(no subject)
Hello,
I'm looking for poems about the suppressed / unfulfilled potentialities of women in academia, writing and other such, throughout history.
Particularly, I have a vague recalling of one such poem, but can not for the life of me remember it.
I only remember the image of the possible books published by woman behind the book shelves of men (?).
Any poem along these lines would be dearly appreciated anyhow.
Thank you!
Edit: And in compliance with the rules i missed, i've a poem to share- which is good since i've been meaning to share it for a very long while now, but have been much to lazy to type up....
- - - - - - -
IL Y A DES LOUPS QUI S'ASSOIENT AUX PIEDS DE L'HOMME
there are lakes that spin rain into constellations
highways that switch into rivers
gamblers who trade organs for gold
there are fiddles that can kill you
carving their song la cienaga into arms
until it's a flesh-yelling circle
of loup-garous and you
perched like a comma in the middle
of a sentence, circumscribed but alive
the word is a broken door
where light slips through like indium,
scattering the thousand prisms of self
there are cicadas that decay into lace,
indian burns from girls in third grade
whose crushes translate to sugar and ice
imbalance of sentimentality
you're less lovely in the light
but lovelier than last night when you
heaved over the side of a yacht
into your own moon-mad reflection
as frost formed on the sea,
and fished slipped through
ice cracks: mercury-lit filaments
listen to the fricative sigh
of fingers through tresses,
over peaches that glow
like low-watt bulbs
and locate the different hues
of blue in your lampblack hair
there are wrinkles like
scrawls of a suicide note,
infinite rose slopes
of snow, a gaze through violet
haze of leaf smoke as the swallow
leaves its shadow
in melted tallow - a grey smear,
imprint of bird feet, impossible feat
of flying through resin
wings fling open evening, amber-
stained, stars hung over the sea like letters
of your name which is invisible
except on the liminal highways
of a woman's thighs and
the snake eyes of battered dice
- Simone Muench
I'm looking for poems about the suppressed / unfulfilled potentialities of women in academia, writing and other such, throughout history.
Particularly, I have a vague recalling of one such poem, but can not for the life of me remember it.
I only remember the image of the possible books published by woman behind the book shelves of men (?).
Any poem along these lines would be dearly appreciated anyhow.
Thank you!
Edit: And in compliance with the rules i missed, i've a poem to share- which is good since i've been meaning to share it for a very long while now, but have been much to lazy to type up....
- - - - - - -
IL Y A DES LOUPS QUI S'ASSOIENT AUX PIEDS DE L'HOMME
there are lakes that spin rain into constellations
highways that switch into rivers
gamblers who trade organs for gold
there are fiddles that can kill you
carving their song la cienaga into arms
until it's a flesh-yelling circle
of loup-garous and you
perched like a comma in the middle
of a sentence, circumscribed but alive
the word is a broken door
where light slips through like indium,
scattering the thousand prisms of self
there are cicadas that decay into lace,
indian burns from girls in third grade
whose crushes translate to sugar and ice
imbalance of sentimentality
you're less lovely in the light
but lovelier than last night when you
heaved over the side of a yacht
into your own moon-mad reflection
as frost formed on the sea,
and fished slipped through
ice cracks: mercury-lit filaments
listen to the fricative sigh
of fingers through tresses,
over peaches that glow
like low-watt bulbs
and locate the different hues
of blue in your lampblack hair
there are wrinkles like
scrawls of a suicide note,
infinite rose slopes
of snow, a gaze through violet
haze of leaf smoke as the swallow
leaves its shadow
in melted tallow - a grey smear,
imprint of bird feet, impossible feat
of flying through resin
wings fling open evening, amber-
stained, stars hung over the sea like letters
of your name which is invisible
except on the liminal highways
of a woman's thighs and
the snake eyes of battered dice
- Simone Muench