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Mother, Not Mother
"di brandt's "mother, not mother" probes the reality of a life filled with dualities and uncertainties... [it] stands as testimony to the remarkable range of poetic devices brandt uses in expressing her worded truths."-- "Books in Canada"
"di brandt's poems spill out of their taut couplet form into the reader's listening heart. These are miraculously wide-open poems, raging and ecstatic, speaking always the language of a woman who has eaten the dragon and lived to sing of it to us, intimately, insistently, the language of deep conversation between selves, daughters in a violent world."-- Daphne Marlatt
"di brandt's poems spill out of their taut couplet form into the reader's listening heart. These are miraculously wide-open poems, raging and ecstatic, speaking always the language of a woman who has eaten the dragon and lived to sing of it to us, intimately, insistently, the language of deep conversation between selves, daughters in a violent world."-- Daphne Marlatt
- GenresPoetry
82 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
10 people want to read
About the author
Di Brandt
19 books5 followersDi Brandt’s poetry titles include questions i asked my mother (1987), Agnes in the sky (1990), Jerusalem, beloved (1995), and most recently, Now You Care (2004). She has received numerous awards for her poetry, including the CAA National Poetry Prize, the McNally Robinson Book of the Year Award, and the Gerald Lampert Award. Di Brandt recently returned to the Manitoba prairies, her home, after a decade away, to take up a Canada Research Chair in Creative Writing at Brandon University.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
January 26, 2022
are you still
with me,
gentle reader?
i don't know
what to do
with the guns
punctuating
our pages,
oh poet.
i wanted the world
to be sweet,
i wanted words
to open in us
like blossoms, sighs,
love sounds.
instead i'm beside
myself, listening
to gunfire, crackling
in the night,
poor reception,
too much static,
even tenderness
coming off
like little bombs
tonight,
nothing healed,
not even
the fantasies
holding us
in the dark,
the fields we played
in last summer,
closed & guarded,
now,
against strangers,
against rain.
* * *
what de Englische
didn't understand:
that telling my story
didn't make me one of them.
that my fear of being silenced
isn't obsolete.
i came from far away,
& brought everything with me.
the body remembers being
beaten & tortured & killed.
i stole the language
of their kinds & queens,
but i didn't bow to it,
i didn't become a citizen.
how hard it is t tell a story
so it ca be heard.
how easily the reader climbs
on top of it,
pronouncing judgement,
the eternal optimism, tourist,
pointing fingers.
it wasn't about being Mennonite,
(or Indian or Jew).
it was about you, you.
how glad i am to be a human
being & not a Wasp.
is this about gender or isn't it?
oceans are dying & here we sit
discussing words.
the roaring in your ears,
the whale inside you: listen.
how much you wanted to cry
in the night bu couldn't.
how deeply the body carries
its violence, well hidden,
afraid of its own speaking.
say it slowly, each syllable,
out loud:
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH
how much you needed her,
through the centuries,
the here & now
what kind of reaching out,
what kind of holding,
what kind of touch between us,
listener:
between the hiss of consonants,
the inner wail, the heart
beating its old music, deep,
& hot, & unforgiving.
* * *
from now on,
i will call you
not-mother.
what are mothers
for, if not
to defend their
daughters.
& when did
you ever
defend me?
not-mother,
the world is big,
& full of tigers.
i have felt
the teeth of some,
& they were sharp.
(like yours.)
when did you ever
comfort me?
when did you ever
hold me?
when did you ever
believe me,
believe in me?
when did you ever
take my side?
not-mother,
there's a hole in me
the size of you,
but i will cover it,
i'll sing to it,
till it's gone.
until you're only
a shadow-mother,
not-mother,
a half-memory,
a yawn.
with me,
gentle reader?
i don't know
what to do
with the guns
punctuating
our pages,
oh poet.
i wanted the world
to be sweet,
i wanted words
to open in us
like blossoms, sighs,
love sounds.
instead i'm beside
myself, listening
to gunfire, crackling
in the night,
poor reception,
too much static,
even tenderness
coming off
like little bombs
tonight,
nothing healed,
not even
the fantasies
holding us
in the dark,
the fields we played
in last summer,
closed & guarded,
now,
against strangers,
against rain.
- pg. 23-24
* * *
what de Englische
didn't understand:
that telling my story
didn't make me one of them.
that my fear of being silenced
isn't obsolete.
i came from far away,
& brought everything with me.
the body remembers being
beaten & tortured & killed.
i stole the language
of their kinds & queens,
but i didn't bow to it,
i didn't become a citizen.
how hard it is t tell a story
so it ca be heard.
how easily the reader climbs
on top of it,
pronouncing judgement,
the eternal optimism, tourist,
pointing fingers.
it wasn't about being Mennonite,
(or Indian or Jew).
it was about you, you.
how glad i am to be a human
being & not a Wasp.
is this about gender or isn't it?
oceans are dying & here we sit
discussing words.
the roaring in your ears,
the whale inside you: listen.
how much you wanted to cry
in the night bu couldn't.
how deeply the body carries
its violence, well hidden,
afraid of its own speaking.
say it slowly, each syllable,
out loud:
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH
how much you needed her,
through the centuries,
the here & now
what kind of reaching out,
what kind of holding,
what kind of touch between us,
listener:
between the hiss of consonants,
the inner wail, the heart
beating its old music, deep,
& hot, & unforgiving.
- pg. 30-32
* * *
from now on,
i will call you
not-mother.
what are mothers
for, if not
to defend their
daughters.
& when did
you ever
defend me?
not-mother,
the world is big,
& full of tigers.
i have felt
the teeth of some,
& they were sharp.
(like yours.)
when did you ever
comfort me?
when did you ever
hold me?
when did you ever
believe me,
believe in me?
when did you ever
take my side?
not-mother,
there's a hole in me
the size of you,
but i will cover it,
i'll sing to it,
till it's gone.
until you're only
a shadow-mother,
not-mother,
a half-memory,
a yawn.
- pg. 46-47
July 11, 2019
After finishing questions i asked my mother, I expected the worst from Mother, Not Mother. I was pleasantly surprised, yet still underwhelmed. The poems in this book look sparse, almost minimalistic (and thankfully, there's punctuation!), and this collection is a quick read. Although, strangely, it does not have a table of contents and none of the poems have titles, so good luck if you're searching for a certain poem! Some of the poems have beautiful nature imagery, with some scenes that I especially appreciated as a fellow Manitoban. I enjoyed the poems that discuss one's place in nature and the world/universe in general, but there are sooooo many poems about motherhood and the author's mommy issues. I found these unappealing for their subject matter alone. A few of them would've been fine, but there were just too many! I suppose that's what I get for picking up a book called Mother, Not Mother.
Poems that I liked:
"blackbirds, green ash, purple," "a woman on a beach," "trees are not enough," "gas station romance."
=4/37 (10.8%) poems that I liked.
Poems that I liked:
"blackbirds, green ash, purple," "a woman on a beach," "trees are not enough," "gas station romance."
=4/37 (10.8%) poems that I liked.
October 22, 2009
I received this book from my mother when I was 14 and it still is one of my favorite poetry books.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews