Sunday, April 18, 2010

The Call

no longer her nor here
A cry―Oh!

the outpouring word
more sound than word
yet, both―Oh!

i don’t want to leave you
you said, then
left me

along the edge. It was

the end of the season
& the sound inspired

beginnings over & over began
without symbols or centers―Oh!
darkness fell
in my throat and felt
delightful memories & squeals
& what was soft copper
beaten and hardened
banged on boxes of your things
gestures in what we


shared together;
each rhythm sucked in
never held the sound

i exhaled & intoned
but oh never vanished
& then the fear―oh! my god!
you left me (forever)

i confront your absence
everywhere & over & over
my loss grows larger and larger
(but never in a larger word)

in the distance
in the discourse
broken like a vessel
lost at sea―Oh!

i is loathsome

in a word
a sound
a thing

unloveable & left to sing
a blue and spotted in between
put off, put on―Oh!

the sound for you
grows thin in i
the you the way you wanted
without and

not within
dotted blue
the oh begin

again an i
& i in you
my spotted flesh

my earth and loss
not living her
in me unheard

hears the call
in naked cry
to me to trust it still

tied to the mast
the work
the word

© 2010
The Call stephanie pope

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Mermaid Singing

her singing like
splintered tree-waves

has timbre
an earthshaker’s


spectrum &

a timber sings through him
with rings of mythical

things tied to the mast
er tied to the shore

keep your pant-legs

her wisdom is brrrr
aching where you cling

for titans
in ancestral strum


sax a

the mythic images
each to each

that do not ground
& the ground

gives more between
our gods au naturale

you see, Poseidon paid
we still let him

Mermaid Singing -stephanie Pope
Matter & Beauty Poetry Series

Sunday, April 11, 2010

White Stocking Tale

(the pornographer's daughter is gifted) a dream he sat discussing
the nature of the real...ahhh, brilliant work!
but, what do I do about my loveliest daughter...

The Prologue

Here in the southwest there is this... pattern

it's called the step-pattern suppose you
take it in steps...nom-mon
where antimony steps en route
anti nomos = antimony

The first step: annihilation
get naked; greatness feels into every thing
zer- Oh's as close as it can get
to the real mystery god in the pubic zone


The Body

to take on the god you have to enter death so
descend like Inanna
(meat on a hook[er])
take it off
take it all off

her language
hung limp like ours now
in the air, the very air
where it vanished...let's say,
like ours now, in Duchamps...
and like a porn camera lens
zeroes in: we zer-0h hard core
but, before
stepping down
step first a step back (step two)

the steps conjugate negation
(1-1) in negative forms
supernatural object abjection
gets rid of the solid core
no body has what it takes
it (the objective psyche)
zer- 0h's i.e. targets the value
a value within lostness

mmmmm! Gone South! [*]

see? it takes the two to tangle
(as in maid + maid = mades to mis[s] con-strue)
kekropids (like sparrows) get sold in pairs & cons for far-things

(meat on the table)

...will it take away abjection (1-1); does it supply the repetition ???

zer- oh's
is as as is and there
the absence where's her scarcity as stockings

how the horror of an emptiness draws us in
0h! how the dark sex draws us

do not try to see into it
try to see as it sees; step 3: tertium non datur

see like a bird that is no bird
where no zoom-in lens will matter cause
the faux con cannot here the fauconer
(& keeping hope requires this suspense)

for the greatness is not achieved
in the fullness of time
the greatness
has nothing to do with time
the greatness (suspending even hope)
is presence underfire; presence not here
but, coming
and in its being
lives be-ing as is
in the eros

leaving the gap

& so
as is is as
a word with vapored wing
shot from the slow zer
0h in the myth
the language (of sex)
is being
and it
hangs in the air
of the animal

