Linda Gregg

The Others

The last lines of Linda Gregg’s poem “The Girl I Call Alma” read:

              Tell me we are one
              and that it’s the others who scar me,
              not you.

But the first edition of the book, which I have, has a typo. Those lines read:

              Tell me we are one
              and that it’s the others who scare me,
              not you.

For years, I thought the poem with the typo was the correct version. It resonates with me because of my trauma history. Being scared. Being scared. And wanting the person who’s scaring me not to be the person who’s scaring me. Father, mother, like the parents in Sharon Olds’ poem “Satan Says.” Like that. And more. And others. And this always-fear like the fear Hannah Gadsby talks about, only it’s not just a fear of rooms full of men. It’s people. People do such harm. They are terrifying. Maybe Jon’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t write poetry because poetry puts me in the world, and that’s hard for him because it’s hard for me. And he doesn’t like it. And I’m not scared of him, at least there’s that. But I’d rather face my fears than hide from the world even if the latter makes him happier or “us” happier, as he says.

Scare. Scar. I’d rather be scared than scarred. Both work. Both versions of the poem work. I’m probably scared and scarred. At least I no longer think I’m a monster or the devil, both of which I was pretty certain of a couple of years ago. Because I am of my father. Of him. Of that. I was always his. And he was a monster, a devil.

Gallaher-Guzlowski

For two decades, I’ve maintained a list of quotes I like by poets, writers, and thinkers I find interesting. This post is part of that series. All posts in the series are organized alphabetically. Some poets and writers have their own dedicated pages.

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By arrogance I mean that when you are writing you must assume that the next thing you put down belongs not for reasons of logic, good sense, or narrative development, but because you put it there. — John Gallaher

It is impossible to write meaningless sequences. In a sense the next thing always belongs. In the world of imagination, all things belong. If you take that on faith, you may be foolish, but foolish like a trout. — John Gallaher

Time doesn’t know which genre this is, / so it’s using all of them. — John Gallaher

The wealthiest 1% are protected by the law but are not bound by it. The bottom 99% are bound by the law but are not protected by it. — Scott Galloway

Like species, poems are not invented, but develop out of a kind of discourse, each poet tensed against another’s poetics, in conversation. — Forrest Gander

At least when placentas clap their / hands while we all play / patty cake, / they are not foreshadowing / the sins / of generations that / do nothing else but / feast upon weakness. — Robert Gano

Some people say I communicate exactly / like goose liver / force fed by / an invisible-handed economy — Robert Gano

Everything but “I LOVE YOU” is small talk. — Andrea Gibson

The first time in my life I’d ever rested, / the first time I didn’t have to play a role / I’d never really wanted to get. / That’s the medicine it is / to be finally seen by someone. — Andrea Gibson

I say moon is horses in the tempered dark, / because horse is the closest I can get to it. — Jack Gilbert

The heart / never fits / the journey. / Always / one ends / first. — Jack Gilbert

We stand / looking at the ruin of our garden / in early November. — Jack Gilbert

Earth pollution identical with Mind pollution, consciousness / Pollution identical with filthy sky. — Allen Ginsberg

I’ll tell you / what I was meant to be— / a device that listened. — Louise Glück

When I’m quiet, that’s when the truth emerges. — Louise Glück

All I have to do after I have the vision is to find the language of music to describe what I have heard, which can take a certain amount of time. I’ve been working in the language of music all my life, and it’s within that language that I’ve learned how ideas can unfold. — Phillip Glass

The word “cancer” follows me. It is the scariest word / in the language, scarier somehow than even “death.” I am being / murdered by my own body. The sparrows go on chirping their / simple three-note song as if there is no extra time for complexity. — Howie Good

now i can’t believe— / that the bible and qur’an and bhagavad gita are sliding long hairs behind my ear like mom / used to & exhaling from their mouths “make room for wonder”— / all my understanding dribbles down the chin onto the chest & is summarized as: / life is merely / to ovum and sperm / and where those two meet / and how often and how well / and what dies there. — Renée Nicole Good

Winnowed, we are—the wind / in widdershins spin; the clock hiding / its souvenirs in a blue wound. — Jessica Goodfellow

Every landscape turns inside out / as we journey through. Shadows stretch but the stars / keep swallowing us. — Brent Goodman

a filigree of illusion against light / that like crab in sand disappears / into the dark heart of nowhere. — Uma Gowrishankar

Hollowing the walls that make my home, I build a scaffold to hold an empty space. Bricks crumble when intimacy pours through the hole like loosened cement. It’s time to leave the building that exists only in my heart and nowhere else. — Uma Gowrishankar

If gold coins are anathema for an ascetic, what about words / that like lust tangle thoughts? — Uma Gowrishankar

the darkness of the tree line broken / only by my brother, who runs to me / with a look of great hope / carrying the tiny blind unicorn / we, together, are meant to save — Andrew Grace

Nature is making and / Unmaking itself at once — Jason Gray

I’m just like all the rest. I’m in the WORLD THAT IS. — Spalding Gray

Trace my gender / back to its oldest root & you will find my father’s footprint / on my chest, sinking all the way down to my blood. — Torrin A. Greathouse

Particular / and luminous, things tilt / into vision. — Samuel Green

There was the voice in your head the first time / we came / I will die here / like a benediction, light as the first leaf / fall, and you unafraid. — Samuel Green

We have only / the compass of how we walk here / how our feet move / over the soil that will feed us. — Samuel Green

What you thought was a rock / moves, and you think other. / Whatever you focus on becomes / something else, moves away / from its joining. — Samuel Green

You begin by not knowing / where you are, by just / standing and looking for landmarks. — Samuel Green

Fish! Fish! White sun! Tell me we are one / and that it’s the others who scare me, / not you. — Linda Gregg

An illness weakens a handshake; an illness within a handshake; the handshake equals water. November will end soon, I don’t know who I’ll be in December, maybe afraid. — Dan Gutstein

Let me tell you: / God doesn’t give / you any favors / He doesn’t say / now you’ve seen / this bad thing / but tomorrow / you’ll see this good thing / and when you see it / you’ll be smiling — John Guzlowski

Tomorrow / I will be walking in the dawn / and smiling at the closeness / of my honey, the sky. — John Guzlowski

Words appear and I don’t question / why they are there. — John Guzlowski

You come back to the barn / where it all started / where God told you / not to eat the apple / and you find more apples. / And God comes in / And says what are you doing here? / I told you not to come. / And you say I’m just back. — John Guzlowski