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Post by scriptamanent on Sept 11, 2008 14:33:31 GMT -5
A Doting Poetess
I can feel my noetic virility trapped in the strophic womb of my mistress, the one who likes paper cuts, the cuts that dehypnotize my hand from writing more thoughts. Drained, I watch her texture absorb the frisky shapes of my linguistic sperm. Filled, she rests exposing my writing to ready and unready souls.
I’m nothing but a monthly bleeding witness to her unexpected sharpness, always ridiculously surprised by the aggressive way she makes me stop. Discouraged by her invincible thinness, I answer to her unspoken invitation, unable to defy my throbbing devotion, behaving like a male when my pen, erected, points at her unwritten whiteness.
She, eclipsed by the shadow of my ideal identity, stoically tolerates my intellectual ejaculations, as nothing can surmount her predisposition to infertility or her contraceptive efforts. I, chained to my visions, shall pin my faith on golden commas, while I gulp her silent space between my words, daring to dote on our justified inability to bring into a male world our androgynous scions.
2003 - 2005
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Post by Ivan Carswell on Sept 22, 2008 19:49:29 GMT -5
A tour-de-force of ejaculatory adjectivity (to coin a phrase) which I found delightful Nicoletta. The meaning beneath the meaning so to speak - or the woman behind the man behind the woman; powerful and quite raw.
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Post by scriptamanent on Sept 24, 2008 5:30:01 GMT -5
Hi Ivan, so you've read A Doting Poetess, a poem that marked me for years, and I had no intention of writing such a poem back then, I wrote it inspired by the movie THE HOURS and this is one of the few good poems I wrote while listening to music (the soundtrack). Usually poems I wrote while listening to music were not that good. For some reason there a few people that like it immensely and think it represents me. Now, after years, I can't see anything in it, which is about me as a poetess, it's as if a stranger using my past style wrote it. And this is one of the poems that gets you into all kinds of strange trouble and a poem that creates myths. The only reason I continue to accept it and I don't reject it, is the last stanza.
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Post by scriptamanent on Sept 24, 2008 5:32:42 GMT -5
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Post by Ross McCague on Oct 23, 2008 17:44:54 GMT -5
A poem that improves and reveals itself with rereading, especially a number of years later. Even the title no longer bothers me.
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Post by scriptamanent on Oct 26, 2008 18:09:46 GMT -5
the title bothered you? oh dear. you never told me that! and i've disliked the title since early 2004. but didn't know what to do with it.
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