Grace Paley authored three acclaimed
collections of short stories, which were compiled in the Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award finalist The Collected Stories in 1994. Her
stories hone in on the everyday
conflicts and heartbreaks of city life, informed by her childhood in the Bronx.
Beyond
her work as an author and university
professor, Paley was a feminist
and anti-war activist, who described
herself as a "somewhat combative
pacifist and cooperative anarchist."
But she was also a poet who in her
later years was selected as Poet
Laureate of Vermont in 2003.
She
was born Grace Goodside on December
11, 1922, in the Bronx, to Jewish
parents, Isaac Goodside and the
former Manya Ridnyik, immigrants
from Ukraine, and socialists.
It was a secular family with
her father refusing to attend temple
services. She later described
herself as a bigger believer in the Jewish
diaspora than in Jewish nationhood—“I
was never a Zionist."
The
youngest of three children by several years she reveled in the intellectual
debates around the family table and she
was a member of the Falcons, a socialist youth group. An independent
spirit she dropped out of high school at 16. She attended Hunter College in 1938-’39 and later briefly studied poetry with W. H. Auden at the New School, when she was 17.
She
married film cameraman, Jess Paley, when she was 19 in 1942. For the next several years writing to a back seat to raising her two children
Nora and Danny and her commitment to activism
in the early second wave feminist
movement and pacifist
causes.
What
writing she did do collected more rejection
slips than acceptances. It was
not until 1959 that Doubleday published
her first short story collection, The Little
Disturbances of Man which included several tales now considered classics. Two subsequent collection published at
lengthy intervals, Enormous Changes at the Last Minute in 1979 and Later
the Same Day in 1985 continued with characters from the first book but
with expanded social justice vision and inclusion of more Black and lesbian characters.
Paley
also published several volumes of poetry including Leaning Forward in 1985, New and
Collected Poems in 1992, and Begin Again: Collected Poems
in 2001 which assembled work from throughout her life.
Meanwhile
Paley was also heavily involved in activism. Paley was known for pacifism and
for political activism. The FBI
categorized her as a communist and
kept a file on her for thirty years.
Beginning in the 1950s, Paley joined friends in protesting nuclear proliferation and American militarization. She also worked with the American Friends Service Committee to establish neighborhood peace groups helping found the Greenwich Village Peace
Center in 1961. She met her second
husband, Robert Nichols, through
the anti-Vietnam War peace movement.
With
the escalation of the Vietnam War,
Paley joined the War Resisters League. She was arrested
on a number of occasions, including spending a week in the Women’s House of Detention in Greenwich Village. In 1968, she signed the Writers and
Editors War Tax Protest pledge,
vowing to refuse tax payments in
protest against the War. In 1969 accompanied a peace mission to Hanoi
to negotiate the release of prisoners of war. She served
as a delegate to the 1973 World Peace Conference in Moscow.
Paley and was arrested in
1978 as one of the White House Eleven
for unfurling an anti-nuclear banner that read “No
Nuclear Weapons—No Nuclear Power—USA and USSR” on the White House lawn. In the 1980s Paley supported
efforts to improve human rights and resist U.S. military intervention in Central America and she continued to
speak out in her final years against the Iraq
War.
Among
Paley’s many other causes was abortion
rights, part of her broader feminist work. She organized one of the first abortion speak-outs in the 1960s after
having an abortion herself in the 1950s and then struggling to obtain a second
one a few years later.
Despite
her lack of any degree Paley also had an academic career. She began taught
writing at Sarah Lawrence College
from to 1966 1989) and helped to found the Teachers
& Writers Collaborative in New York in the late 1960s. Later she served on the faculty at City College
and taught courses at Columbia
University. She also taught at Syracuse
University and served as vice
president of the PEN American Center,
an organization she had worked to diversify
in the 1980s.
Paley's
honors included a Guggenheim Fellowship for Fiction, the Edith Wharton Award Certification of Merit,
an O’Henry Award in 1969 for her
story Distance. She was elected
to the American Academy of Arts and
Letters in 1980 and went on to receive the Rea Award for the Short Story, the Vermont Governor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts. the PEN/Malamud Award for Excellence in Short
Fiction, the Jewish Cultural
Achievement Award. She received an honorary
degree from Dartmouth University.
