In which five of us talk about our favorite poet ever. “Those of us who think we know / the same secrets / are silent together most of the time.”
“I kinda only care about lesbian poets.”
Did you know that Gertrude Stein and Mina Loy were friends? Do you even know who Mina Loy is? I didn’t until about ~5 days ago.
Mary Oliver writes poetry about nature. Both kinds of nature.
“You can’t trust lesbians. You invite them / to your party and they don’t come, / they’re too busy tending vaginal / flowers, hating football, walking their golden / and chocolate labs.”
“I don’t know if I could change the world, yet, because I don’t know that much about it.”
Once upon a time I hated Sylvia Plath. Now I don’t! How did this happen? The answers lie inside this post…
You really need to know about Dorothy Porter. She was an Australian poet, an out lesbian, and basically awesome.
“You must nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a special beach.”
“I like his poetry because it’s kind of all over the place without being noisy about it.”
Did you know that Rilke’s Mom initially raised him as a girl? True story.
I don’t want to write my essay, so here’s some Charles Bukowski poems.
“Oh, to be ready for it, unf*cked, ever-f*cked.”
This is just a post (mostly) about old white men. But it’s happy. It’s Autostraddle is Pure Poetry week and this is how we do it.
“First of all, I’m always sad. Secondly, all my knives are made out of rubber. Thirdly, it’s like my house is on fire.”
“Veronica Franco became an icon for women to leave the confines of the home and enter the world of men. Unfortunately, in those days the only real way to do so was to become a prostitute.”
“Rock’s voice was more powerful than my desire for a fresh beer.”
And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?
I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps.
‘Should I fiddle on a f*cking roof for you?’