the mystery
in the coming language
poetry hangs in the air, Step 4



& yes to leave the matter

say yes, &
leave the matter hanging

© 2010 all rights reserved

[*]The poem is inspired by the wonderful essay of Craig Adcock, "'Faucon' or 'Perroquet'? A Note on Duchamp's Morceaux choisis d'après Courbet". Duchamps' bird is a pigeon but it turns out to be a pigeon that is no pigeon for he calls it a falcon. To complicate the plot even more, his 'falcon' is no falcon either. (He's punning.) The falcon, faucon in French, is a faux con. It looks like a pigeon but not quite. To paint his 'pigeon' Duchamps moves between two paintings by Gustave Coubert one of which is "Woman In White Stockings", 1861. Needless to say, they wear scarcely more than stockings! Looking and not looking; looking and perceiving; looking and the manipulations of the viewer's gaze are not a direct encounter with the woman, herself (wearing the white stockings.)Duchamps' faucon 'parrots' something, something that involves the viewer's inability. The viewer is a dupe, a 'pigeon', one who can be made to misconstrue a faux con, according to Adcock's point of view of Duchamp's presentation.

This poem first published to

Friday, April 9, 2010

Once Upon A Yew: A White Stocking Tale

Yew chalks a boundary between death and immortal life; its symbol is I
-Book of Balymote, 1391

Imagine once upon a yew that she still lives and spins anew in maidenhair 
to mend the blue wide avé nous once spun throughout and through the whorl
that thundered through the white hands where the pale maid sits turning just a girl. And when she wheels and spins and moans
into the shad, into the ‘oh’ ness of the crone 
behind the spray and veiled, she weights a thread, thus come

how once she more than realized the tuffet moppet spot she sat upon
beds wet in mid and trough a knotting taut to realize the ‘is’ because
she was and is and calls her metis wove in h’s like a shroud, a cloud

she watched as kings reigned the weave within the spot where she is not
and wore instead a knot -a maiden shadow thrown
to orchestrate king-order in a vast disaster-us-affair, home-grown

the knot full well like ©hair in nothing more than (h)air inherited; begun
in not—no more a king than this, a plot: a plot of heirs who plot in hairs

stranded strands 
twisted twists;
shadow mist

the god-airs stand behind her as she combs and cards the dew; O, she places
in her basket blue; the moon, now full behind them and between them, too

dewdrops fall
threads fall
mixed together in the blue

like complex compositions in the shading of a yew
the moon, her emblem, strung upon a string
spirals through the falling threads of dew no thing

the vault of heaven turns and in the turning light
in dispenser of this burning vortex theme
she drew -O... don't tell me!

the air of Eros in its lust
the ire of Ares in its thrust
insist this composing loveliness still spun of air

for her sheen already forming on the distaff drew
to h'earth in both in both what blew this foam the
thunderhead no longer knew; in downward move

in wave of blue, to heap all loveliness upon a yew

©2010 all rights reserved

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Green Energy

poetic sublimation connects the image to its
pain. Raw. Wet. Red; girlhood in first flower
what is primary (flowing & deflowering)
is a certain loss in a certain flowering
which is irreversible (meaning certain swallowing)
because all natural processes are irreversible
and why time flows one way and things fall apart

but not why Zeus in his cunning & in his zeal
swallows the mother of the real; swallows her
subjectivities and then agrees, Persephone, too
must be taken. Eating or sleeping
what is primary in the maternal subjectivities
through the flower upon which the god
erects himself in the name of the father is

did she bleed?

the energy of an isolation will increase in time
& in time, come to matter even more
says the second law of thermodynamics
blood to ink in the use; each phrase
made to order, turning toward the order
to mete
to measure
the moonlight in it

Dis (order) ing carries the deep use of the
figures in speech as if they are real, as if
it is we who control them, although we only
reduce them to specific figures of speech
to draw out the abstraction. Raw. Wet. Wed

she never gave birth in our world; instead
she gave insight into our suffering
in conspectu mortis (said Jung)

she had a mother (who must be laughing)
right where she passes –especially
where she passes
turning toward

the living time of the story

©2010 all rights reserved

Green Energy
-stephanie pope matter & beauty poetry series

Petr Kratochvil's photo is in public domain. Visit more of his work.