Showing posts with label Feminism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Feminism. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Poem #110 Woman’s March,2017

That is wit?
What means this?
Bigness writ by opinions
A millennium in limbo gloom
No man-child, happiness as sad
Rood of time, no substantiality
A very scurvy word from eternity’s mansions
Hercules, the wrinkled generation
What means this?
Nineteen lives in the house jack

Humpty dumpty never fell from a taller wall.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Poem #109 January 21, 2017 Woman’s March

Punching great grandmas’ womb
Still tied to Liberty’s by a navel cord
Sold us all
From the door of her guard
A sedated look
Snowed in in the midst of winter
Courageous of angels

With a very scurvy word

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

The Rape of Leda: An Analysis of Supernatural, Victimization, Nationhood and Potential Vindication in Yeat’s Leda and the Swan

Yeats sonnet, “Leda and the Swan” is an aesthetic experience of the bizarre phenomenon of a girl’s rape by a massive swan. The sonnet evokes a sensory experience, one which brings to life the coming of a new age. However, through the bold and vivid images of abuse, the narrator brings attention to the victims of violence and draws attention to their helplessness. With phrases such as “staggering girl,” “helpless breast,” and “terrified vague fingers,” the reader is forced to empathize with the victim due to detailed description and alterations in personality—“Did she put on his knowledge with his power”--that this abuse unfortunately evokes.
In the poem the elements of the public and private and uncomfortably intertwine, in that the coming of age of the girl--the end of innocence coupled with her burgeoning womanhood, becoming a mother and simultaneously a victim—is portrayed on a grander scale. Yeats draws attention to how the narrative lens privileges Zeus as the statutory offender. Yet, it is only through the title “Leda and the Swan” that we are provided with a direct link to Greek mythology and literature, the only other indication being the reference to Agamemnon. The reference to Zeus symbolizes the supernatural, fate, beastliness, masculinity and the uncontrollable, and raises serious moral and philosophical issues, both in the relationship with gods, relationships with human beings, and relation with fate and the natural.
The caesura at the center of the first verse, “A sudden blow; the great wings beating still” (ll.1), highlights the unexpectedness of the Swans appearance, which heralds the supernatural or inexplicable. The large bird is already identified as larger than average, with its “great wings” and its ability to so easily dominate this girl: “Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed.” The reader is as shocked as Leda and experiences the same disorientation due to the lack of context around the sudden violence.
In Lines 3-4 we finally discover the identity of the molester: “By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,/He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.” The reader is encouraged to identify “him” and “he” as Zeus.[1] In the first stanza, diction such as great wings/staggering girl, thighs/webs, nape/bill creates parallels between the girl and the swan, a parallelism which stands in stark contrast to the rhythm of the first stanza. The diction finally converges in the last line of the stanza with the use of a word ascribed both to dominant bird and the subjugated girl: “He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.”
The beginning of the poem creates a sense of urgency with words like sudden blow, beating, staggering, shudder, mastered, burning, as well a portrait the girl’s weakness (caressed, helpless, terrified, vague, loosening). The alliteration in the poem strengthens the significance of the events, such as ‘great wings beating still Above the staggering girl’ as well as assisting to create the poem’s melody. This part of the poem’s rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD highlights the words ‘still’, ‘caressed’, ‘bill’, ‘breast’ and ‘push’, ‘thighs’, ‘rush’, ‘lies’.
The second stanza is more philosophical, one which brings forward two questions and draws attention to the strangeness of the events. These questions not only reflect on the disembodiment experienced by the rape victim, but the direct address to the reader draws attention to their inexplicability and Leda’s inability to fully reconcile the violation of body with the supernatural perpetrator. When in lines 5-6 the narrator asks “How can those terrified vague fingers push/ The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?” the implied answer is she could not. The use of the terms “vague” and “loosening” in association with Leda’s body leads one to ask whether or not the “terror” conveyed by the narrator translated physically into a committed resistance. In short, her body is helpless in comparison to the strength of Zeus.
            In Lines 7-8 this body is no longer Leda’s body: “And how can body, laid in that white rush,/ But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?” The lack of the possessive pronoun forces us to become the body—it is, quite literally, any body. In fact, Yeats never establishes a distance between reader and Leda; like her, we can only see "white rush.” The heartbeat she hears is both that of an animal and a god, and therefore decidedly inhuman and “strange.” We are placed so close to the swan that we can hear the heartbeat, and faintly make out the white rush of the feathers. Yeats evokes her helplessness in the “vagueness” and strangeness of the material details which might orient us in space and time.
The tone changes at sestet, where the poem’s subject shifts from Leda and the swan to Homer’s ‘Iliad’ and the Trojan War. The shift or turn is the completion of the sexual act: "A shudder in the loins” echoes a shudder in the poetic lines.  The "broken wall" and "burning roof and tower" refer to the famous burning of Troy. Leda here, while not the direct cause of the Trojan War, “engenders” that conflict through her victimization. This stanza links together the prior scene with Leda and the swan to Leda and Zeus’s daughter, Helen and Leda and Tyndareus’ daughter, Clytemnestra, who supposedly bring the death of Agamemnon and the fall of Troy: “The broken wall, the burning roof and tower And Agamemnon dead.” Lines 10 and 11 are very dramatic, and seem to emphasize blame while not explicitly giving that blame an object. Could it be the narrator is evoking the sense that the victim is to blame? In this sense, “being caught up” reads essentially as a blaming of the victim. Zeus himself remains untouched by the narrator’s scrutiny; the use of the term “brute” in the next line seems to compliment the strength of the swan, rather than an accusation. If Leda is “mastered,” then it could fall on her as being too easily taken or “caught up”. Despite that “caught” echoes line 3, in which Leda was “caught up” in the Swan’s bill, it is easily read metaphorically as caught up in lust, or the emotions of the moment.   
The verb tense shifts to the past in lines 11-12: “Being so Caught up,/ So mastered by the brute blood of the air”. The narrator seems to ask if the girl, “mastered by the brute blood”, changed and herself became a ‘brute’—this act of uncompromising, self-seeking, “indifferent” violence against her inspiring violence to rival this force. The poem concludes with a rhetorical question that remains unanswered: “Did she put on his knowledge with his power/ Before the indifferent beak could let her drop” (ll.13-14) The reader much like the ‘staggering girl’ is dropped from the emotional apex of the poem. The sudden divergence from the iambic pentameter-- that is present throughout and creates and shapes the textual authority of the poem-- emphasizes and allows for this sudden drop. It is also suggests a divergence from the former order created through the iambic pentameter, and thus symbolizes the first act nation building, one which is the destruction of the former order to allow for the building of a new one. This may indicate transference of power prior to the “drop” in that is raises the question of whether or not Leda acquired some of Zeus’s powers. That the question remains unanswered asks us whetehr the brevity of the event allowed for this transference.
Zeus’ indifference to Leda and to the reader—outside of the brutality of rape—raises a variety of questions as to the relationship between the ‘gods’ or the ‘supernatural’ with humanity and civilization. The narrator-as-observer of the rape adopts an ambivalent tone in the last six lines, a rhetorical and historical distance that echoes Zeus’ indifference. In the last line the indifference on part of the brute is seemingly harsher then the rape itself. After the brute receives his release—achieved his goal— he leaves. How is one to reconcile this helplessness of Leda, and her placement at the forefront of a mythical war, with the indifference of her supernatural rapist?
The poem allows for a multitude of approaches. One can read the girl as a victim of sexual abuse who, through this one scene, is either transformed from victim to agent, or becomes simply a vessel for Zeus’ power. Another reading casts Leda as a representation of civilization itself, subject to the whims of the supernatural and powerless despite futile attempts in resistance. However through the act of birth, this power of the supernatural power is claimed and commodified, capable of being harvested for the utilitarian purpose of the new generation. The third approach is to view the violation of the girl as a necessity, and thus questions our individual relationship with the events that we are unable to explain, let alone justify.  In the events of one’s own life, let alone the lives of others, one is forced to take on the role of the helpless bystander, a witness who nonetheless and paradoxically becomes progenitor of an unforeseen outcome.



