Glass, Irony and God

I’m late to the Anne Carson party but I loved her poem The Glass Essay so figured I should go straight to the source and read the collection it was in. The Glass Essay is so meaty and rich that it deserves to be read on paper instead of online anyway, her overcoming grief from a relationship ending by carting the collected works of Emily Brontë out to her mother’s home on the moor in the north.

Three silent women at the kitchen table.
My mother’s kitchen is dark and small but out the window
there is the moor, paralyzed with ice.
It extends as far as the eye can see
over flat miles to a solid unlit white sky.
Mother and I are chewing lettuce carefully.
The kitchen wall clock emits a ragged low buzz that jumps
once a minute over the twelve.
I have Emily p. 216 propped open on the sugarbowl
but am covertly watching my mother.
A thousand questions hit my eyes from the inside.
My mother is studying her lettuce.
I turn to p. 217.

Also in this collection: The Truth about God, TV Men, The Fall of Rome: A Traveller’s Guide, Book of Isaiah, and an essay: The Gender of Sound, which is a roundhouse kick to the face of those misogynistic patriarchal assholes, the ancient Greeks and Ernest Hemingway. Apparently Socrates described Echo as “the girl with no door on her mouth.” Amazing how many examples she packs into a tight 18 pages.