptic and claustrophobically dystopic as anything to be found in the postmodern nightmares of Ballard and DeLillo, Diving Into the Wreck rages against the heteronormative status quo as Rich points her poetic finger at men and women, both of whom bear the burden of guilt. These poems range across shifting tropes such as ecological destruction, commodification, Vietnam, dreams and violence to showcase Rich's belief that the domestic scene is as much a prison as the Hanoi Hotel, except the torture here is being administered specifically on the psyches of women by all the socially acclimated cyborgs, with their gender roles callously installed at an early age and their mass-produced parts clicking and whirling, every one of them leading lives as sinister as a hive mind horde and as banal as a commercial seen for the thousandth time. The titular poem is Rich at her best, weaving an astounding metaphor for the mystery of meaning and identity that rises above simply condemning either gender. Meant to make men squirm and women take a long sober and look at themselves, the short-fused poems found in this collection are an angry swarm of bees written by a very angry poet. A much needed kick to the teeth for every reader.
September 13, 2011
Wow.
That's all. WOW.
I was thinking of writing some brilliant review to follow up the madness of inspiration banging around in my head after a day of reading. But, what can I say except that everyone should read this! I found the small amount of ratings of this book to be somewhat shocking considering how powerful it is. There were moments of tingly-goodness on almost every page. Only a few poems fell short for me, but that was only because of the other poems that towered over them. The ones that I found to be just okay, I'm sure would impress me just as much on their own.
The opening line of this book declares itself outright, "Out in this desert we are testing bombs". It sets the intensity that pulses throughout every poem. I annoyed the hell out of my friend today by constantly interrupting with select readings.
"Hey Stephen, do you want-
Shhh! listen to this!
'They were showing / in a glass case, the Man Without A Country. / We held up our passports in his face, we wept for him."
My friend quite succinctly summed up the strongest aspect of the writing, it has an abrupt emotionality. It's true that some poetry can leave you feeling cold. Often meaning is obfuscated by extended metaphors, symbols and motifs. But Rich uses metaphors like atom bombs. You absolutely believe that she lived and suffered for her writing. I found this passage to be particularly powerful from the brilliantly-titled poem "The Phenomenology of Anger":
"I suddenly see the world
as no longer viable:
you are out there burning the crops
with some new sublimate
This morning you left the bed
we still share
and went out to spread impotence
upon the world
I hate you.
I hate the mask you wear, your eyes
assuming a depth
they do not possess, drawing me
into the grotto of your skull
the landscape of bone
I hate your words
they make me think of fake
revolutionary bills
crisp imitation parchment
they sell at battlefields.
Last night, in this room, weeping
I asked you: what are you feeling?
do you feel anything?
Now in the torsion of your body
as you defoliate the fields we lived from
I have your answer."
My only criticism stems somewhat from my praise. Since the work is so powerful and dramatic, it may at times lose you. I sometimes wondered, is it really that bad? Much of the book is a complete condemnation of domesticity. But I kept thinking that it isn't that black and white. Rich expresses the confines of prescribed roles are such that they squelch the individual. The confines which she wishes to break from are literally causing an internal death, as many of the housewives at the time of her writing were experiencing. But, I couldn't help feel, as other feminists have expressed, there is a certain comfort within the home. There is a comfort within being a part of that passive, assigned role. Rich treats the home like a cancer. I think the subject to be a bit more complicated than that.
Despite this, it was never enough to shut me out of her writing completely. The power of her writing more than earns her the right to voice these terrors that were eating away at her. I came to understand and respect her plight through this book of poetry.
That's all. WOW.
I was thinking of writing some brilliant review to follow up the madness of inspiration banging around in my head after a day of reading. But, what can I say except that everyone should read this! I found the small amount of ratings of this book to be somewhat shocking considering how powerful it is. There were moments of tingly-goodness on almost every page. Only a few poems fell short for me, but that was only because of the other poems that towered over them. The ones that I found to be just okay, I'm sure would impress me just as much on their own.
