Adrienne Rich died the day before yesterday. This is a quote from Rich from Victoria Brownworth’s obituary piece at Lambda Literary:

Whatever is unnamed, un-depicted in images, whatever is omitted from biography, censored in collections of letters, whatever is misnamed as something else, made difficult-to-come-by, whatever is buried in the memory by the collapse of meaning under an inadequate or lying language–this will become, not merely unspoken, but unspeakable.

A poet’s job is to observe, to recognise, and to name without blinking what others are too blind or afraid to see. Rich never blinked. I’m sorry she’s gone.