She
also received the Robert Creeley Award
in 2004, the Fitzgerald Award for
Achievement in American Literature, and at Dartmouth’s annual Social Justice Awards ceremony in 2006
the Lester B. Granger ‘18 Award for Lifetime Achievement.
The
Grace Paley Prize, a literary award,
is now presented by the Association of
Writers & Writing Programs in her honor.
Paley
was a decades-long resident of West
11th Street in Greenwich Village,
where she raised her children. After an amicable
divorce from Jess Paley she began
spending summers in Thetford, Vermont, with her second husband Robert Nichols the 1970s and couple settled there permanently in the
early ‘90s.
Paley
died at the age of 84 on August 27, 2007 in her adopted Vermont home town breast cancer.
Like
her short stories, much of Paley’s poetry settled on the experiences of
ordinary urban Jewish women. As one editor who worked with her wrote, ‘Her
characters are people who smell of onions, yell at each other, mourn in
darkened kitchens.” She explained that
she wrote what she knew—“I couldn’t
help the fact that I had not gone to war, and I had not done the male things. I
had lived a woman’s life and that’s what I wrote about.”
In the Bus
Somewhere
between Greenfield and Holyoke
snow became rain
and a child
passed through me
as a person
moves through mist
as the moon
moves through
a dense cloud at
night
as though I were
cloud or mist
a child passed
through me
On the highway
that lies
across miles of
stubble
and tobacco
barns our bus speeding
speeding
disordered the slanty rain
and a girl with
no name naked
wearing the last
nakedness of
childhood
breathed in me
once no
once two breaths
a sigh she whispered Hey you
begin again
Again?
again again
you'll see
it's easy begin again long ago
—Grace
Paley
In later life
her poems reflected her relentless activism like this work from Long
Walks and Intimate Talks by Grace Paley and Vera B. Williams from 1991 about a peace mission to Nicaragua.
The Dance in Jinotega
In Jinotega women greeted us
with thousands of flowers roses
it was hard to tell the petals
on our faces and arms falling
then embraces and the Spanish language
which is a little like a descent of
petals pink and orange
Suddenly out of the hallway our
gathering place AMNLAE the
Asociación de Mujeres women
came running seat yourselves dear
guests from the north we announce
a play a dance a play the women
their faces mountain river Indian
European Spanish dark-haired
women
dance in gray-green
fatigues they dance the Contra who
circles the village waiting
for the young teacher the health worker
(these are the strategies) the farmer
in the high village walks out into the
morning toward the front which is a
circle of terror
they dance
the work of women and men they dance
the plowing of the fields they kneel
to the harrowing with the machetes they
dance the sowing of seed (which is always
a dance) and the ripening of corn the
flowers of grain they dance the harvest
they raise their machetes for
the harvest the machetes are high
but no!
out of the hallway in green and gray
come those who dance the stealth
of the Contra cruelly they
dance the ambush the slaughter of
the farmer they are the death dancers
who found the schoolteacher they caught
the boy who dancing brought seeds in
his hat all the way from Matagalpa they
dance the death of the mother the
father the rape of the daughter they
dance the child murdered the seeds
spilled and trampled they dance
sorrow sorrow
they dance the
search for the Contra and the defeat
they dance a comic dance they make a
joke of the puppetry of the Contra of
Uncle Sam who is the handler of puppets
they dance rage and revenge they place
the dead child (the real sleeping baby)
on two chairs which is the bier for
the little actor they dance prayer
bereavement sorrow they mourn
Is there applause for such theater?
Silence then come let us dance
together now you know the usual
dance of couples Spanish or North
American let us dance in twos and
threes let us make little circles let us
dance as though at a festival or in peace-
time together and alone whirling stamping
our feet bowing to one another
the children
gather petals from the floor to throw
at our knees we dance the children
too banging into us into each other and
one small boy dances alone pulling
at our skirts wait he screams stop!
he tugs at the strap of our camera Stop!
stop dancing I’m Carlos take a picture
of me No! Now! Right now! because
soon Look! See Pepe! even tomorrow
I could be dead like him
the music
catches its breath the music
jumping in the guitar and phonograph holds
still and waits no no we say Carlos
not you we put our fingers on his little
shoulder we touch his hair but one of
us is afraid for god’s sake take his
picture so we lift him up we photo-
graph him we pass him from one to
another we photograph him again and
again with each of us crying or
laughing with him in our arms
we dance
—Grace
Paley
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