[1] Yeats expects that his readers have a familiarity with the myth of Leda and the swan and therein know that "he" means Zeus. 

Friday, March 10, 2017

Poem #106 weren’t they saying

“come all you fair and tender lovers”
Weren’t they saying madame butterfly
That I am a Minnie? Let us say this stint
Wandering weather and sable wining
Nail down talks of a complain

Stay where you’re dummy

Friday, January 20, 2017

Poem #90 Consent written in a smaller font

Wedding favor taking down books,
Carrying flattery and heavy promises
Consent write in a smaller font
And I stop wearing my glasses

Lost them at the side of “how are you”

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Poem # 85 Picture our only work

Picture our only work,
Melt man, celebrate decay
Crap concert
Laugh home eternity
Picture our only work
As a hairy guy from hello
Smoke score
Like you well, Ask away
Picture our only work
feel fight light love
How true life like a kind look
Picture our only work
good god
Work which comb fashion

Fast n’ funny 

Friday, January 13, 2017

Poem #78 stomach a marvel of flat landscaping

Finding a favorite recipe
There were lots of clues I never noticed.
Imaging myself responsible
stomach a marvel of flat landscaping
Heart covered by two protruding hills
Cranberry lips
a love letter to an old flame
including the line “Help me”
couldn’t print a bibliography into my eyes
as I found ten metaphors
dead eyes couldn’t find my face

In an elaborate smile

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Poem #64 Rebels Like Ourselves

half read pages only she had seen
overgrown garden room filled with life projects
worry on her collage of travel posters
a weekly her face a library
sit in solitude to read in one week
a paper back library of the world
told me we both preferred
rebels like ourselves
voice the young woman

Friday, December 16, 2016

Poem #48 About Being Woman

It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t anything
Gathering embers
Remarkably reasonable
Guilty conscious in one
Expansive grin
Driving home on her forehead
Stop please
Her hand upon the splash-board
Beautiful
Need to fix the man’s eyes
Bent forward
Pretty querulous
Added pity
Her too long and gravely beyond him
Gone
What do you mean
My wife
You’d been telling
I suppose you lied
To do with you double insult
Go on saying plans
Dishonorable eyes
Her whelps
Only an ordinary good woman
Desperation of course swore
Yes forward fainting
What did I tell you
Unbroken light
Passion protestations
Oh you brute
Get her into my room
Until you be quite
Storm of lady’s wrath
Jealousy
Himself discovered
Good looking bad liar
Quickly please?
Some sort of idiotic
“satisfaction”
For her amazing
Indiscretion

Broken off so easy 

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Poem #43 Fifty More Words More I Won’t Know

Hear to the puffed out heroes in the absence of a moral law
Concerning someone else merely hears a cry
Young day I won’t come a ransom like everyone else,
I never was the kind of girl to buy heaven in a store
Or Religion going door to door
Selling promises- for all you had and more
You came you walked and we went
Calling for Bootlegged promises living in Empty conversations
I haven’t got a will falling in a world of free floating anxiety

Swirling and swishing as they go 50 words more  I won’t know.

Poem #42 Single men sometimes fall behind . . .

single men sometimes fall behind
trouble walking in front
guns begin anything you sees
take my fun rouge pickin’
a woman the wife of an ill omen
white with a ,lot of aggie sin
Older than me like a mother
ordered in a tidy life
buying yellow teacup
they play can’t wait to be lied about
give way to natural good hating
impostors to knaves the things you stood and built
one heap turn of your begging’s
a word your heat long hold
exile will virtue wake with common hurt
none too much distance everything more
flatten words with false promises
so to make mornings bright
and broken nights
fools broken worn out tool
dealt in lies
you can dream
every once in a while
pitch and toss off all your wings
hold on

if all men count. 

Friday, December 2, 2016

Poem #27 My Body

A window lock three girls chasing me
sweaty rim partially open
bottom gravel
air gone
ground through thick cold
frozen garden
Diffused with hope
a careful noiseless morning
rising from images of life
feminine tame more beastly revenge
bleed at whose end no trees grow
lock old nice game my hands burning
of the toilet looked down at this end
empty everything feel anything
they don’t turn at the glass doors
Sire solemn not to the look to thorough
when on the other powers companionship stands
its face tame of the image it gave
race of one’s everything,

seeping through the holding . . .

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Poem #23 Take her, lift her, look at her

Take her, lift her, look at her
Hidden spirits, injured and
upward ghostly,
unknown dreams,
told beneath the flames.

Take her , lift her, look at her-
Her body is an ornament-
Touch her, think of her,
now pure, free of scrutiny.
Past dishonored but still fair for the rarity.
Lamps quiver, a light houseless-
The bleak wind ends it.

A picture untaken, to rigid-
So blindly known to darkness,
burning her hands on a cold flame.
Happy Sad immorality, her evil, her sins
The dream of happy gamesome minds,
turning apart, leaning on black stoned walls.

Take her, lift her, look at her.
Read from the book.
The black one with the golden trimming.
Feet upright, some historic pages;
Read those-
The ones on suffering, on grief-
Speaking to all times and all life.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Poem #8 An exertion

I know a woman who got in fights with a cry concerning no one
Never feels the life leave: a smoked out ambition,
Never building a domestic project an urban fantasia
Never kicking out the busy cry of life’s conflict

I know a woman who got in fights with a cry concerning no one
Someone else’s project a masque epitaph beyond unpurged squiggling
today leaves still full of yesterday’s shades and shapes proud novelties
We are where we began- staring at opposing windows of the winking will

I know a woman who got in fights with a cry concerning no one
clear bawdiness indulged in haunted heaven of the moral law
Hankering clear smoking jovial well stuffed conscience

Hanging on nothingness of a little less

Friday, November 11, 2016

Poem #4 Gynarchy

its obvious only near the window
souls for sale second hand
golden fiddles fair struck
elfin red of inquiry
its obvious only near the window
master of sorrow
blasting boasts
bound in chains
beat open contrite
we are not prisoners
put into life
an adopted spectacle
a painting by Rembrandt
its obvious only near the window
able things our daily life
might say
between the depth of the individual

its obvious only near the window