Thursday, September 20, 2012

Ululation


** "I swear it to you on my common woman's head, the common woman is as common as a common loaf of bread--and will rise."  Judy Grahn from The Common Woman

Ululation


At Real Toads,  Kenia introduces us to the landai form and invites us to “write a bunch” of them.



Kenia's Wednesday Challenge

image credit: Drew Harron via Compfight

Only five out of 100 women in Afghanistan graduate from high school; most are married by the age of 16.  For many, poetry allows them to express themselves. It's the only voice they have, but women writing poetry is seen as shameful and could result in a beating or even death, reason why they have to rely on pen names.

Women write and recite landai, two-line folk poems that can often be humorous, sexy, raging, tragic and  also deal with love, grief,  war, exile and Afghan independence. The success of the poetry form is attributed to it being easy to memorize, which is really important in a culture where women are poorly schooled and forbidden to write or read.
The word landai means “short, poisonous snake” in Pashto. The poems are collective — no single person writes a landai; a woman repeats one, shares one. It is hers and not hers.


“Landai belong to women,” Safia Siddiqi, a renowned Pashtun poet and former Afghan parliamentarian, said. In Afghanistan, poetry is the women’s movement from the inside."
.
Please go to this New York Times article to learn more about lanai, the eloquent poetry of resistance of the Afghan women:


Ululation 
*for Zarmina

Cut out my tongue,  my voice
becomes a slender insect’s song.
Now the night is ripe with music
Is there anyone who can still sleep?



In the hills my sisters are waking.
the sky swells to contain their grief.




A storm gathers, women open their throats
a cloud passes in front of the sun.


Under this burqa, I am invisible.  Nobody sees
the brown leg of sorrow or the contour of my wings. 



My secret wish.  Simply this.  That my daughters
find these shards of my heart and can make no sense of them!


Written for  Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads , “landai”.

* Rahila was the name used by a young poet, Zarmina, who committed suicide two years ago. Zarmina was reading her love poems over the phone when her sister-in-law caught her. “How many lovers do you have?” she teased. Zarmina’s family assumed there was a boy on the other end of the line. As a punishment, her brothers beat her and ripped up her notebooks, Amail said. Two weeks later, Zarmina set herself on fire. 


**  "The Common Woman" by Judy Grahn - A classic of the second wave feminist movement, published in the form of a pamphlet.  I bought my copy at Old Wives Tales bookstore in San Francisco and it was passed from friend to friend.



Friday, August 24, 2012

Watermark







                        soul's wing, courtesy of Ella Wilson






Watermark

I listen to a broadcast
about food auctions
Expired comestibles
spare ribs and cheese curls
whose sell by date
has lapsed
yes, it’s come to this
                                                                                             

Who knows
about dreams?
Do they expire too
as arms wither
and language
grows meager

                                        Where there once
                                        was a full larder


The pheasants rose
a family in flight
They weren’t expecting us

returning to the land
that we turn over
every night in our dreams
bliss of vellum
watermarks
lucid with memory

The pheasants are rising
out of the grasses
A family of them
startled by our presence.
And we are
astonished by the beauty
of it all.

                                         a tail feather
                                         dew soaked
                                         new 


Written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, soul's wing; Theme Thursday "promise" and  for Poetry Jam, I straddle 2 genres: political and fantasy.

Monday, August 13, 2012

The littered field




Where the edifice loomed
An opaque sky

I am drawn
To it:
The littered field
brash weed, lustre, loam

Furriers and junk dealers
Dybuks and delirium
The most uneasy of dreams

I watch as it all returns
The fabricant world
Crumbling.

As sure as
A new foal
Bolting
Conceived in late night quarrel
Grown in paved rubble.

Written for 3 word Wednesday, “crumble, drawn, uneasy” and Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads

Sunday, July 29, 2012

PS 52


The bottle spun
In Robin's basement
Pointing to you

for Robert Tacher who was not afraid..
Written for Haiku Heights, "forget me not"

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Morovian Pink




Boa Constrictor
by Shel Silverstein

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor
A boa constrictor


Damson Plum


You know her as
Moravian pink
Damson plum
She
Who takes your breath
Away

Plug your ears
Annul the contract
Do the deed
This is no time
For nostalgia
Either way
The heart is endangered.

written for real toads - 35 words or less...


Moravian pink

Take courage!
Cut the cord
Use whatever you have
Scissors, scythe, blade, teeth
Just cut it
Now

There will be no blood
She who calls herself
mother
Is hazard
Siren,
Red tailed imperator

You know her as
Moravian pink
Damson plum
She
Who takes your breath
Away

Plug your ears
Annul the contract
Do the deed
This is no time
For nostalgia
Either way
The heart is endangered.

Written for 3 word Wednesday (cut, endanger, hazard), poetry jam


Tags: anaconda, antediluvian, exorcism poems, hothouse dreams,  pretty poison, rue, succubus, you don’t know what love is

Monday, July 16, 2012

Damselflies



Damselflies


She veers
on the lip of dogma
Wide eyed
at the Chat 'n Chew
in Itasca


Backlit,
translucent
With promise
blousy as
Broadway


I am staking
the tomatoes
That grow heavy
in the heat
of July.

She pirouettes
without effort
or forethought
Faces
me square.

Mandibles
minding hunger
We catch
each other’s
glance

We are giving
everything
away.

written for OSI, "friends"

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Sunday's rain


Sunday’s rain, the times
grow soggy—print blurs, I doze
and pull you closer.

This was my first attempt, 5-7-5.


Sunday's rain
print blurs--dozing I
pull you close

sparser still, 3-5-3.

Written for Haiku Heights, "vital"