Poems:Starkman
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| === Frida Kahlo Speaks of Diego Rivera === | === Frida Kahlo Speaks of Diego Rivera === | ||
| - | I first met him when I was twelve; he tells me I had fired eyes when I asked to watch him paint.<br> | ||
| - | He came to my house and found me in a tree wearing overalls and whistling, "The International."<br> | ||
| - | I wanted to bathe that pot-bellied man twice my age: I wanted his child-how I loved his mind. Of him I wrote:<br> | ||
| - | "The earth does not suffer because of its rain."<br> | ||
| - | The second time I married him I called him, "Buddha, Baby, Frog, Over-soul."<br> | ||
| - | He had his great murals; I painted my woman's life in colored circles the shape of pain and tears.<br> | ||
| - | Under the high cool roof of my house with its blue and yellow ceiling, I hated him and loved him in one consuming breath.<br> | ||
| - | Soon I shall die, my ribs cracked. I ask for cremation; my ribbons and my man's suit will burn with my hair as it becomes a halo of fire, and he, who could be so cruel, will weep the loudest. | ||
| - | Coyocan, Mexico, City, December 10, 1953, my birthday, my last | + | <pre>I first met him when I was twelve; he tells me I had fired eyes |
| - | + | when I asked to watch him paint. | |
| + | He came to my house and found me in a tree wearing overalls | ||
| + | and whistling, "The International." | ||
| + | I wanted to bathe that pot-bellied man twice my age: I wanted | ||
| + | his child-how I loved his mind. Of him I wrote: | ||
| + | "The earth does not suffer because of its rain." | ||
| + | The second time I married him I called him, "Buddha, Baby, | ||
| + | Frog, Over-soul." | ||
| + | He had his great murals; I painted my woman's life in colored | ||
| + | circles the shape of pain and tears. | ||
| + | Under the high cool roof of my house with its blue and yellow | ||
| + | ceiling, I hated him and loved him in one consuming breath. | ||
| + | Soon I shall die, my ribs cracked. I ask for cremation; my | ||
| + | ribbons and my man's suit will burn with my hair as it | ||
| + | becomes a halo of fire, and he, who could be so cruel, will | ||
| + | weep the loudest. | ||
| + | |||
| + | Coyocan, Mexico, City, December 10, 1953, my birthday, my last | ||
| + | </pre> | ||
| + | |||
| === Madame Roulin on Van Gogh === | === Madame Roulin on Van Gogh === | ||
| - | I got no gulden hid under my bed,<br> | + | <pre> |
| - | but a thick thatched roof over my head, and the painter, he visits; he's odd,<br> | + | I got no gulden hid under my bed, |
| - | but his tongue is sweet. I know Vincent and Theo; the rest of his clan was rotten,<br> | + | but a thick thatched roof over my head, and the painter, he |
| - | who think they're too good for me and my man.<br> | + | visits; he's odd, |
| - | They treat the lad like a cur so starved was he, | + | but his tongue is sweet. I know Vincent and Theo; the rest of |
| - | run hungry his brain.<br> | + | his clan was rotten, |
| - | His eyes drinking Arles.<br> | + | who think they're too good for me and my man. |
| - | Ablaze they see through my walls and windows.<br> | + | They treat the lad like a cur so starved was he, |
| - | He watch what move when he sat me to paint.<br> | + | run hungry his brain. |
| - | A lad too lost to know woman, afraid of kindness--<br> | + | His eyes drinking Arles. |
| - | living with a slut. I'd give him my thighs for comfort, not for me, mind ye,<br> | + | Ablaze they see through my walls and windows. |
| - | but to heal his heart, but he think me simple, paints my hand folded | + | He watch what move when he sat me to paint. |
| - | as if idle, my hair in a braid.<br> | + | A lad too lost to know woman, afraid of kindness-- |
| - | What can he know? But what I know is that when I am bone, and our kin | + | living with a slut. I'd give him my thighs for comfort, not for |
| - | is ash, his name be cried in every town.<br> | + | me, mind ye, |
| + | but to heal his heart, but he think me simple, paints my hand | ||
| + | folded | ||
| + | as if idle, my hair in a braid. | ||
| + | What can he know? But what I know is that when I am bone, | ||
| + | and our kin | ||
| + | is ash, his name be cried in every town. | ||
| Arles, 1888 | Arles, 1888 | ||
| + | </pre> | ||
| + | |||
| - | ====== Elanie Starkman ====== | + | '' '''Elaine Starkman''' writes both poetry and prose, and is recently combining both forms. She's taught writing for 25 years in Contra Costa County (of the East Bay). Her work appears in eclectic journals, some on the Internet, others in ''Graywolf, Seal Press, Lucid Stone'' and ''Home Planet News''. She has a new chapbook of poems available through her email address and a recent publication entitled ''A World of Suburban Tales'' at sfstation.com/literaryarts/archives'' |
| - | ::Elaine Starkman writes both poetry and prose, and is recently combining both forms. She's taught writing for 25 years in Contra Costa County (of the East Bay). Her work appears in eclectic journals, some on the Internet, others in Graywolf, Seal Press, Lucid Stone and Home Planet News. In 1992 she published Learning to Sit in the Silence: A Journal of Caretaking. In 1999, she co-edited Here I Am, a collection of contemporary, international Jewish stories, which won an Oakland/PEN Award. She has a new chapbook of poems available through her email address and a recent publication entitled A World of Suburban Tales at sfstation.com/literaryarts/archives | + | |
Current revision
[edit]
Frida Kahlo Speaks of Diego Rivera
I first met him when I was twelve; he tells me I had fired eyes when I asked to watch him paint. He came to my house and found me in a tree wearing overalls and whistling, "The International." I wanted to bathe that pot-bellied man twice my age: I wanted his child-how I loved his mind. Of him I wrote: "The earth does not suffer because of its rain." The second time I married him I called him, "Buddha, Baby, Frog, Over-soul." He had his great murals; I painted my woman's life in colored circles the shape of pain and tears. Under the high cool roof of my house with its blue and yellow ceiling, I hated him and loved him in one consuming breath. Soon I shall die, my ribs cracked. I ask for cremation; my ribbons and my man's suit will burn with my hair as it becomes a halo of fire, and he, who could be so cruel, will weep the loudest. Coyocan, Mexico, City, December 10, 1953, my birthday, my last
[edit]
Madame Roulin on Van Gogh
I got no gulden hid under my bed, but a thick thatched roof over my head, and the painter, he visits; he's odd, but his tongue is sweet. I know Vincent and Theo; the rest of his clan was rotten, who think they're too good for me and my man. They treat the lad like a cur so starved was he, run hungry his brain. His eyes drinking Arles. Ablaze they see through my walls and windows. He watch what move when he sat me to paint. A lad too lost to know woman, afraid of kindness-- living with a slut. I'd give him my thighs for comfort, not for me, mind ye, but to heal his heart, but he think me simple, paints my hand folded as if idle, my hair in a braid. What can he know? But what I know is that when I am bone, and our kin is ash, his name be cried in every town. Arles, 1888
Elaine Starkman writes both poetry and prose, and is recently combining both forms. She's taught writing for 25 years in Contra Costa County (of the East Bay). Her work appears in eclectic journals, some on the Internet, others in Graywolf, Seal Press, Lucid Stone and Home Planet News. She has a new chapbook of poems available through her email address and a recent publication entitled A World of Suburban Tales at sfstation.com/literaryarts/archives
