Who is Margaret Atwood

Margaret Eleanor Atwood (born November 18, 1939) is a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, teacher, environmental activist, and inventor. Since 1961, she has published 18 books of poetry, 18 novels, 11 books of non-fiction, nine collections of short fiction, eight children's books, and two graphic novels, and a number of small press editions of both poetry and fiction. Atwood has won numerous awards and honors for her writing, including two Booker Prizes, the Arthur C. Clarke Award, the Governor General's Award, the Franz Kafka Prize, Princess of Asturias Awards, and the National Book Critics and PEN Center USA Lifetime Achievement Awards. A number of her works have been adapted for film and television.

Atwood's works encompass a variety of themes including gender ...
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Margaret Atwood Poems

  • A Sad Child
    You're sad because you're sad.
    It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
    Go see a shrink or take a pill,
    or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll...
  • The Moment
    The moment when, after many years
    of hard work and a long voyage
    you stand in the centre of your room,
    house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,...
  • You Fit Into Me
    You fit into me
    like a hook into an eye

    a fish hook...
  • Helen Of Troy Does Countertop Dancing
    The world is full of women
    who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
    if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
    Get some self-respect...
  • Bored
    All those times I was bored
    out of my mind. Holding the log
    while he sawed it. Holding
    the string while he measured, boards,...
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Top 10 most used topics by Margaret Atwood

Body 12 Time 10 House 7 Head 6 Long 6 Light 6 Water 6 Remember 5 Mouth 5 Red 5


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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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