I sold out and did a commercial.
[LAUGHTER]
It's always a big argument about whether a poet takes money
for doing something or write something for a product,
that they're selling out, so.
What can I say?
And I didn't sell out for anybody big
like McDonald's or Pepsi.
I sold out for Oil of Olay.
But it's the coolest thing.
I go into the studio.
I have to write this poem about aging, or raging against aging,
they said.
The advertising people, "We want you
to rage against aging, right?"
[LAUGHTER]
And they're ready for me to take 200 takes of this little poem.
And I read it the first time, they go, "Oh,
what we going to do?
She got it right."
[LAUGHTER]
"Oh, let's go out for Martinis."
[LAUGHTER]
So you go to the studio.
In 20 minutes, I read this poem.
And they put it on the radio.
And then they realize the place where
the poem is running on the radio,
they started to sell more Oil of Olay.
So they read it more, then it's another poem,
and they sold more.
It probably wasn't a poem, but I didn't tell them that.
Then every once in a while, this nice fat check would come.
So, yes, I'm sorry.
I compromised my art.
Anyway, these are my two Oil of Olay poems.
Yeah!
[LAUGHTER]
Oil of Olay, take one.
"I will never be known for a sweet noiseless slip
through this life.
Both my skin and spirit refuse to fold.
I top four decades plus, but no one dares
conjure the Ma'am in me.
My spine is a lightning bolt. Still hippy and slick enough,
still sparking the double take, I slide a languid coil straight
into any fury I can find.
I laugh right in the face of "You don't look it,"
armed with the stones that realization
that I most certainly never will look it or act it or accept it.
That I will never sign on with the ranks
of the withered and common sad souls marching resolutely
behind the shields of their birthdays.
Each year of me is dressed in spinning silk.
To touch the skin of my cheek is to touch
what life knows about light.
To gaze upon me is to watch time spinning backwards, fixed
and forever focused on beginning again."
This is what I did--
on beginning, again.
Oil of Olay, take two.
"I watched mere women wipe their reflections,
slather their faces with fragrant mud, scraping grains,
hard lotions that screech and sting.
They scrub the bridge of their noses with granules.
Steam pours wide and peel off shiny false skins,
praying for a new reel beneath.
All that chaos, mind you, while the blessing of the symbol
awaits them.
I will grow older along with them, yes.
My braids will streak silver, but no mere number
will hold strength enough to name me.
While they are being led across the street by polite young men,
I will carry a cane with a viper's head.
While they weaken under the weight of,
"Pardon me, ma'am," every translation of my name
will be "goddess."
While they lock upon their mirrors and see only falling,
I will dance barefoot on the shards
of mirrors I have shattered."
Yeah.
Doesn't it make you want to just go
out and buy some Oil of Olay?
[LAUGHTER]