WAS SHE SHRIEKING?

 

Almost impossible to be creative

When happy (in love)

Why take time away

From obsessing over the beloved

Anyway?

The heat of lust

Flesh, fire-roasted

Concentration of flavor

Tasting the sweetness

Like Valentine candy hearts

(I heart U in pink dye)

But rage is hot, too

Yet scribbling, screaming

Hearts’ heat, when alone

Is different

So was it all the wasted passion

Wasted womanhood

That worked for women writers?

Is that how Austen, Dickinson

Resisted tearing out their hair

Tripping down Georgian/Victorian streets

Screaming, steaming, shouting:

Oh, for the touch of a man!

For the meeting of eyes

Concerns that arise

LUST + LIKE = LOVE

Did Emily Bronte’s rage write

One of the most sexually-soaked books

Of the nineteenth century?

And was her sister Anne

Lonely governess in Scarborough

Seeking solace from the

Passing of her clergryman

Pining? Resigned? Enraged?

What hidden facial expression

Passivity or aggression?

How did these women

Continue to live

Or

Conceivably

Is that why they died

So young?

 

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Image: 1880 Victorian hair, unidentified, Pinterest

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8 comments

  1. It is said that “in the beginning” when people spread over the earth, “the sons of god” saw that the daughters of men were beautiful “and took any of them they chose.”
    I think and suspect from my “wanderings” into the realm of dreams, visions and lucid dreams that many women throughout the ages continued to pine for the greatest lovers they ever knew: the sons of the gods. Men are a poor, if necessary substitute. Women also “remember” that the children they bore from the sons of the gods were the great heroes and rulers of mankind, the Nephilims or “giants” history calls them, though likely not in size, but in knowledge, strength and abilities, such abilities surfacing also in sexual unions; in love-making. Empathetic awakened women such as those you mention would feel this need, this loss, more than those buried in drudgery and societal constraints. In a long long ago past life, or perhaps in a different or parallel dimension, as a vision made clear to me I was both lover and daughter of the god Ra as he became known in later times. He has shown me amazing things I have done or will do (there is no actual chronological “order” in these visions) because of this relationship. Your poem just brought back these “memories” of different ways we have looked upon life and may understand its purpose.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks, Christine. I’m waiting for the price of the Bronte book and the Dickinson book to go down and looking forward to reading something more honest about them. Yes, the hair! Love the picture. I used it on the basis of the line “what hidden facial expression..” It’s a stretch, but since I wanted to use that picture, thought it would be appropriate. 😀

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful analysis and poetical portrait of skilled women who were forced to hide their writings in their secret bedrooms, scared by the constraits and prejudice of their time, but eager to make their thoughts, wishes and passions fly beyond those sheets of paper.

    Liked by 1 person

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