Author Archives: Angela Alaimo O'Donnell

Flannery O’Connor would be ninety-one years old, as of March 25, 2016, had she survived the disease that killed her slowly for 13 long years, leaving her dead at 39. She grew up strange—an only child in a large extended family, a Catholic girl … Continue reading →

  I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb.” Herman Melville wrote these words to his fellow writer Nathaniel Hawthorne upon finishing his novel Moby-Dick. These are also the words I whispered to myself as I … Continue reading →

As a child, I never wanted to be Irish. This was a convenient circumstance, since I wasn’t. (My Irish name is my husband’s gift to this Sicilian girl.) Then I grew up and fell in love with poetry—English poetry first, … Continue reading →

  The turn of the year is Janus-faced.  We look forward as we look back, loathe to part with the past, yet eager to imagine the future. The poem below, from my book Moving House (2009), was written nearly a decade ago to express … Continue reading →

SEEING RED Johnny: “In time you’ll see that this is the best thing, Loretta.” Loretta: “In time you’ll drop dead, and I’ll come to your funeral in a red dress!” — Loretta Castorini to Johnny Cammareri after he breaks off … Continue reading →

“Ash Thursday” happened by accident, like most poems. It’s also true. One evening in February, two years ago, I left my office at Fordham University in the Bronx earlier than usual. I had been invited to give a poetry reading … Continue reading →

I am a teacher of Poetry. This means that several times a year I walk into a classroom, the seats filled with Bright Young People between the ages of 18 and 22, and try to make them fall in love … Continue reading →