Tag Archives: female

selections from The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark

“It’s only possible to betray where loyalty is due,” said Sandy. Continue reading

Posted in poetry of the universe | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Live!

what happens when you are the input and the output

what happens when you only have two states: drunk and hungover

what happens when you refuse to sip on anything but top-shelf lit

the obvious cognitive dissonance in selling your words but not your music while knowing full well that rhythm is rhythm

what happens when you decide to quit

what happens when the people you love think that’s a great idea

what happens when you think the people you love are a great idea

what happens when a work of fiction is not real fiction

what happens when the fruits of your entire consciousness are simply the back page scribbles of someone else’s story

a single glass of four-day-old $4 wine

what happens when you only dance and cuddle, no no fuck

what happens when wave

what happens when you want to be the pacifist shark in the tank

a dark, long-haired man kissing Israel, hugging Palestine

what happens when you crack an egg over bibimbop pizza

“this is happening,” concluded the stubbly subway sound engineer

what happens in the city does not stay in the city. Continue reading

Posted in dear diary, poetry of the mind | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

selections from Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

If a pistol appears in a story, eventually it’s got to be fired. Continue reading

Posted in poetry of the universe | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Read My Lips

what would the world look like if it were run by women?

it’s a question that’s been pestering me for the past few months, the latest development in the slow evolution of feminist thought unfurling in my brain over the past several years. it takes so many different forms (e.g. what would the world look like if women had run it from the beginning? what would the world look like if women start to run it in the future?) and each form flowers so many different answers, that i often find myself resolving on “who knows.”

the next smartest step, obviously, is to read something on the topic. but that would make too much sense.

instead, as i always do, i selected the book at the top of my “to read” stack and started reading that: “El nicaragüense,” by Pablo Antonio Cuadra. “El nicaragüense” es en libro de ensayos sobre el espíritu del ser nicaragüense. Cuadra describe todos los dualidades que existen en este espíritu. por ejemplo, el dualidad de los modernos y los antiguos… de los españoles y los indios… del océano Pacífico y el océano Atlántico… de la américa del norte y la américa del sur… de los violentos y los pacíficos. curiously enough, not only every Nicaraguan is a half, but i also am only half Nicaraguan. weird.

the point is that Cuadra set me on a journey with this quote:

Los arqueologos tal vez algun dia descrifen la incognita. Yo solamente tomaba de aquella dualidad el punto de partida. Y ante mis ojos antonitos de poeta, el “YO SOY OTRO” de Rimbaud se mehacia estatua dos mil anos antes por obra de los primitivos nicaragüenses.

Rimbaud. now i know i’ve seen that name before a bunch–you really can’t avoid the best French poets at a liberal arts college–but i’d never read anything by him. so i googled “i am other rimbaud,” and Google asked me if i meant “i am another rimbaud.” of course that’s what i meant.

this brought me to a page that included some of Rimbaud’s poems, in addition to a letter he had sent to Paul Demeny (a Frenchman that only earned his own page on the French Wikipedia, not on the English one):

Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who could judge it? The Critics! The Romantics! Who prove so clearly that the singer is so seldom the work, that’s to say the idea sung and intended by the singer.

For I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage.

If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!

In Greece, as I say, verse and lyre took rhythm from Action. Afterwards, music and rhyme are a game, a pastime. The study of the past charms the curious: many of them delight in reviving these antiquities: – that’s up to them. The universal intelligence has always thrown out its ideas naturally: men gathered a part of these fruits of the mind: they acted them out, they wrote books by means of them: so it progressed, men not working on themselves, either not being awake, or not yet in the fullness of the great dream. Civil-servants – writers: author; creator, poet: that man has never existed!

very interesting stuff. kinda whisks away all those ancient poesies i love so much. you may not completely agree w him, but you can certainly appreciate and understand his passion for progressing the arts and inventions. he later writes, however, that “the poet is truly the thief of fire,” thus beautifully and brilliantly alluding to the myth of Prometheus. so he’s got one squishy fin in the ocean and the other foot planted firmly on land. typical man of the moment. but i liked his way of thinking and writing so i read on until i found this:

These poets will exist! When woman’s endless servitude is broken, when she lives for and through herself, when man – previously abominable – has granted her freedom, she too will be a poet! Women will discover the unknown! Will her world of ideas differ from ours? – She will discover strange things, unfathomable; repulsive, delicious: we will take them to us, we will understand them.

wow! the year was 1871, the month was the fifth, the date was the fifteenth, and 16-year-old Arthur Rimbaud, who hadn’t even been to Paris yet, was saying some extraordinarily inspiring things about la femme.

sure, there are issues here. if her “servitude” is “endless,” how can it be broken? who said she’s a servant anyway? a man? will it be man that “grants her freedom,” instead of her taking it for herself? does she even want to be a poet? perhaps she was already a poet? perhaps she was a poet before man was ever poet? somebody far more intelligent and far more steeped in queer studies could point out far more of the issues.

nevertheless–and maybe this is because, despite the century and a half between us, we’re both young white males–something in it speaks to me. not because it answers the question with which i opened this post, but because it shows that the question pained another in precisely the same way. when somebody describes a discovery as “strange” and “unfathomable” and “repulsive” AND “delicious,” you know that somebody has no idea what he’s talking about. that’s just Rimbaud being a poet.

what would the world look like if it were run by women? who knows. Continue reading

Posted in dear diary, poetry of the universe | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

there is no God but there is James Joyce

i’m not gonna name names, but that’s two–count ’em–two male friends around my age that insist on telling me how many girls want them so badly. girls always flirting on them. girls always hitting on them. girls winking and smiling … Continue reading

Posted in dear diary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment