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> | + | <pre>I first met him when I was twelve; he tells me I had fired eyes when I asked to watch him paint. |
| - | 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> | + | He came to my house and found me in a tree wearing overalls and whistling, "The International." |
| - | "The earth does not suffer because of its rain."<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: |
| - | The second time I married him I called him, "Buddha, Baby, Frog, Over-soul."<br> | + | "The earth does not suffer because of its rain." |
| - | He had his great murals; I painted my woman's life in colored circles the shape of pain and tears.<br> | + | The second time I married him I called him, "Buddha, Baby, Frog, Over-soul." |
| - | 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> | + | 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. | 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. | ||
| + | </pre> | ||
| Coyocan, Mexico, City, December 10, 1953, my birthday, my last | Coyocan, Mexico, City, December 10, 1953, my birthday, my last | ||
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| === 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 visits; he's odd, |
| - | who think they're too good for me and my man.<br> | + | but his tongue is sweet. I know Vincent and Theo; the rest of his clan was rotten, |
| - | They treat the lad like a cur so starved was he,<br> | + | who think they're too good for me and my man. |
| - | run hungry his brain.<br> | + | They treat the lad like a cur so starved was he, |
| - | His eyes drinking Arles.<br> | + | run hungry his brain. |
| - | Ablaze they see through my walls and windows.<br> | + | His eyes drinking Arles. |
| - | He watch what move when he sat me to paint.<br> | + | Ablaze they see through my walls and windows. |
| - | A lad too lost to know woman, afraid of kindness--<br> | + | He watch what move when he sat me to paint. |
| - | living with a slut. I'd give him my thighs for comfort, not for me, mind ye,<br> | + | 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 | but to heal his heart, but he think me simple, paints my hand folded | ||
| - | as if idle, my hair in a braid.<br> | + | 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 | 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.<br> | + | is ash, his name be cried in every town. |
| Arles, 1888 | Arles, 1888 | ||
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| ===== Elanie Starkman ===== | ===== 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''. 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 | + | ::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</pre> |
Revision as of 23:46, 7 April 2006
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
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 ===== 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''. 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
