Darlene Young
Published work you can read on the web:
Here's a small sampling of my work that you can find on the web.
POETRY:
For my cancer-warrior sister--there's nothing like a sisterly relationship.
The title poem, from my third collection, this is my commitment to participation in a world, and in a face, even though things are messy.
"What if I'd Not Been Raised to Know You,"
I've often wondered whether I would have found Jesus if I had not been raised in a religious household.
"Peter is Still Walking on Water,"
What do you think Peter thought about when he looked back on that walk?
"A Good Sick Girl Never Gives Up,"
I don't ever know what is "right" to do when I am dealing with illness. It seems impossible to figure out.
I hate having the label of "sick person."
We have to deal with the fact that we live in flesh. Sometimes that doesn't feel very holy.
Who really knows all the rules, anyway?
I think too often about dying.
Before you write to me to ask what this means, notice the "A" in the title.
The only way to write about this is to write from the edge.
"One Day, You Finally Say Yes"
I really, really like being in my 50s.
"At Age 50, She Buys Pink Roller-Skates"
Yes, this really happened. Here is a picture ------------------>
"My Friend's Marriage is Failing, But I'm Not Supposed to Know"
What are you supposed to say, if you can't talk about it?
I sure miss our Pippin.
(Don't try to read this aloud.)
"Muster" (poem for MWEG)
This is dedicated to my fellow Mormon Women for Ethical Government.
"Replacing the Carpet in the Empty Nest,"
The part about the dust roiling is literally true. Ugggh. (Well, it's mostly all literally true.)
"In the Locker Room at the Temple,"
This poem is about how I want to use this room.
My biggest work is learning to let go of feeling that I must earn redemption.
"Pantoum for Mary at the Tomb"
Check out J. Kirk Richard's painting, "Why Weepest Thou," here.
"We Go Axe Throwing" (scroll to p. 14 of this download of Rathalla Review)
Yeah, I really went axe throwing. I'm really, really bad at it.
I love how God peeks out at me in the details of daily life. (Thanks to BYU Studies for publishing.)
I love thinking about all of the "firsts" that Adam and Eve must have experienced. (This poem took second place in the BYU Studies Clinton F. Larson poetry contest, 2018.)
Yep, really happened. Parenting can create such an ache sometimes. (This poem won Second Prize in BYU's Hart-Larson poetry contest, 2013 and third place in the BYU Studies Clinton F. Larson poetry contest, 2017.)
We really did get stranded in Wells, Nevada for about five hours one hot summer day. (This poem took third place in the BYU Studies Clinton F. Larson poetry contest, 2014.)
Probably my most famous poem. When people ask me how they can read what I write, I say, "Google Darlene Young and 'boob job' and you'll find my work."
Pretty representative of my motherhood poems. This one is about watching my son head off to gather fast offerings in the snow.
This is one of my older poems, first published in Irreantum in the summer of 2002. I wrote it shortly after seeing an amazing play, Stones, by my friend Scott Bronson. Scroll to p. 68.
Another really old one. This was my first temple poem--and also the first poem I wrote as an adult. Scroll to p. 53. On the following page, you can see another of my poems, a very early version of one I've rewritten.
The first of my Adam and Eve poems. I wrote this on a day I was trying to diet. I was thinking about how a perfect body might digest . . . Scroll to p. 124.
"Post-partum" (scroll to p. 70)
Yes, I did suffer from postpartum depression. I think it was pretty hard on my young husband, too.
"How Long" (scroll to p. 70)
This is for everyone who has had to deal with a long-term issue such as infertility or chronic illness.
This poem won the Mary Lythgoe Bradford award from Dialogue Journal, for which I am very grateful, because it encouraged me to keep writing.
I was grateful to be able to help take care of my mother in her last months of life.
Brent Collette taught in the LDS Institute of Religion at Berkeley. He taught me many things, but most importantly what a humble and faithful but fierce and intellectual approach to religious study looks like.
"Umbilical Cord" (scroll to p. 83)
One day when I was about eight months pregnant, I sat still as I felt the baby inside me rolling and kicking. I felt very sorry for my husband for never knowing that feeling, or the thrill of giving birth. I thought, "This is an experience in which I partner with God on behalf of another soul." I wished there were a similar experience that my husband could have in which he got to partner with God on behalf of our child. Then I thought, "Oh, wait . . . " This poem came out of that thought. You can also read here a mini-essay that I wrote at the request of poetry editor Harlow Clark about the process of revision.
The very first poem I ever published was in a little newsletter that Orson Scott Card used to mail out (photocopied, stapled). I think I've gotten better at my craft since then, but I am so grateful to Scott Card for giving me a place to reach LDS readers. At that time, I wasn't aware of anywhere else I could send this. I know I kept writing because he gave me this chance. I recently found that he has digitized those newsletters. Read "Approaching the Veil" here.
CREATIVE NONFICTION:
Thrive Utah 125, a project that collects 125 pieces to celebrate Utah's statehood
From BYU Studies (2nd place, Richard H. Cracroft Essay Contest), this essay talks about how hard it is to figure out how to be a "good sick girl."
Sometimes getting a diagnosis is a good thing. Thanks to JMWW for publishing this. It has been named "Notable" in the 2019 Best American Essays.
"The Band Reunited and We All Bought Tickets"
The truth is that I wrote this after attending a Howard Jones concert. Thanks to River Teeth's "Beautiful Things" for publishing.
FICTION:
"Rissa Orders Cheesecake" (scroll to p. 65)
I do have a broken engagement in my past . . .
"Companions" (scroll to p. 37)
Sometimes you don't realize you're doing good because you're trying too hard to do a different kind of good.
