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Margaret Atwood

Margaret Atwood

Is/Not

Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise
 
sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities
 
you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,
 
nobody has that
power, you are merely a fellow/traveller
 
Give up this medical concern,
buttoned, attentive,
 
permit yourself anger
and permit me mine
 
which needs neither
your approval nor your suprise
 
which does not need to be made legal
which is not against a disease
 
but agaist you,
which does not need to be understood
 
or washed or cauterized,
which needs instead
 
to be said and said.
Permit me the present tense.

#Canadians #Women

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Autres oeuvres par Margaret Atwood...
Cats Paradise, by Remedios Varo
The animals in that country

In that country the animals have the faces of people: the ceremonial cats possessing the streets the fox run
 1
Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld, by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot
Eurydice

He is here, come down to look for… It is the song that calls you back… a song of joy and suffering equally: a promise: that things will be different up t…
 4
Carolyn Forché
Notes Towards a Poem that Can Never Be Written

This is the place you would rather not know about, this is the place that will in hab… this is the place you cannot imagi… this is the place that will finall…
 7
Sick Child (Octavi, the artist's son), by Ricard Canals
You Begin

You begin this way: this is your hand, this is your eye, that is a fish, blue and flat on the paper, almost
 12
Precognition

Living backwards means only I must suffer everything twice. Those picnics were already loss: with the dragonflies and the clear… What good did it do me to know
 1
How to Tell One Country From Another

Whether is it possible to become l… Whether one tree looks like anothe… Whether there is water all around the edges or not. Whether there are edges or whether
 1
Georgia Beach

In winter the beach is empty but south, so there is no snow. Empty can mean either peaceful or desolate. Two kinds of people walk here:
 1
From a Place: Fragments VII

An other sense tugs at us: we have lost something, some key to these things which must be writings and are locked against us
 1
Weeping Nude, by Edvard Munch
You fit into me

you fit into me like a hook into an eye a fish hook an open eye
 1
 8
Portrait of Marie Henneberg, by Gustav Klimt
The Landlady

This is the lair of the landlady She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. the continuous henyard
 1
Manet’s Olympia

She reclines, more or less, Try that posture, it’s hardly lang… Her right arm sharp angles. With her left she conceals her amb… Shoes but not stockings,
 1
 2
The Death of Orpheus, by Jean Delville
Orpheus (2)

Whether he will go on singing or not, knowing what he knows of the horror of this world: He was not wandering among meadows all this time. He was down there
 1
The Cyclops, by Odilon Redon
Cyclops

You, going along the path, mosquito-doped, with no moon, the… a single orange eye unable to see what is beyond the capsule of your dim
 3
Charivari

‘They capped their heads with feat… their faces, wore their clothes ba… with torches through the midnight… and dragged the black man from his… to the jolting music of broken
 1
Studies of a Fox, a Barn Owl, a Peahen, and the Head of a Young Man, by Jacques-Laurent Agasse
Owl Song

I am the heart of a murdered woman who took the wrong way home who was strangled in a vacant lot… who was shot with care beneath a t… who was mutilated by a crisp knife…
 4



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