
See you later,
Linda.
One day I will post and look at my post and see no typos whatsoever. This is a wish of mine.
No-no. Not at all. I wonder sometimes if there is subliminal images that pass on the screen of forums because it is frequent those mistakes of interpretation.You just want to see me squirm, don't you?
"All great lovers are articulate, and verbal seduction is the surest road to actual seduction". Sorry this is not a Leonard Cohen quote I will qualify my quotes.
During the interview he did with Lori Brown, after he recieved his order of Canada, he said "Door hinge rhymes with orange". This interview is in the CBC archives. My Archaya told me that he heard that Leonard said "some men have been rained on, I have been drenched to the bone" this is a second hand quote so I am did not read or hear him say it, but it sounds gfffffb oooops go kitten. It is hard to write with a kitten.
As long as a man is honest, truly honest, not making a show or saying what he "thinks" I want to hear, he is sincere about what is going on, I am fine with that.
Monkish lol!!!
A friend introduced me to the CD by Vanessa Daou called Zipless, she sings poems the poems of Erica Jong, I LOVE THIS CD. This is a copy of the poem it has been changed on the CD, but the same idea is there.
Becoming a Nun
For Jennifer Josephy
On cold days
it is easy to be reasonable,
to button the mouth against kisses,
dust the breasts
with talcum powder
& forget
the red pulp meat
of the heart.
chourus
comming, comming, comming becomming a nun
On those days
it beats
like a digital clock--
not a beat at all
but a steady whirring
chilly as green neon,
luminous as numerals in the dark,
cool as electricity.
chourus
comming, comming, comming becomming a nun
& I think:
I can live without it all--
love with its blood pump,
sex with its messy hungers,
men with their peacock strutting,
their silly sexual baggage,
their wet tongues in my ear
& their words like little sugar suckers
with sour centers.
On such days
I am zipped in my body suit,
I am wearing seven league red suede boots,
I am marching over the cobblestones
as if they were the heads of men,
& I am happy
as a seven-year-old virgin
holding Daddy's hand.
Don't touch.
Don't try to tempt me with your ripe persimmons.
Don't threaten me with your volcano.
The sky is clearer when I'm not in heat,
& the poems
are colder.
© Erica Mann Jong