![]() ![]() ![]() And there is something new here too: a freshly evolved conscience, a chafing sense of her own privilege (New Year’s Song ends: “For a moment the core of my life/ was not desire, but the knowledge of my unearned luck”) and an extended empathy (When I looked out ends: “In my 78th year, my eyes opened/ a little wider to the suffering of others”). She writes about sex, love and the landscape of the body with zany intimacy. ![]() S haron Olds recently turned 80 and, as one reads her latest collection, one wonders: over a long writing career, do you get to sound more, or less, like yourself? It is inspiring to be able to report that, in Balladz, she proves triumphantly evergreen: a woman who still steps across prudishly conventional lines as playfully as a child absorbed in French skipping. ![]()
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