The opening line of this book declares itself outright, "Out in this desert we are testing bombs". It sets the intensity that pulses throughout every poem. I annoyed the hell out of my friend today by constantly interrupting with select readings.
"Hey Stephen, do you want-
Shhh! listen to this!
'They were showing / in a glass case, the Man Without A Country. / We held up our passports in his face, we wept for him."
My friend quite succinctly summed up the strongest aspect of the writing, it has an abrupt emotionality. It's true that some poetry can leave you feeling cold. Often meaning is obfuscated by extended metaphors, symbols and motifs. But Rich uses metaphors like atom bombs. You absolutely believe that she lived and suffered for her writing. I found this passage to be particularly powerful from the brilliantly-titled poem "The Phenomenology of Anger":
"I suddenly see the world
as no longer viable:
you are out there burning the crops
with some new sublimate
This morning you left the bed
we still share
and went out to spread impotence
upon the world
I hate you.
I hate the mask you wear, your eyes
assuming a depth
they do not possess, drawing me
into the grotto of your skull
the landscape of bone
I hate your words
they make me think of fake
revolutionary bills
crisp imitation parchment
they sell at battlefields.
Last night, in this room, weeping
I asked you: what are you feeling?
do you feel anything?
Now in the torsion of your body
as you defoliate the fields we lived from
I have your answer."
My only criticism stems somewhat from my praise. Since the work is so powerful and dramatic, it may at times lose you. I sometimes wondered, is it really that bad? Much of the book is a complete condemnation of domesticity. But I kept thinking that it isn't that black and white. Rich expresses the confines of prescribed roles are such that they squelch the individual. The confines which she wishes to break from are literally causing an internal death, as many of the housewives at the time of her writing were experiencing. But, I couldn't help feel, as other feminists have expressed, there is a certain comfort within the home. There is a comfort within being a part of that passive, assigned role. Rich treats the home like a cancer. I think the subject to be a bit more complicated than that.
Despite this, it was never enough to shut me out of her writing completely. The power of her writing more than earns her the right to voice these terrors that were eating away at her. I came to understand and respect her plight through this book of poetry.
January 11, 2024
Powerful, poignant, and introspective. These are just a few words I would use to describe “Diving into the Wreck” by Adrienne Rich.
This expertly crafted bit of poetry examines a wide range of dynamic assertiveness, including an advocation for rights, a dynamic look at self-purpose, and anger that is let loose from the bottle. To me, it’s a cry for people to listen. A poetical discourse to stand up for a certain belief and showcase it as a guiding light, or to use it as a beacon of love for when you are feeling desperately inadequate or underappreciated.
Excerpt from “Burning Oneself Out”:
"that print, that rock,
that sun producing powerful dreams
A word can do this
or, as tonight, the mirror of the fire
of my mind, burning as if it could go on
burning itself, burning down
feeding on everything
till there is nothing in life
that has not fed that fire"
The collection captures a wide range of topics, including gender equality, feminism, love, life affirmations, class, sexuality, race, and so much more.
⭐ | Rating | ⭐
❖ 4 out of 5 ❖
This expertly crafted bit of poetry examines a wide range of dynamic assertiveness, including an advocation for rights, a dynamic look at self-purpose, and anger that is let loose from the bottle. To me, it’s a cry for people to listen. A poetical discourse to stand up for a certain belief and showcase it as a guiding light, or to use it as a beacon of love for when you are feeling desperately inadequate or underappreciated.
Excerpt from “Burning Oneself Out”:
"that print, that rock,
that sun producing powerful dreams
A word can do this
or, as tonight, the mirror of the fire
of my mind, burning as if it could go on
burning itself, burning down
feeding on everything
till there is nothing in life
that has not fed that fire"
The collection captures a wide range of topics, including gender equality, feminism, love, life affirmations, class, sexuality, race, and so much more.
