On Tuesday evening, Bwog Staff Writer Erika Avallone had the privilege of attending a discussion titled “Writers at Barnard: Olga Ravn and Joyelle McSweeney,” where the authors divulged the emotionality and honesty of their writing processes. The night was coated with catharsis and compassion, an unforgettable nod to humanity’s most authentic experience: motherhood.    

On Tuesday evening, I had no idea what I was walking into in Barnard Hall. I knew I was attending a Writers at Barnard event, but I had no idea how much of an impact the event would leave on me. This particular event was for Olga Ravn and Joyelle McSweeney, two writers who have recently published their revelations on motherhood (a very broad term) and, more specifically, how motherhood influences the self. I got to the event 20 minutes early, and at the entrance to the lecture hall, free copies of both authors’ featured books were being offered to eager audience members. I picked up McSweeney’s Death Styles intrigued by words from the man unpacking the books who had nothing but reverence and astonishment for the piece, and made my way inside. 

The evening was introduced by Professor Ken Chen, Associate Director of Creative Writing at Barnard, and quickly developed into an atmosphere of literary intimacy and truth. Joyelle McSweeney, known for her elegy Toxicon and Arachne (also being sold), presented her poetic collection called Death Styles, written after the death of her infant daughter. In the face of such a devastating loss, McSweeney realized that poetry was something that would not, or could not, abandon her. She tried to abandon the practice, and while she was initially angry at herself for writing, she realized how much she missed poetry. To revitalize her poetic voice, Joyelle gave herself three rules: write every day, accept all writing inspiration as it comes, and write until that inspiration exhausts itself. She became tethered to not only her poetry but also, most importantly, the process of writing. 

Death Styles is a collection of poetry, with each poem’s subtitle correlating to the style icon that inspired its respective poetic voice. For example, her first Death Styles reading from “1.8.21,” signifies either the date on which the poem was written or when the event took place, recalls a confrontation experience with a merganser duck, seen floating on the river along her home. Grieving the loss of her child, she watched the duck watch her, nearly daring her to write again. Her reading of the poem on Tuesday incorporated a certain rhythm, mimicking both the fluidity of the river and the certainty of the duck’s gaze, and she used her hands to portray this multidimensional experience. As she continued this reading, I realized that the text was actually from the simultaneous perspective of her and the duck; the animal was allowing her to free herself, and by poetically exploring the thoughts of the duck, she was opening the floodgate to her own anxieties and incompleteness. 

Throughout the next couple of readings, especially in “Death Style 8.17.20” with the subtitle “Leonard Cohen: Clytemnestra,” McSweeney merged hints of the poetic persona style with personal experiences. In her writing, she draws from the idea of the characters to express her own rage, desires, and heartbreak, enabling the text to transcend a specific time or place. Paired with expressively intentional hand movements, McSweeney manifested as the physical body verbalizing everlasting emotional complexities. After being treated to a few more Death Styles readings, I knew I needed to mull over each line of the entire poetic collection; each styled figure is wrapped in carefully crafted poetry within a project for the acceptance of closure, and her intentionality and intricacy seemed both natural and invaluable.

In addition to Joyelle McSweeney’s Death Styles readings, Olga Ravn took the stand to share passages with the audience from My Work, her most recent literary work. Ravn, author of the science fiction novel The Employees, chose to focus on her newest piece called, My Work. Originally written in Danish and later translated to English, My Work is an unapologetic motley of literal forms (fiction narrative, essay, poetry, memoir, and letters) exploring childbirth, motherhood, and a sense of self. As soon as she read a poem from the book, I was gripped by the visceral truth Ravn expressed that motherhood is an instantaneous transition.

The way she held the audience, like a consoling mentor, was truly exceptional; her authenticity rippled throughout the lecture hall, and I was struck by simply the honesty that she bestowed on explaining her thought process. Becoming “invisible to the world, but clear to herself,” Ravn’s writing indulged the vulnerability of motherhood, not necessarily towards a child or a partner, but to the redefined understanding of who you (the mother) are. 

At multiple points during the reading, Ravn had to stop herself on behalf of translative inconsistencies; the intent behind the original Danish text was not communicated through the English translation, and, in this way, the reading was a first experience for not only the audience but also the author. Ravn made it clear that this piece is fictional; however, if she was writing about anything, it was not about her experience as a mother or about her child, but about the process of understanding the extent of her selfhood within this “role” (as a mother). I was captivated by everything about Ravn, and I felt lucky to be privy to her internal thought processes and how those trends accumulated in this novel. 

I walked out of this lecture hall completely changed. I realized just how little I truly know about human relationships and growth, and how much I can learn from the women in my life. I ended up purchasing Ravn’s My Work, craving more of the story from which she offered glimpses (I am now also desperate to learn Danish, so I can read the original) and I plan to gift the book to my mom after I’m done reading. I feel so lucky to have witnessed both of these authors dissect their literary masterpieces, and I do not doubt that their words have altered my own approach to both narrative and poetic pursuits. 

Ravn and McSweeney with Chen via Erika Avallone