Hi Sally, there's an awful lot here but I've a feeling the poem sells
itself short.

Substitute the word 'man' for 'woman' and what happens? Then what if we
change it to 'black man'?

The way I read it the poem wishes to assert both collective worth and
individuality. But for me there's a danger that by simply deploying the
stereotypes, without a considerable undercurrent of development,
inflection, commentary (or whatever) the net result can be to simply
confirm those same stereotypes. At best little is learnt.

It's the easy button syndrome - the radical tirade at the Green Room - the
angry war poem (of course some audiences never get tired of mirrors). But
at the core of your poem there's more than simple restatement: there's a
mix of emotions - anger, humour, frustration - and, it seems to me, an
awareness that these conditions are in many ways indivisible. And THAT's
news. That, to me is what is currenlty being a bit obscured by the 'off the
shelf' imagery.

You know me Sally; I am not an anti-feminist. I am and anti-Feminist. I
believe that woman, as poet, must resist the microwave, and grapple, as
ever, with the raw ingredients of existence!!

(Oh s**t. Still, now I've moved house you don't know where I live do you?)
Pass the fire extinguisher. J









----- Original Message -----
From: "Sally James" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: 15 November 2001 15:19
Subject: New Sub Contradictions (In all woman?)


Hi every one,  Here is poem I wrote many moons ago. When I was working,
bringing up my family. Trying to make sense out of life. This poem was
written about 15years ago or there abouts.

Contradictions ( In all women?)

Juggling my life with no stereotype fitting,
That is me, a woman.
Three faces pf Eve or maybe there are more
In me, a woman.

A little girl crying, and sometimes she's laughing
That is me, a woman.
A young girl who is dancing, awaiting her lover
That is me, a woman.

A wife who is dutiful, who fetches and carries,
That is me, a woman.
A cleaner, a gardener, I wash and I iron,
That is me, a woman.

A mum who is sighing, nursing babies when crying
That is me, a woman.
A grandma who is baking, sewing and knitting
That is me, a woman.

A nurse who is caring, whose life she is sharing
That is me, a woman.
A mistress, a whore, yet a nun to the core,
That is me, a woman.

A poet who writes, who is gentle yet fights
That is me, a woman.
A queen, yet a pauper, a sister, a daughter,
That is me, a woman.

A rose with a thorn, with a heart that is torn
That is me, a woman.
In sickness, in health, in poverty or wealth,
Till death us do part.

I'M A WOMAN.

Sally James Get more from the Web.  FREE MSN Explorer download :
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