Hello again. I do not expect this to be anything spectacular, but I haven't written poetry in near a year and thought it would be good if I began again.
Starch
Crackled paper tied tight over two small planets
When will I see again?
A vision of milk and shadow soaks my gaze,
Fills my heart.
When will I see again?
Three years I slaved away,
Deft hands refining jet armor,
Crafting plates of heavy steel.
Plate by plate they fall from me,
Rusted.
When will I see again?
He found the small chink in my chainmail,
Saw it close to my heart.
Blinders on a well-rationed brain
Could not help my sight.
When will I see again?
One gasp, one tear and all is done.
How sharp, how callous was his spear,
Leaving old soldier to her end,
Bleeding into the wheat.
When will I see again?
I open my eyes.
White cataracts glisten,
Dry and fall.
Sandpaper lids open and close.
I can see.
Starch, what have you done to me?
I was warm but now I'm white and stiff.
Starch, what have you done to me?
I who once loved
Am pale and cold marble.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
A New Year and The Ugly Woman
Every intention have I to continue this blog. I have found several factors have been getting in the way, but with the new year, why not be more productive? I would like to thank all those who have made comments on what I have thus far written. It is very kind of you and best to you all!
Today I find myself musing on The Ugly Woman. What, you may ask, is the Ugly Woman? Indeed, many of them exist, people would believe. They are often librarians and spinsters, hiding away in houses full of sixteen cats and knitting needles. In truth, however, the Ugly Woman is the majority of women. For indeed not every poor damsel can be blessed with the radiant and splendid beauty of someone like Angelina Jolie. Heavens knows we don't all have bloated lips, bloated breasts and rail-thin frames.
But let us take the Ugly Woman to the cinema and to literature.
I am often thinking of the sad, infeebled (and sometimes Byronic) male in film and literature. For instance, take a Woody Allen film. You have a generally undesirable-looking man, with a puny stature, unfashionable glasses, and very thin hair. He's awkward if intelligent, and maladroit. In short, he has little to recommend him. However, he generally tends to achieve a great success and of course, to woo some (attractive) woman or other. This paradigm can also be seen with Charles Chaplin's Tramp, Jane Eyre's unpleasant Mr. Rochester, and all the romantic loners who self-loathe and are yet admired. These are Ugly Men, but where are the Ugly Women?
It is rare that we see an unattractive woman in a serious, positive situation. I think of Bridget Jones, who is overweight and dreadfully maladroit. However, the same mystique does not surround her as Woody Allen--you ask yourself why? in her case, where you would not ask such a thing in the case of an Allen character. Why is Mark Darcy attracted to her when she has all of these unseemly flaws? Why should she end up with a handsome, intelligent man?
Well, the Ugly Woman cannot be taken seeriously. She cannot find a leading role in any narrative other than that which mocks her. She is the maiden aunt, the village witch, the best friend. She may be intelligent and witty, but all of these things are strange. Instead, she is expected to lose some weight and maybe get a facelift.
I will be satisfied when I see a romance novel with a two-hundred pound intellectual riddled with pimples and not-so-perfect teeth. Will he love her then?
FdS
Today I find myself musing on The Ugly Woman. What, you may ask, is the Ugly Woman? Indeed, many of them exist, people would believe. They are often librarians and spinsters, hiding away in houses full of sixteen cats and knitting needles. In truth, however, the Ugly Woman is the majority of women. For indeed not every poor damsel can be blessed with the radiant and splendid beauty of someone like Angelina Jolie. Heavens knows we don't all have bloated lips, bloated breasts and rail-thin frames.
But let us take the Ugly Woman to the cinema and to literature.
I am often thinking of the sad, infeebled (and sometimes Byronic) male in film and literature. For instance, take a Woody Allen film. You have a generally undesirable-looking man, with a puny stature, unfashionable glasses, and very thin hair. He's awkward if intelligent, and maladroit. In short, he has little to recommend him. However, he generally tends to achieve a great success and of course, to woo some (attractive) woman or other. This paradigm can also be seen with Charles Chaplin's Tramp, Jane Eyre's unpleasant Mr. Rochester, and all the romantic loners who self-loathe and are yet admired. These are Ugly Men, but where are the Ugly Women?
It is rare that we see an unattractive woman in a serious, positive situation. I think of Bridget Jones, who is overweight and dreadfully maladroit. However, the same mystique does not surround her as Woody Allen--you ask yourself why? in her case, where you would not ask such a thing in the case of an Allen character. Why is Mark Darcy attracted to her when she has all of these unseemly flaws? Why should she end up with a handsome, intelligent man?
Well, the Ugly Woman cannot be taken seeriously. She cannot find a leading role in any narrative other than that which mocks her. She is the maiden aunt, the village witch, the best friend. She may be intelligent and witty, but all of these things are strange. Instead, she is expected to lose some weight and maybe get a facelift.
I will be satisfied when I see a romance novel with a two-hundred pound intellectual riddled with pimples and not-so-perfect teeth. Will he love her then?
FdS
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