⭐ | Rating | ⭐
❖ 4 out of 5 ❖
January 3, 2019
these scars bear witness
but whether to repair
or to destruction
I no longer know
I have a shameful confession to make. This was the first poetry book to have read to completion. I have read some poems, but this was the first time I managed to finish a collection. The reason being that I was afraid of poetry, afraid that I was not smart or capable enough to understand content and meaning. It always felt like there was a layer beneath what I had read and as much as I kept scratching, digging and excavating, I could not get to it.
This being the first poetry book to have read, I have a faint inkling of the wonders, power, beauty, rawness, understanding I have deprived myself over the years. I did not get everything but what was not understood just as what was, was wondrous. Reading these poems was a wonderful closing to the last year and opening to this new one.
but whether to repair
or to destruction
I no longer know
I have a shameful confession to make. This was the first poetry book to have read to completion. I have read some poems, but this was the first time I managed to finish a collection. The reason being that I was afraid of poetry, afraid that I was not smart or capable enough to understand content and meaning. It always felt like there was a layer beneath what I had read and as much as I kept scratching, digging and excavating, I could not get to it.
This being the first poetry book to have read, I have a faint inkling of the wonders, power, beauty, rawness, understanding I have deprived myself over the years. I did not get everything but what was not understood just as what was, was wondrous. Reading these poems was a wonderful closing to the last year and opening to this new one.
March 11, 2019
Everyone’s
Favourite
Lesbian
Poet
Favourite
Lesbian
Poet
December 21, 2022
Amo aquí.
October 17, 2020
I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer
The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself
I have always wondered bout the leftover
energy, water rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped
or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down
the red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting there long after midnight
September 30, 2023
I found all of these very heavy; very stark. Apparently this collection began a turn in that direction for Rich. A few went right past me--I found nothing to grasp onto. Others made my jaw drop and left me inspired. I did my best close reading of all of them, and found they shed light into some dark places, and in the process raised lots of questions.
It seems silly to say to read these slowly, because you’ll have to. A slice of lemon wakes you up, but you don’t want to eat the whole thing in one sitting.
Some favorites, with short excerpts:
From the Prison House
It sees
the violence
imbedded in silence
Song
(which I took to be about the loneliness of challenging the status quo)
If I’m lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn’s first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep
Merced
my favorite, which begins
Fantasies of old age:
they have rounded us up
in a rest-camp for the outworn.
For the Dead
This contains my favorite line in the collection:
I have always wondered about the leftover
energy, water rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped.
Diving into the Wreck
In all of her poems, but here in particular, she’s blazing a trail for us.
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
and
the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
More than I “enjoy” her poetry, I’m grateful for Adrienne Rich. Reading her poems is like watching her clear the forest with a machete. It’s dark and scary, but when she’s done, she turns around and motions to you to come along, and you have a much easier path.
If you’re interested in Rich, there is an embarrassment of riches (ha, a pun!) available online here:
https://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x...
It seems silly to say to read these slowly, because you’ll have to. A slice of lemon wakes you up, but you don’t want to eat the whole thing in one sitting.
Some favorites, with short excerpts:
From the Prison House
It sees
the violence
imbedded in silence
Song
(which I took to be about the loneliness of challenging the status quo)
If I’m lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn’s first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep
Merced
my favorite, which begins
Fantasies of old age:
they have rounded us up
in a rest-camp for the outworn.
For the Dead
This contains my favorite line in the collection:
I have always wondered about the leftover
energy, water rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped.
Diving into the Wreck
In all of her poems, but here in particular, she’s blazing a trail for us.
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
and
the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
More than I “enjoy” her poetry, I’m grateful for Adrienne Rich. Reading her poems is like watching her clear the forest with a machete. It’s dark and scary, but when she’s done, she turns around and motions to you to come along, and you have a much easier path.
