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.’
Planetarium
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.
9/5/20
I want to paint some poems
Little Richard =The King of Rock and Roll
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2020/may/10/little-richard-obituary
The first 12 days of May brought me here.
Thinking about how I speak and how I write.
Who I am.