Showing posts with label queer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label queer. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Handmade Love - Julie R. Enszer (A Midsummer Night's Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Handmade Love.  Julie R. Enszer.  Body Language 05.  A Midsummer Night's Press.  New York, New York.  2010.

HANDMADE_cubiertasOK.indd

Julie R. Enszer's erotic poetry turns up the temperature of the room while gender politics clash against the day to day struggle of being human, straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender - which could make for a muddled dialectic but unlike this opening sentence Enszer doesn't get bogged down or falter.  

These poems are lightning flashes of sultry love.

Morning Pant

I know what women want to eat in the morning.
On Sunday, in college, I would cook eggs,
scrambled or fried, potatoes, and bacon--
pork then was still a subversion. Breakfast

for my best friend and the man she slept with last night.
I knew what women wanted to eat in the morning.
Alone on Saturday, I found ways to feed them on Sunday: eggs,
scrambled or fried, potatoes, and bacon.

The prospect of seducing a woman seemed simple, but
my best friend seduced the man she slept with last night
leaving my bed empty, my hands idle, my lips
alone on Saturday, until I found ways to feed them on Sunday.

Sauces can satisfy the need to break from the mundane.
The prospect of seducing a woman seems simple:
wine, marinara arrabiata, raspberry coulis. Delicious dinner still
left my bed empty, my hands idle, my lips

dry. I could only imagine the shimmer of gloss
sauce. Satisfy the need to break from the mundane
on my lips: a wax or paraffin base. Vaseline in a pinch.
Franzia, tomato sauce, berry puree -- a delicious dinner still,

but I imagined more -- a peak that would not leave my pussy
dry. I could imagine only the shimmer of gloss
from a woman's juices on my chin after licking and licking
her lips. No wax or paraffin. (Third) base; Vaseline; a pinch.

Then I met a woman one Sunday, in college.
Finally I had more -- a peak that left my pussy
weary but satisfied. After rest she begged for more:
I know what women want to eat in the morning.

...

Enszer is so matter of fact clear at every turn that we never get left behind, we follow her as she bids, along a clever trail of anger and lust and discovery.  As new as some of this is for the reader it seems Enszer is making some discoveries along the way as well.  Love and desire both get big workouts in Handmade Love and joy gets in there too.

Enszer makes no apologies for her feminist agenda (nor should she) which is clearly, eloquently and humorously laid bare with panache.

Absolutely No Car Repairs
In The Parking Lot

Three people are working on old, American cars.
One man with a white van -- his mobile mechanic's shop --
has pulled the engine out of a black Monte Carlo.
Another crawls from under a Sunbird
rusted and battered tail pipe in hand.
The third, an Escort, hood open, unattended.
Owners ostensibly inside the auto supply
searching for the proper replacement part.

Although I didn't need one, I've brought a man.
Newly minted. Nine months ago, breasts removed --
scars from the surgical drains healed quickly
now the only skin rupture from needles
delivering daily hormones he refers to as T,
and the resulting faux-adolescent acne pimpling his face.
He's more of a man than me. Still, it takes us two tries
with a return in between to find wiper blades that fit.

...

Now that all of the Today's book of poetry staff are back from holiday adventures we were all crackling with excitement at this morning's read.  Handmade Love made for a heated and spicy reading.  The consensus around the room was that Julie R. Enszer is an eloquently fearless poet and there are never enough of those to go around.

These poems are a genuine celebration of love and diversity.  These celebrations of love and diversity make for good poems.  The day to day of supposedly alternative lifestyles and cultures does not sound unfamiliar in Enszer's capable hands - and why should it?  People love and lust pretty much the same regardless of their performative gender.  And that's the truth Ruth.

Terms of Endearment

I mistakenly called you "missy"--
an inappropriate term of endearment for
a butch lesbian, the identity I assumed

you to have with your cropped hair, hip-riding
jeans and top buttoned down. Let me confess:
I assumed your identity for my own purposes.

I have an entire fantasy about your body and
what I could do with it based on your being
lesbian and butch. Then I learned you consider

yourself to be male -- transgendered.
Yes, "missie" seems inappropriate.
Yet without diminutive feminizations

I am left with few options to coo affection.
Immediately, I'd like to say "FTM trannie" and cast
upon you my feminine wiles, but can I?

I try Buddy? Pal? You chide me not to stoop to
Bubba. I won't. Still, all the phrases I think to utter
with cloying appreciation are wildly sexual--

How's it hanging? If I, an avowed fem lesbo,
flirt with you, now a man but still in a woman's body
(and, of course, with a woman lover),

Am I still gay? Or just queer? And if I don't
stoop, linguistically, that is,
but I would like to be on my knees and

have you fuck me from behind with a
big purple strap on like my wife does,
am I a homo? I just want to find

a word to address you and imbue it with affection.
I want to respect your gender identity and not reconsider
my own sexual orientation and erotic predilections.