If you’re interested in Rich, there is an embarrassment of riches (ha, a pun!) available online here:
https://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x...
January 5, 2017
애드리언 리치의 시는 폭발적이다. 뭔가 속에서 꿈틀대는 것이 폭발하는 느낌은 디킨슨이랑도 비슷하다. 지배적인 anger의 감정과 호전적 페미니스트의 기운. 개인적으로 마음에 들었던 시:
Translations
You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from your language
Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she’s a woman of my time
obsessed
with Love, our subject:
we’ve trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power
I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn
trying to make a call
from a phone booth
The phone rings unanswered
in a man’s bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
Never mind. She’ll get tired.
hears him telling her story to her sister
who becomes her enemy
and will in her own time
light her own way to sorrow
ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political
Translations
You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from your language
Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she’s a woman of my time
obsessed
with Love, our subject:
we’ve trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power
I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn
trying to make a call
from a phone booth
The phone rings unanswered
in a man’s bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
Never mind. She’ll get tired.
hears him telling her story to her sister
who becomes her enemy
and will in her own time
light her own way to sorrow
ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political
December 12, 2017
Rape
There is a cop who is both prowler and father:
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.
You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.
And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac’s sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.
And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.
You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down you worst moment
on a machine and filed it in a file.
He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.
He has access to machinery that could get you put away;
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?
There is a cop who is both prowler and father:
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.
You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.
And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac’s sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.
And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.
You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down you worst moment
on a machine and filed it in a file.
He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.
He has access to machinery that could get you put away;
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?
November 30, 2016
I don’t think I understood or appreciated this as much as I wanted to. I sensed a profundity under the surface that escaped my grasp. My favorite individual poem was the multi-part “Meditations for a Savage Child,” inspired by the Wild Boy of Aveyron. Though written 45 years ago, the poems of feminist outrage seem just as relevant today: “my visionary anger cleansing my sight / and the detailed perceptions of mercy / flowering from that anger.” An example is “Rape,” where she shows how sexual assault is thrown back on the victims: “You have to confess / to him, you are guilty of the crime / of having been forced.”
This felt particularly relevant just after the election: “Here in the matrix of need and anger, the / disproof of what we thought possible / failures of medication / doubts of another’s existence / —tell it over and over, the words / get thick with unmeaning— / yet never have we been closer to the truth / of the lies we were living” (from “When We Dead Awaken”)
This felt particularly relevant just after the election: “Here in the matrix of need and anger, the / disproof of what we thought possible / failures of medication / doubts of another’s existence / —tell it over and over, the words / get thick with unmeaning— / yet never have we been closer to the truth / of the lies we were living” (from “When We Dead Awaken”)
April 15, 2011
I'm so glad the National Book Foundation drew my attention to Adrienne Rich. I wasn't familiar with her work, but I loved this short book of political, emotional, intense poems. I said in an e-mail to a friend that I wanted to take them along with me on a solitary road trip, and I think that is because I think they go very deep and I want to read them again and reflect on them. I will be purchasing this set, well probably all of her work.
Here is an excerpt of my favorite one, Waking in the Dark
5.
All night dreaming of a body
space weighs on differently from mine
We are making love in the street
the traffic flows off from us
pouring back like a sheet
the asphalt stirs with tenderness
there is no dismay
we move together like undewater plants
Over and over, starting to wake
I dive back to discover you
still whispering, touch me, we go on
streaming through the slow
citylight forest ocean
stirring our body hair
But this is the saying of a dream
on waking
I wish there were somewhere
actual we could stand
handing the power-glasses back and forth
looking at the earth, the wildwood
where the split began.
Here is an excerpt of my favorite one, Waking in the Dark
5.
All night dreaming of a body
space weighs on differently from mine
We are making love in the street
the traffic flows off from us
pouring back like a sheet
the asphalt stirs with tenderness
there is no dismay
we move together like undewater plants
Over and over, starting to wake
I dive back to discover you
still whispering, touch me, we go on
streaming through the slow
citylight forest ocean
stirring our body hair
But this is the saying of a dream
on waking
I wish there were somewhere
actual we could stand
handing the power-glasses back and forth
looking at the earth, the wildwood
where the split began.
