Muriel Rukeyser

DESPISALS

In the human cities, never again to
despise the backside of the city, the ghetto,
or build it again as we build the despised
backsides of houses. Look at your own building
You are the city.'

Among our secrecies, not to despise our Jews
(that is, ourselves) or our darkness, our blacks,
or in our sexuality wherever it takes us
and we now know we are productive
too productive, too reproductive

for our present invention – never to despise
the homosexual who goes building another
with touch with touch (not to despise any touch)
each like himself like herself each.
You are this.

In the body’s ghetto
never to go despising the asshole
nor the useful shit that is our clean clue
to what we need. Never to despise
the clitoris in her least speech.
Never to despise in myself what I have been taught
to despise. Nor to despise the other.

Not to despise the it. To make this relation
with the it : to know that I am it.

From the onion dip to the chips

"I drunk too much wine at a party last fall, found myself quoting Muriel Rukeyser to Geoff Maines, all about the backside, the body's ghetto, singing her words, 'Never to go despising the asshole nor the useful shit that is our clean clue to what we need.'

'The clitoris in her least speech', he sang back, and I loved him for that with all my soul. We fed each other fat baby carrots and beamed at our own enjoyment.

'Ah, the ass', Geoff intoned, 'the temple of the gods.' I giggled, lifted a carrot in a toast, matched his tone. 'And the sphincter - gateway to the heart.'

He nodded, licked his carrot, reached down, shifted a strap, and inserted that carrot deftly up his butt. He looked up at me, grinned, rolled a carrot in my direction, raised one eyebrow. 'Least speech', I heard myself tell him. Then I hiked up my skirt and disappeared that carrot, keeping my eyes on his all the while. There was something about his expression, a look of arrogant conviction that I could not resist.

'Lesbians constantly surprise me', was all Geoff said, lining up a row of little baby carrots from the onion dip to the chips, pulling the dish of butter over as well. He handed me another carrot. I blinked, then watched as he took one for himself. 'I propose the carrot olympics, a cross-gender, mutually queer event', he challenged. I started to laugh as he rolled buttery carrots between his palms. His face was full of laughter, his eyes so blue and pleased with himself they sparkled. 'All right', I agreed. How could I not? I pulled up the hem of my skirt, tucked it into my waistband, took up the butter, and looked Geoff right in the eye. 'Dead heat, or one on one?'"

(Her body, Mine and His, Dorothy Allison, 1985. Em Skin: talking about sex, class & literature, Firebrand Books, 1994)

Poesia é voar fora da asa, por Pedro Lucena, II

Poesia é voar fora da asa, por Pedro Lucena

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