That is probably too much to ask, which is why
my pussy is wet, my tongue is tied, and only my mind
has been fucked. Understand gender? Good luck.

...

Today's book of poetry believes that poetry this good blows right past simple discussions of sexual orientation stereotypes. This is a celebration for Enszer and a primer for the rest of us, one that opens up the door to every audience.

Handmade Love is strong and primal poetry, ultimately generous and humane.  With a side of hot sauce.

Julie R. Enszer

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie R. Enszer, PhD, is the author of Handmade Love (A Midsummer Night’s Press, 2010). LambdaLiterary.org praisedHandmade Love noting, “Anyone who’s loved Dorothy Allison’s early chapbook of poetry, The Women Who Hate Me, will recognize the same brash confidence and articulation in Julie Enszer’s work.” Rigoberto Gonzalez said, “This poet is fierce, politicized and not afraid to point to the flaws even within her communities,” and Richard Labonte said of Enszer, “With seductive clarity, she celebrates sexuality – her own, that of other women, and of men.”

Enszer is editor of Milk & Honey: A Celebration of Jewish Lesbian Poetry (A Midsummer Night’s Press, 2011). Hila Ratzabi said of Milk & Honey, “This collection packs a punch…. This anthology is endlessly valuable as a collective voice of celebration and even protest.” Milk & Honey features beloved poets like Ellen Bass, Robin Becker, Elana Dykewomon, Marilyn Hacker, Eleanor Lerman, Joan Nestle, LeslĂ©a Newman and Ellen Orleans, as well as new and emerging voices.

With language and imagery that moves from the sensual and political to the tender and serene, Milk & Honey , a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in Lesbian Poetry, explores the vibrant, complicated, exhilarating experience of being Jewish and lesbian—or queer—in the world today.

Enszer’s second full-length collection of poetry is Sisterhood (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2013).

Enszer, who holds an MFA and a PhD from the University of Maryland, is currently a Visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of Women’s Studies at the University of Maryland. She is writing a history of lesbian-feminist presses from 1969 until 2000. Her public scholarship on lesbian poetry has been featured by the Poetry Foundation, the Poetry Society of America, Ms. Magazine, and The Huffington Post.

Enszer is the editor of Sinister Wisdom, a multicultural lesbian literary and art journal, and a regular book reviewer for the Lambda Book Report and Calyx. You can read more of her work at www.JulieREnszer.com.

Julie R. Enszer
"Beginnings", "Bed", "Dishes"
Video: Center Arts


502

DISCLAIMERS

Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.

We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything.  We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"
and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies.  Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Bodymap - Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha (Mawenzi House)

Today's book of poetry:
Bodymap.  Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha.  Mawenzi House.  Toronto, Ontario.  2015.


We all have the histories of our bodies to lament or rejoice, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha Momma Thorton's her Whitman' YAWP.

Ol' Walt intoned "I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world."  Bless his cotton socks. Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha yawpsings a "queer disabled femme of colour love song."  The entire time she sounds like a cross between the sweetest songs of love and desire - and a hep mad cat fist-machine hell bent on bending the world into welcoming her point of view.  Bodymap is a splendid step in every direction at once.

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha's poems are scalding prayers of intimacy and desire.

a million dollars

I was pumping gas and you asked to pump it for some spare
     change.
I said sorry man, I have forty bucks to my name,
and you said, well, you look like a million dollars

& I wondered what a million dollars looks like
and what
minus 187 in overdraft plus fees looks like
cause I have looked like that.

I have looked like that
hard femme
don't fuck with me
switchblade ass swish
ima cut you at the bus stop for saying good morning
because I know everything that could and has come
from that moment

I have looked like
walking to the store in a miniskirt
after the car breaks and the phone breaks
and there is twenty dollars in a wallet
for the next two weeks

I'm a chipped manicure full of starry glitter
ends worn to the quick
from hard
hard work
I'm a gorgeous ass that's bedbound

I want you to love me messy in the morning
the same four year old booty shorts and no bra.
I want you to know
I beautiful
like a 36 year old on her couch
before the shower
the makeup
what I show you
what I will allow you to see.

I want you to love me
after the lipstick wears off.

...

Today's book of poetry is an almost 60 year old, straight, white man run operation.  What the hell do I know about femme lit/life?  How do I read, process and share Bodymap?  Many of these poems are scathing indictments - but they aren't aimed at me - they are a manifesto aimed at a new type of freedom and poetry has no more noble purpose.