November 18, 2011
I've read some of Adrienne Rich's poetry before, but not all. I came across this by chance in the library today, and decided to bring it home -- I knew Diving into the Wreck itself, but not all of the other poems. They're powerful, painful, beautiful. There are only a couple that didn't really speak to me.
April 23, 2012
When I was a young thing, I would save my pennies to buy everything Adrienne published. This is the pivotal book of poetry, the turning point from the earlier (and beautiful) formal poems into the rough territory of heart and world through which the later books move. Stellar.
January 4, 2016
This poet takes risks on every page as she examines the struggles of women as she felt them in the early 1970s. She does not hold back with her reflections, many of which I reread to comprehend all of the layers. I am so glad this book was recommended to me.
March 9, 2024
,,Flat heartland of winter.
The moonmen come back from the moon the firemen come out of the fire.
Time without a taste: time without decisions.”
Poštujem! Jasan mi je značaj i uticaj. Jasan mi je, razume se, i angažman. Ipak, nismo se susreli. Možda je to zbog onoga što sam nedavno čitao, a teško da nešto nakon Novalisa i Luiz Glik može da deluje prvorazredno, a možda je i do toga što su manir i oštrica Adrijen Rič otupeli u odnosu na, bogami, već pola veka od kada je ova zbirka objavljena. Bilo kako bilo, čak i tamo gde neke slike nisu sveže i obuzimajuće, teme jesu bitne i uvek potrebne, a naslovna pesma, uz još neke momente, zaista je vredna čitanja. Oduševljenje izostaje, respekt ostaje, pa ako mora nekako, neka bude tako.
The moonmen come back from the moon the firemen come out of the fire.
Time without a taste: time without decisions.”
Poštujem! Jasan mi je značaj i uticaj. Jasan mi je, razume se, i angažman. Ipak, nismo se susreli. Možda je to zbog onoga što sam nedavno čitao, a teško da nešto nakon Novalisa i Luiz Glik može da deluje prvorazredno, a možda je i do toga što su manir i oštrica Adrijen Rič otupeli u odnosu na, bogami, već pola veka od kada je ova zbirka objavljena. Bilo kako bilo, čak i tamo gde neke slike nisu sveže i obuzimajuće, teme jesu bitne i uvek potrebne, a naslovna pesma, uz još neke momente, zaista je vredna čitanja. Oduševljenje izostaje, respekt ostaje, pa ako mora nekako, neka bude tako.
January 9, 2020
Brilliant.
Poetry to read again and again through your lifetime.
Poetry to read again and again through your lifetime.
December 13, 2015
Stunning, dark collection, full of images of water rushing, flames overwhelming, sexuality arriving and disappearing. Everything around her is either combustible or on the verge of death, wilting or igniting under the horror of it all.
"...to feel the fiery future of every matchstick in the kitchen"
or
"while we sit up smoking and talking of how to live, he turns on the bed and murmurs"
or
"...the fire you want to go to bed from but cannot leave, burning down but not burnt down."
The word "burning" appears 14 times in this collection, most memorably for me in the perfect poem, Song, that describes the writer's loneliness as being "wood with a gift for burning."
One poem contains one of the most scathing indictments I've encountered:
"This morning you left the bed
we still share
and went out to spread impotence
upon the world
I hate you.
I hate the mask you wear, your eyes
assuming a depth
they do not possess, drawing me
into the grotto of your skull
the landscape of bone
I hate your words
they make me think of fake revolutionary bills
crisp imitation parchment
they sell at battlefields."
One powerful poem of a different type is dedicated to a Soviet dissident, Natalya Gorbanevskaya. It contains the fascinating line:
"I have to steal the sense of dust on your floor,
milk souring in your pantry
after they came and took you."
