I’m headed off to poetry night tonight at The Lit. Earlier today Ashley Lister posted on his FB page that it’s National Poetry Day, UK-style. It’s appropriate for National Poetry Day to clip the heels of National Banned Book’s Week, me thinks. So, tonight I’m celebrating uncencorship. And in salute to all my UK friends and ancestors, I just might have to substitute my standard tequila double for some smooth, Irish whiskey:
Whatever you’re doing tonight, please thoroughly enjoy, uncensored. Yeah, I know, that really leaves things wide open, doesn’t?
Neve Black
Wide open is the only way to fly, Neve. I’m all about uncensorship. Hope the poetry night went well!
Hey Craig,
Last night there was a small discussion about passages in books that have been poignant to us - and how those words have shaped our thoughts into how we write today - the thought of someone else deciding to censore a book, a chapter, a paragraph, or a word because it makes them feel uncomfortable in some way, burns me up. I will always be at the front of the protest line; yelling and screaming for uncensorship. Thanks for weighing in your thoughts here too.
The reading was wonderful last night. I’m fortunate to be involved with such talented people, present company included.
Here’s the poem I read last night. To celebrate Poetry Day in the Uk, I read, Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy’s, Warming Her Pearls:
Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, until evening
when I´ll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,
resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.
She´s beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.
I dust her shoulders with a rabbit´s foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.
Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head…. Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way
she always does…. And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.
Fabulous, isn’t?
Wow. Yes, that’s magnificent.
Ah, thanks, Craig. Ashley Lister gave me a thumbs-up on my choice too.