I love hard girls
for amber dawn

hips like a hummingbird jackhammer
a brick house         body a brick city
crumbling
Boots that climb to thighs
thick and pebbled
with the big bags of potatoes and rice waiting in the pantry
to survive hard times
Those girls who will fuck you up for no good reason

I love girls with whiskey espresso belly
I love the brown girl worry line
perpendicular to the perfect eyebrow
The rosewater olive oil in the food and in the homemade facial
     toner
the groupon and the gas money
the twenty bucks tucked away and passed
the penny jar hip bones shaking brass
the emergency stockings
the you wanna make $300?

The delicious satisfaction of wanting to text
go fuck yourself
I hate you
fuck you

I love girls who wanna set shit on fire,
whose cut eye can penetrate oil spills
I love girls who want to smash faces, break windows
whose asses swish with the cut of razors

I love every loud-mouthed-hard-assed-fuck-with-you
skin soft like a loquat as they punch your cunt into an infinity
     femme
I love girls who will fuck you up for no
and every good reason

and I love those girls
who look at me hard and whisper thank god
who have never once been scared of me

...

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha reminds us here at Today's book of poetry of those many dear friends we all share whose lives are complicated by the colour of their skin or their choice of partners for intimacy.  Bodymap is a real kick in the ass that reminds us all that there are an infinite number of paths to joy.  Justifiably angry and frustrated by having to kick against the pricks - Lakshmi Peipzna-Samarasinha none the less finds ways to soar.  These poems allow us to soar with her.  Remember the Yawp.

These poems narrate a sad roster of disappointments and laments but the more I read, the more universal it all sounded and the more I began to hear the joy within.  The best poetry always rises above labels and this poetry raises above any particular agenda.  This is another colour for the mosaic that celebrates all the colours of the rainbow.

I will take care of you forever

spring equinox and I wake at six a.m. because you're not standing
on my chest
but something is hovering, I turn the light on, edit what I wrote.
I feel you pass out of right ovary
I don't have to hold on to you.
there's no way I could lose you
I whisper, I don't think I ever told you
the Cree word for love means we'll take care of each other forever
and even though we'll never speak again
I promise: this to you.

...

Today's book of poetry has to tell you, unequivocally, that there are some heart-stopping, jaw-dropping, sweet-sweat inducing horny poems in Bodymap.  Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha is going to raise the temperature in every room her poetry enters.

Today's book of poetry was enthralled by the boisterous intelligence that rivets the reader to every page.  The world inside this book isn't a new world but it is generally one overlooked by the day to day of the mainstream.   Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha's Bodymap opens a big door, walk in.

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Winner of the 2012 Lambda Literary Award, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna Samarasinha is a queer disabled femme writer, teacher and performer of Burgher/Tamil Sri Lankan, Roma and Irish ascent. The author of Bodymap,  Love Cake and Consensual Genocide and the co-editor of The Revolution Starts At Home: Confronting Intimate Violence in Activist Communities, her writing has been widely anthologized.  She is the co-founder of the queer people of color arts incubator Mangos With Chili, 
a lead artist with Sins Invalid and co-founder of Toronto’s Asian Arts Freedom School.
In 2010 she was named one of the Feminist Press’ 40 Feminists Under 40 Shaping the Future.
Her first memoir, Dirty River, is forthcoming from Arsenal Pulp Press in fall 2015.

BLURBS
"Sharp, yet remarkably compassionate, Piepzna-Samarasinha knows that the poem is no place for tidy inquiry and easy answers. She offers her own tenacious guts and veins on each every page. Only someone who understands rage and reconciliation and blood and bone can write like this."
     —Amber Dawn, author of How Poetry Saved My Life: A Hustler’s Memoir and Sub Rosa

"These poems are a gift for your love for self, your love itself and everyone you love. It is rare that a poet priestess offers words that allow us to emerge reborn with dirt, glitter and tenderness... Revere it. Revel in it. Read it again and again!"
     —Alexis Pauline Gumbs, author, Eternal Summer of the Black Feminist Mind

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
Loft Equilibrium Supershow
video: The Loft Literary Center

mawenzihouse.com

397
DISCLAIMERS

Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.

We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything.  We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"
and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies.  Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Otter - Ben Ladouceur (Coach House Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Otter.  Ben Ladouceur.  Coach House Books.  Toronto, Ontario.  2015.


Today's book of poetry had written an entire blog/appreciation of Ben Ladouceur's absolutely incendiary first book, Otter, but I called an editorial veto to that tri-blurb blasphemy.

Instead I will start by telling you that Otter has more weight per line than any book I've read since I started this blog.

Nuncle

Our century brims with abstractions, with
clashes: I want to know its taste.
So I chase chocolate with white wine. pair
tilapia with a most acidic merlot.
My evening has been ghastly. I just got

some dark post. A former comrade found his way
to the Seven Sisters, where the moon
huffs waves fro and fro and fro, its breath
cerulean, embossed by frost; where the moon
makes the chalk cliffs cerulean too.