The verb "steal" transforms the meaning, suggesting Rich's need to adopt Gorbanevskaya's lost urgency, like a pet left homeless.
Rich's is a powerful, merciless, beautiful rage.
"...to feel the fiery future of every matchstick in the kitchen"
or
"while we sit up smoking and talking of how to live, he turns on the bed and murmurs"
or
"...the fire you want to go to bed from but cannot leave, burning down but not burnt down."
The word "burning" appears 14 times in this collection, most memorably for me in the perfect poem, Song, that describes the writer's loneliness as being "wood with a gift for burning."
One poem contains one of the most scathing indictments I've encountered:
"This morning you left the bed
we still share
and went out to spread impotence
upon the world
I hate you.
I hate the mask you wear, your eyes
assuming a depth
they do not possess, drawing me
into the grotto of your skull
the landscape of bone
I hate your words
they make me think of fake revolutionary bills
crisp imitation parchment
they sell at battlefields."
One powerful poem of a different type is dedicated to a Soviet dissident, Natalya Gorbanevskaya. It contains the fascinating line:
"I have to steal the sense of dust on your floor,
milk souring in your pantry
after they came and took you."
The verb "steal" transforms the meaning, suggesting Rich's need to adopt Gorbanevskaya's lost urgency, like a pet left homeless.
Rich's is a powerful, merciless, beautiful rage.
February 8, 2017
What a punch to the gut. This is feminist poetry that is a must-read for members of both sexes. Some of the powerful imagery conveyed here by Rich is etched into my mind, not soon to be forgotten. I'm sorry it took me this long to get around to reading her, but better late than never.
October 1, 2023
yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!!! in particular: after 20 years, the mirror in which two are seen as one, dialogue, & the phenomenology of anger
January 14, 2017
Diving Into the Wreck is a collection of Adrienne Rich's poems written between 1971 and 1972. The subject matter throughout is incredibly dark, in an 'all roads lead back to the Holocaust' manner - so much so that several of the poems gave me chills. Rich's prose is striking, and she presents such vivid imagery here, a lot of it markedly unpleasant, it must be said. I didn't love every poem, but I certainly admired them all. Diving Into the Wreck is filled to the brim with strength after strength, and I'd certainly love to read more of her poetry.
'This is the place. / And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair / streams black, the merman in his armored body / We circle silently / about the wreck / we dive into the hold. / I am she. / I am he.'
(From 'Diving Into the Wreck')
'This is the place. / And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair / streams black, the merman in his armored body / We circle silently / about the wreck / we dive into the hold. / I am she. / I am he.'
(From 'Diving Into the Wreck')
December 10, 2023
Annual re-read for writing group. I love this small but mighty book so much.
A perfectly timed re-read in preparation for a beloved writing group I got to lead in 2022. This book is water-logged and filled with magic [which is what I hope someone someday says about one of my books].
Original review below:
I've long loved "Diving into the Wreck" (the poem itself), but I hadn't ever read this full collection (originally published in 1973), and after I did it so quickly careened into my top five favorite poetry collections of all time.
These poems are fire. They crackle with electricity, inspiration, and ferocity. They're stunning, memorable, raw, wise. They make me feel so seen.
[Five stars for every inch of poetry on every page, for Rich's distinctive voice, and for so much inherent and timeless feminist power. Oh, how we will always need poetry like this.]
A perfectly timed re-read in preparation for a beloved writing group I got to lead in 2022. This book is water-logged and filled with magic [which is what I hope someone someday says about one of my books].
Original review below:
I've long loved "Diving into the Wreck" (the poem itself), but I hadn't ever read this full collection (originally published in 1973), and after I did it so quickly careened into my top five favorite poetry collections of all time.
These poems are fire. They crackle with electricity, inspiration, and ferocity. They're stunning, memorable, raw, wise. They make me feel so seen.
[Five stars for every inch of poetry on every page, for Rich's distinctive voice, and for so much inherent and timeless feminist power. Oh, how we will always need poetry like this.]
April 19, 2012
Exasperating and bleak poetry cycles about gender struggle and body politics. Not my usual parvenu, but I appreciated hearing this voice. On the bus.
October 19, 2016
Does the primeval forest / weep / for its devourers / does nature mourn / our existence
May 18, 2021
«soy la mente viva que no lográis describir
en vuestra lengua muerta»
en vuestra lengua muerta»
February 5, 2022
Ok this is a 6/5
some of the best poetry I’ve ever read! it’s complex yet accessible and makes me proud of the uniqueness of women. Everyone should read!
some of the best poetry I’ve ever read! it’s complex yet accessible and makes me proud of the uniqueness of women. Everyone should read!
March 8, 2023
4.25☆(?) writing an essay on adrienne rich so thought id read more of her work .. she (unsurprisingly) did not disappoint !!! such a beautiful exploration of themes like gender, sexuality, self-discovery, storytelling, & many others
February 11, 2024
I read The Dream of a Common Language two or so years ago, adored it, and just now came to Diving Into the Wreck. Close readings happen in due time. My favorite stanza from “Song”:
You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely
You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely
May 1, 2012
While I do read modern poetry from time to time, I consider myself a more naive reader of verse than any other genre. I don't have the vocabulary to convey why I feel the way I do about poetry. So, in this case, I just have to say that I loved this book. In fact, I can't think of any work of modern poetry, including works by more iconic- and male- poets than Rich, that I found as rewarding.
I had heard of Rich but never really thought of reading her until I heard an NPR story about her death. They discussed the ways in which her work confronted patriarchy and it intrigued me enough to pick the slim volume up at the library between "planned" readings.
Rich's poems struck me, speaking as a hetero-male, as amongst the most authentically "feminist" voices I'd ever encountered. While the abuse and oppression of women are themes touched upon, nothing here invites the label of "victim feminism" or, for that matter, "man-bashing." Rather, humanity seems the victim of an order that has taken the arbitrary form of the patriarchal. The resulting disaster, once observed objectively yet poetically, seems the result of miscalculation and human error. We can do better, Rich seems to hope, but not to prophesize. Perhaps order, society, is bound to sink into the abyss no matter what form it takes, but this does not discount moments of joy and intimacy between women, between humans, before the disaster strikes.
I had heard of Rich but never really thought of reading her until I heard an NPR story about her death. They discussed the ways in which her work confronted patriarchy and it intrigued me enough to pick the slim volume up at the library between "planned" readings.
Rich's poems struck me, speaking as a hetero-male, as amongst the most authentically "feminist" voices I'd ever encountered. While the abuse and oppression of women are themes touched upon, nothing here invites the label of "victim feminism" or, for that matter, "man-bashing." Rather, humanity seems the victim of an order that has taken the arbitrary form of the patriarchal. The resulting disaster, once observed objectively yet poetically, seems the result of miscalculation and human error. We can do better, Rich seems to hope, but not to prophesize. Perhaps order, society, is bound to sink into the abyss no matter what form it takes, but this does not discount moments of joy and intimacy between women, between humans, before the disaster strikes.
August 1, 2011
I'm perpetually torn with Rich. There's a studied, formal quality to even her mid-career, furious work - and I rarely enjoy tight-wound poetry, at least on a sort of affective level. My other frustration with Rich is that she can envision striking images, but so many of her poems seem to me to be endless series of absolutely disconnected images, and not in a surrealist, avant-garde way, either. Just disjointed attempts at stating the same idea again and again, which can be tedious. The latter parts of this book, particularly "The Phenomenology of Anger" and "Meditations for a Savage Child," were the most consistent and compelling pieces. And obviously, the title poem is worth the price of admission alone. For that poem I'll always give Rich another chance.
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