This poem by Alice Notley, published in 1975 in Alice Ordered Me to be Made [which Alan Davies left out on our coffee table after having very kindly stayed with Dante and Nemo while we were in Paris] feels just exactly right to me:
TO
Do you have a private zodiac? is it enough
to rescue your touch from an enervated
decorativeness? What about your
source autobiography literalism (?)
Foxfire matters My sister Life Scotch World Toast
Tenuous link Naked Profound Superficialities
Melodrama Sedative Tonight the Primitif That’s twelve
Counting that’s twelve
Do you yearn after unattainable absolutes
denying the stereotype of feminine beauty
to sing and dance and ruff like a dog
and a baby? all somber O shaggy forlorn look
pant pant pant
you can hardly expect or desire
No now and then this impulse will turn into the magical…
World backbone revitalized diversity living moving
seeming savagely to ignore scores of possible
scenarios? are you intact and carnal a field like
the sky are you are you you
Yes, I am. The canvas is both open and closed.
an almost pseudo subject matter emotionally loaded
impulse a promiscuous gilded fly perfection
belongs only to God and orchestration
I am a tart slice
of female Americana. You can underscore my pieties
anyway you want to.
You do it.
Leave Me Alone.
Otohime 