Flannery O’Connor, the acclaimed Southern Gothic writer known for her sharp prose and unflinching exploration of faith and the grotesque, would have celebrated her 100th birthday on March 25, 2025. To commemorate this literary milestone, we delve into the work of Angela Alaimo O’Donnell, a poet who has deeply engaged with O’Connor’s legacy. O’Donnell’s collection, Andalusian Hours: Poems from the Porch of Flannery, offers a unique perspective on O’Connor’s life and work, capturing the essence of her Southern roots and complex spirituality. Here, we share selections from O’Donnell’s collection, along with a new poem written specifically for O’Connor’s centennial.
Flannery’s Birthday
Inspired by a line from one of O’Connor’s letters – “Well I thanks you for my birthday message. I am thirty-five years old and still have all my teeth” – this poem imagines O’Connor’s perspective on birthdays, particularly from the vantage point of no longer having them.
Little did I know, I’d have just four more. Birthdays never meant that much to me
until I stopped having them. Now they seem a sweetness every humanoid should savor,
a day for cake and contrition for all the things you done and didn’t get to
and might not ever, given the call we all get but really don’t expect to
out of this party we call life. The knife I use to cut my cake is sharp.
Like my eye and my pen. My stories rife with folks who need a light
to see themselves by. Maybe candlelight is best, a birthday song
reminding us all we won’t be here long. Flannery & the Dragon
This poem draws on O’Connor’s quote about the dragon that sits by the road, watching those who pass. It reflects on the role of the “dragon” – perhaps representing mortality, suffering, or the darker aspects of human nature – in O’Connor’s writing.
The dragon shows up daily at my desk, rears his hot head and breathes his hot breath
all over the keys of my typewriter, singeing the page, the space bar warm to the touch.
I don’t mind him. I don’t even ask “Why me?” anymore. My muse is death
dressed in rage and fire, hungry for human fools. And I’ve got a million of ‘em.
The lives I save are all my own. They’re dear to me as children.
So much of my love spent on invention. He waits, impatient, as they each walk past,
the blind and the lame, the deaf and the dumb. It pains me to lose even one. Flannery’s Fire
Inspired by the imagery of light and fire in O’Connor’s work, this poem evokes the vibrant, sometimes harsh, beauty of the Southern landscape and its reflection in her writing.
That’s the beauty of it, living here where the sun comes daily and the trees
seem lit from within, some secret fire igniting the world which sparks
but does not flame. The same fire’s inside me, so I know what it is to burn
low with no one seeing the quiet glory you are, how bright your leaves
and every polished stem just gleaming in the white light, what it means
to be mean and still lovely and loved by the maker who made you that way
full of wonderlust and mad hot wit. It’s not something you see every day
unless you live here. So I stay. A Legacy of Words
These poems, born from a deep engagement with Flannery O’Connor’s writing, offer a glimpse into the enduring power of her literary vision. They serve as a fitting tribute on the centennial of her birth, inviting readers to revisit her work and discover new layers of meaning within her evocative prose. Angela Alaimo O’Donnell’s poetic voice adds another dimension to our understanding of O’Connor, highlighting the complexity and enduring relevance of her contributions to American literature.