selected past writing at 42opus
Any reader who believes the suburbs to be a cultural and spiritual wasteland will have their prejudices confirmed. And yet, Cusk's great talent as a writer is to complicate these tired notions and make them fresh and engaging. Her Desperate Housewives are not stereotypes, but unique and sympathetic characters. Cusk is masterful at capturing the ordinary moments of family life.
In widow's weeds, the bull, the sun,
the flower, the light bulb—it clings
to room 7 of Centro de Arte Reina Sofía,
Guernica, the fizzled-out horse, the woman.
2 September 2003 | poetry
You say you are learning how to ask for things. I am learning how to do the things I ask for—
Begin to confuse, to confess, your stories with the stories of someone else, stories you were told there, that you were there to hear.
O holy terror of a night, this mad,
malicious night, a supine night, bright
as bile, but anyway, inauspicious.
Bedraggled night, delicious as doom.
A night over which no angel will swoon.
O moon, O eye of God, unblinking.
And, yes, I have been drinking.
17 November 2006 | poetry