Blind since Amiens, he was led
by a servant of the Red Cross
whose face, I'd wager, was something to touch.
My comrade gave a measly sermon, then
jumped. The little letter told me so. A sermon

fell with is flapping eyeless body
to the sea and still, I'd wager, adheres to the lip
that has lost blush. I'm sorry to tear
up like this. If my wife saw this despicable
spectacle, she'd punch me with her rings

on. Once, in Dvinsk, the suicide and I
found a house already deserted. Latvians
had shat on every surface before their
departure. He turned his bright face away from what
a kettle housed, locked eyes with me and spoke.

I have one son within my marriage, one without it.
How ghastly that half my pedigree shall occupy
our world, and half shall orbit. At once
we made for the nearest bed, and I'd wager
you know what we found there.

...

Today's book of poetry usually chooses three poems for inclusion, today I've chosen fifteen.  Otter is stunning stuff but although these poems all come from Ladouceur's very strong voice any combination of the fifteen reduced to three would most likely lead the reader to expect a different book.  I won't reproduce all fifteen, even though Milo is begging me to.  But I will share a few choice lines as appetizers:

     Crickets scraped song off their bodies with their legs. "OK"

     At night touch me when day breaks.  "Printout Found In Bottle Found In The River Aare"

     All the most beautiful things are things we rarely feel the weight of. "Gibraltar Point"

     I did love him, the crimson acne flecked across his neck, he was like a man a guillotine had made
     an attempt at. "I Am In Love With Your Brother"

Now try this on:

Salutations From Abitibi

Alone clouds refused to cohere.
They darkened the city in blotches.
They rendered the city dalmatian.

I forgot my lover on the bus.
The brakes woke him up
at Abitibi and he found work there.

All year mosquitoes bit his fumbling frame.
The bites were like Grecian constellations
seen on a clear taupe day.

My Zippo was on his person.
I was planning to quit with the smoking
but how shall I now singe the frays

of my only warm coat? When winter arrives
the mosquitoes will expire
and material will cover the bodies of men.

At least I received a blank postcard
on the birthday of my lover, its message
white on white: I am alive I am alone

I am not willing to speak. Some men
are darkened, in the long run, by sun.
Others, more quickly, by clouds.

...

Queer, Queer, Queer.  That is meant as a compliment to Ben.  For the rest of you it a label that you must remember and then immediately forget.  These poems are Queer, have a Queer agenda, and are great Queer poems.  Remove the label, they are just great poems.  All poems work better without labels and these gems would rise to the top of the pile in any company.

Ladouceur is an erudite Eros and these poems glitter with the sheen you get when bodies collide.
Ladouceur has no trouble at all finding the beauty regardless of the beast.

Marigold

As some scrotum
skims my tongue
like a dusted bulb
that might later do
an impressive bloom

I think of Paul
Monette in a bathtub
that's in a kitchen
asking his hosts
to scour his skin pink.

Paul later held his lover
Roger as he lost his
eyesight and enough
blood to give
a fruit bowl a fulcrum.

He is ambiguous here.
Some men can get away with
ambiguity. Tonight it is best
to forget whose bowels
are whose. Whose words.

I want to lose my legs
between our chests.
That is how little
room I want to ask
the world for. I'll be home

before dawn. Home
is the word that come closest.
There's a door I will enter,
a grey bar of soap. A rosiness
I'll scrub my way to.

...

Ben Ladouceur has a poem titled "All Men Are Equal" and nothing could be more true.  But all poets are not created equal.  Not be a long shot.  Ben Ladouceur's remarkable debut Otter will simply push him towards the head of the class, any class.

Great poetry.



Ben Ladouceur

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ben Ladouceur is a writer originally from Ottawa, now based in Toronto. His work has been featured in Arc, The Malahat Review, PRISM international and The Walrus, and in the Best Canadian Poetry anthology. He was awarded the Earle Birney Poetry Prize in 2013.

BLURB
Formally impeccable and richly imagined, Ben Ladouceur's poems track the awe of a mind as it engages with epiphanal moments, both personal and historical. His language is filtered through an intelligence that's queer and graceful, always in search of the singular phrase and a music that startles with its precision.  As each poem unfurls, keen insight gives way to the wonder of words.  Otter is a magnificent debut.
     -  Eduardo C. Corral, author of Slow Lightning, winner of the Yale Younger Poets Prize


Ben Ladouceur
 Interview - OTHER MEN Wed Series
Video: OTHER MEN - a web series    


Ben Ladouceur
Tree Reading Series, Ottawa
September 14, 2010
Video: Tree Reading Series


387

DISCLAIMERS

Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.

We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything.  We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"
and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies.  Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration.