Sherry Chandler » In Cold Hell, In Thicket
In Cold Hell, In Thicket
Today, I picked up a copy of Charles Olson’s 1950 collection The Distances that I’ve had lying on my desk for, well, probably years. I bought it at an English Graduate Organization sale and it gradually worked its way to the back and down.
I opened it to the place where I had a bookmarker, a poem called “In Cold Hell, In Thicket,” and read these words:
All things are made bitter, words even
are made to taste like paper, wars get tossed up
like lead soldiers used to be
(in a child’s attic) lined up
to be knocked down, as I am,
by firings from a spit-hardened fort…
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