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In All Ways a Woman - Maya Angelou

5/12/2018

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In my young years I took pride in the fact that luck was called a lady. In fact, there were so few public acknowledgments of the female presence that I felt personally honored whenever nature and large ships were referred to as feminine. But as I matured, I began to resent being considered a sister to a changeling as fickle as luck, as aloof as an ocean, and as frivolous as nature. The phrase 'A woman always has the right to change her mind' played so aptly into the negative image of the female that I made myself a victim to an unwavering decision. Even if I made an inane and stupid choice, I stuck by it rather than 'be like a woman and change my mind.'

Being a woman is hard work. Not without joy and even ecstasy, but still relentless, unending work. Becoming an old female may require only being born with certain genitalia, inheriting long-living genes and the fortune not to be run over by an out-of-control truck, but to become and remain a woman command the existence and employment of genius.

The woman who survives intact and happy must be at once tender and tough. She must have convinced herself, or be in the unending process of convincing herself, that she, her values, and her choices are important. In a time a nd world where males hold sway and control, the pressure upon women to yield their rights-of-way is tremendous. And it is under those very circumstances that the woman's toughness must be in evidence.

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Clearing the Space: A why of Writing

4/10/2018

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Quotes from Anne Le Marquand Hartigan's paper

She can get a chair; she can sit down and write. Facing the blank page. The blank page also faces her with freedom.
<...>
Stand with the woman by the table. Sit with the woman facing the blank page, or blank canvas. A space waiting for filling. These spaces are perfect. What is perfect terrifies.
<...>
The steam of tension evaporated. The moment passed. The fear, buried. It is easier like this. It is ordinary and safe. We hurry to fill in spaces with everydayness because spaces frighten us, but, the dividing line between fear and excitemnet is thin.
<...>
In bardic times, it was considered a great misfortune to have a poet in your family. But if the poet happened to be a woman, this was double misfortune, for she, as a woman, would have double the power. ... Magic surrounded the poet's power and this power was feared.
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Musical Echos

3/17/2018

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LP lyrics have been resonating and redefining experiences. 

​There was a time, there was a life, I was inside my head
And finally I rested in your bed..

You don't know, you're almost near it.. 
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Nuala O'Faolain

12/15/2017

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A  few of my favourite quotes from "Almost There" - My #1 Summer 2016 book

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- I used him, but, you know, I paid for it, in not being known by him.
-And as for that - passion - I was so estranged from it that I could hardly remember what appetite was like or what confidence was like that would let it show.

- ... you do gain a small distance from anything by keeping it in suspension in your mind while you work on finding the words to fit it. I think this is interesting because you also lose sight if you ruminate on something in your head all the time. The difference is in one case your producing something and in the other your are sort of stuck in thought cycle. 

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May Sarton

12/28/2016

 

Now I Become Myself

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Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before--"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

More Dickenson

12/27/2016

 

Tell all the truth but tell it slant -

Tell all the truth but tell it slant --
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind --
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November 30th, 2016

11/30/2016

 
Amazing Anne Hartigan, second Irish female author that I feel grateful for discovering  this year.

The Big Grieving

The honesty of touch skin asks for,
peeling off the outer, unnessary layers,
wool, cotton, nylon, polyester
or smelly socks.

(skin,       white as an almond
delicate,        pure water)

She needs to say, I love you,
because, simply, on this floor
on this rough blanket, under
this floating duvet, she does.

He says, Sssh, when she has tears,
touches her eyes, but its good to weep;
bodies become so simple by removing
wool, cotton, nylon, polyester,

then the big grieving of the world
slips from them, down through
the floorboards, washed through
the drains of the earth.
© Anne Le Marquand Hartigan
(http://www.annehartigan.ie/biggrieving.htm)

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Kristina Lugn

9/25/2016

 
From To Catch Life Anew: 10 Swedish Women Poets, 2006

I need silence


I need silence
and solitude
and a well-fitting word supply.
I need a secret
and an enduring sense of reality.
My assignment right now
is to try to free myself
from my own formulations.

Living is a work of sorrow.
If you don't understand that
you will never be happy.

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Anne Sexton

7/27/2016

 


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Interesting fact: Anne Sexton was born in Newton, MA and stayed around Boston all her life.

HER KIND
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind. 

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind. 
​
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Orpheus and Eurydice.

6/29/2016

 
There is this an idea of romantic love out there, an idea of love so dedicated, so complete that one who feels it is believed to be unable to see any flaws in her/his beloved. Which leaves those loved ones feeling insecure  and misunderstood somehow because not all of them is acknowledged, their flaws overlooked for a time being sure to become an issue later on. While they may be afraid of embracing that "complete romantic love" this is what the other person might be feeling:
 Eurydice Talking

​
Sometimes we make it to the landing.
I do this for you, after
All, even agony prolonged becomes a joy,
And this is repetition.
The garish snapshot in your mind,

Why am I so patient?
When you place your hand 
Upon the rail, I know my name
Rumors light like running water

As you stray between the yes and no
Then turn to flood the darkness.
What can I tell you?
Desire cannot be commanded.

Once is now, this undertow
Forever. Keep turning.
It was your carelessness
That makes the song worth singing.
​Mark Irwin

[Oh no, girl... No no no no.] 
Here's a piece of advice to Eurydice more eloquently put:

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Orpheus and Eurydice
Peter Paul Rubens
Fragment
This painting adds layers to the portrait of Eurydice: it shows Eurydice who, even though feeling the way she does in the poem, would cling to Orpheus out of selfish  indulgence and would have
                                    ....that idiotic,
witless glance, ebullient but oblivious

as Steve Kowit puts in in his excellent poem Eurydice

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Nan Goldin

9/18/2014

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http://vimeo.com/82283265

Good sequence of themes in the book, I thought.

Love the twist at the finale.

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stories

9/11/2014

 
Honest accounts that cut right through the things that tend to slowly clog my head day in and day out.
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