Blog post

May 2020 Wordsearch

By mundyrobinson on July 23, 2020 0 Comments • Tags: #adriennerich #arttherapy #feminism #findingyourvoice #howtospeak #language #learningtowriteablog #littlerichard #mentalhealth #poetry #viginiawoolf

So this time I am going to edit it down.

I’m not going to put every poem in.

Adrienne Rich: When we dead awaken:Writing as Revision

‘Until we can know the assumptions in which we are drenched we cannot know ourselves.’

Talking of Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own Adrienne Rich says: ‘It is the tone of a woman almost in touch with her anger, who is determined not to appear angry, who is ‘willing’ herself to be calm, detached, and even charming in a roomful of men…she is acutely conscious…of being overheard by men…by her father… rare moments in that essay do you hear the passion in her voice; she was trying to sound as cool as Jane Austen, as Olympian as Shakespeare, because that is the way men of the culture thought a writer should sound…’

‘But poems are like dreams:in them you put what you don’t know you know.’

Both the victimisation and the anger experienced by women are real, and have real sources, everywhere in the environment, built into society. They must go on being tapped and explored by poet, among other. We can neither deny them, nor can we rest there. That are our birth-pains, and we are bearing ourselves. We would be failing each other as women, if we neglected or denied what is negative, regressive, or Sisyphean in our inwardness. ‘
‘…just as woman is becoming her own midwife, creating herself anew, so man will have to learn to gestate and give birth to his own subjectivity-something he has frequently wanted woman to do for him…women can no longer be primarily mothers and muses for men: we have our own work cut out for us.’


By Adrienne Rich

Thinking of Caroline Herschel (1750—1848)
astronomer, sister of William; and others. A woman in the shape of a monster   
a monster in the shape of a woman   
the skies are full of them

a woman      ‘in the snow
among the Clocks and instruments   
or measuring the ground with poles’

in her 98 years to discover   
8 comets

she whom the moon ruled   
like us
levitating into the night sky   
riding the polished lenses

Galaxies of women, there
doing penance for impetuousness   
ribs chilled   
in those spaces    of the mind

An eye,

          ‘virile, precise and absolutely certain’
          from the mad webs of Uranusborg

                                                            encountering the NOVA   

every impulse of light exploding

from the core
as life flies out of us

             Tycho whispering at last
             ‘Let me not seem to have lived in vain’

What we see, we see   
and seeing is changing

the light that shrivels a mountain   
and leaves a man alive

Heartbeat of the pulsar
heart sweating through my body

The radio impulse   
pouring in from Taurus

         I am bombarded yet         I stand

I have been standing all my life in the   
direct path of a battery of signals
the most accurately transmitted most   
untranslatable language in the universe
I am a galactic cloud so deep      so invo-
luted that a light wave could take 15   
years to travel through me       And has   
taken      I am an instrument in the shape   
of a woman trying to translate pulsations   
into images    for the relief of the body   
and the reconstruction of the mind.


I want to paint some poems

Little Richard =The King of Rock and Roll

The first 12 days of May brought me here.

Thinking about how I speak and how I write.

Who I am.