Irish Poetry!

Today in my Modern British Authors class, we discussed this poem by Eavan Boland - an Irish, female poet. I haven't enjoyed MANY of the works we've read for this class. But we recently forayed into the great world of post-modernism and contemporary literature. I was so struck by this poem that I had to share:

"Anorexic" by Eavan Boland
Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.

Yes I am torching
ber curves and paps and wiles.
They scorch in my self denials.

How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers

till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.

I vomited
her hungers.
Now the bitch is burning.

I am starved and curveless.
I am skin and bone.
She has learned her lesson.

Thin as a rib
I turn in sleep.
My dreams probe

a claustrophobia
a sensuous enclosure.
How warm it was and wide

once by a warm drum,
once by the song of his breath
and in his sleeping side.

Only a little more,
only a few more days
sinless, foodless,

I will slip
back into him again
as if I had never been away.

Caged so
I will grow
angular and holy

past pain,
keeping his heart
such company

as will make me forget
in a small space
the fall

into forked dark,
into python needs
heaving to hips and breasts
and lips and heat
and sweat and fat and greed

For those of you who might be lost and don't have the benefit of the foot notes that I had access to, the speaker of the poem is Eve, and she wishes she could go back into Adam as his rib rather than stay her own entity. What I love about this poem is how the problematic aspects of religion are being compared to, in essence, a disease: woman feels so much pressure to be perfect, the only logical thing to do is to return to man to be redeemed from the "sin" of Eve. I think what struck home to me about this work is the comparison to becoming thin and beautiful, more near to the "perfect idealized" woman in order to become more righteous. The woman who is curvy and luscious, well, that woman is sinful. I see this in many ways in my own religious culture - the idea that if one can be a close to an ideal size or figure as possible, the more god-like and worthy she is. Additionally, another critique I love is that, in the speaker's mind, for her to be perfect, she needs to be absorbed in patriarchy to become whole. It's poems like these that make me realize that how great God truly is, and how great my curvy, luscious, and sometimes sinful womanhood is. Without these types of glaring, blasphemous critiques, I think I would feel alone. Anyways, food for thought - any other takers? And I should mention, I normally don't dig on poetry.

Also, and not entirely randomly since I just broke out in my semi-annual cold sores induced by stress, I wanted to let you all know, according to GentialHerpes.com, you CAN spread oral herpes to genitals. http://www.herpes.com/genitalinfo.shtml. I was more curious than anything since I've heard many different sides to the story, so thank you google for educating me!  

This is Halloween

I knew that you’d be here tonight.
There is no rhyme or reason to knowing this -
I just knew.
Knew that there would be a
Knock Knock.
You’d come sit casually on the couch.
Both of us would ignore the weight of the past.

Funny how I knew we’d talk about Halloween.
About costumes
About frivolous details
About caramel apples and cheap movies
I knew you’d still want to wear the same costume as last year.

Note To Self:
I have to remember to tell you there shouldn’t be repeat costumes.

I knew that after you left
I’d wonder if you still think of us.
I still do,
even though I don’t want to.
I knew I wouldn’t want to think
about last year and the unconvincing costumes we wore,
the caramel from the apples that wet stale around Thanksgiving,
the day the costumes finally wore out at Christmas.

I knew that I wouldn’t want any of it,
none of the memories,
none of us.
None of the details or the holidays or the costumes.

Knock Knock.
It's almost Halloween.