#mollypeacock

[thethinkerybook]

"Not to know is also sometimes the position of the poet, who depends on close observation to magnify a subject, hoping to discover an animating spirit." - Molly Peacock, The Paper Garden

[thefrenchphantom]

#quote #poetry #mollypeacock #aboutpoetry #onpoetry #quotes https://www.instagram.com/p/B1_9fv4iDWn/?igshid=1mphk7sywr0u4

[tightropebooks]

The witty company of poets & the grateful company of the editors & publisher of @BestCdnPoetry, now in its 9th year. May 15th at The Wickson Social.

Come. Hobnob. Support.

[ruthsabathrosenthal-bigapplepoet]

Welcome to Molly Peacock's website, where you'll find information on her poetry, her one-woman show in poems, her memoir and thoughts about not having children, her essays, her private teaching one-to-one, and her ideas about how to read poetry. A transplanted New Yorker, she lives in Toronto.

MOLLY PEACOCK is a poet, biographer, essayist, short fiction writer, speaker,  and she wrote and performed a one-woman staged monologue in poems, The Shimmering Verge . She is the author of the best-selling biography "The Paper Garden: Mrs. Delany Begins Her Life’s Work at 72." Peacock has published 6 books of poetry. Also her poetry is included in The Oxford Book of American Poetry and also Canadian anthologies. She's editor of a collection of creative non-fiction & co-editor of Poetry in Motion: 100 Poems from the Subways & Buses; and so much more she's written and accomplished...

“I took a couple of Molly’s three-day intensive workshops, at the 92nd St. Y in NYC, and I’m delighted that a couple of my best poems were generated from these classes. Molly’s style of teaching, while relaxed and fun, seriously focuses on Classic poets, with an in-depth analysis of their work, as well as “free writing” time built into each class.“  ~ R.S.R.~

[fergyness]

The Lull

Molly Peacock The possum lay on the tracks fully dead. I'm the kind of person who stops to look. It was big and white with flies on its head, a thick healthy hairless tail, and strong, hooked nails on its raccoonlike feet. It was a full- grown possum. It was sturdy and adult. Only its head was smashed. In the lull that it took to look, you took the time to insult the corpse, the flies, the world, the fact that we were traipsing in our dress shoes down the railroad tracks. "That's disgusting." You said that. Dreams, brains, fur, and guts: what we are. That's my bargain, the Pax Peacock, with the world. Look hard, life's soft. Life's cache is flesh, flesh, and flesh.