this is a man’s world
still, better to be a girl
don’t ask me why, man
we wandered through peep shows, all with a glass floor
pulled down our skirts for the pervs looking up
we got used to the shame, this tedious chore
like our golden coffers were made to corrupt
we ground their laurel wreaths to brew bitter tea
and claimed the remains to make new storied crowns
we were the stars of their voyeuristic spree
carousing soma of feminal renown
we were prostrate matriarchs with pride intact
and their fire loins only provoked us all
we were by far the best, putting on an act
to tempt them and fool them, to give them blue balls
Splash on me
As waterfalls will
Hail down on me
Like rain storms will
Crash into me
Like great oceans will
And I will be unbroken
Sear my skin
Like a wildfire will
Puncture my soul
Like arrows will
Spear my heart
Like a great sword will
And I will be unshaken
© All rights reserved 2018
Is a soft pomegranate
Shiny seeds spilling out
Soft offering proffers
Sell by date
Arbitrary or fated circles within circles
Once, you bled
The same crimson as a dress you wore to fireworks night
Until invisible hands
Ushered away the urge to bring
Life wriggling on flat earth
Straining you heard
A primal cry
It was you
Half covered with sweat
The emptiness of the day
Your belly full
by CANDICE LOUISA DAQUIN
© All rights reserved 2018
In some complacent nest,
I saw the open door –
The extraordinary field of innocence.
She weeps having not expected
To be a party to purity.
It is a field of fog at the end of the lake,
Where the weeds swirl.
He says, “I do not need tea.”
Again, the swirling field.
He walks alone along the edge.
Do you know the sound of water lapping?
A sun setting behind reeds?
He hears laughter not meant for him
“Death waits not on age.”
“The young sometimes die before the old.”
She loves him, this slayer of rice paper.
She races in winter to free him.
They cry on a bridge.
She is shadowed.
Spring is the answer.
Or is it summer?
In it, I see the weakness of men,
And a woman’s burden is to trust.
But we are not strong enough
To carry the weight of ourselves
Through this eagerness.
Laughter there is none.
A bloodied mouth, the searing wind,
As if evil came,
Then rain, a purity.
The field weak now,
And then suddenly it stops.
Who is the wiser?
So much lucky red silk –
Two women wait,
While the sea is watching.
It is like Noah,
And so they sit
Looking at stars from a rooftop.
It is about men and their gentleness,
As she waves the lantern in space
And sees the shooting star.
by MARIO SAVIONI
© All rights reserved 2011
A review of Mario Savioni’s poem, “The Sea is Watching”
I was rereading Mario Savioni’s book entitled After and had a closer look at poem “The Sea is Watching”:
I like it very much as a poem having found inspiration in the Japanese movie with the same title.
The whole poem sounds very musical, especially when I read the words from the book and, at the same time, listen to its author, reading it aloud on youtube.
This is how I interpreted the poem at first sight:
The “complacent nest” could be a euphemism for the word brothel. The “field of innocence” is something I associate with Oshin. She is an innocent prostitute because she still believes in love although she is a sex worker. She falls in love twice. She weeps because the promise of marriage with Fusanosuke has not been fulfilled. She is not “a party to purity.”
There seems to be a he, not wanting tea and walking along the edge, either Fusanosuke or maybe it is the second chance she gets when she falls in love again with Ryosuke. The word “edge” suggests risk. Could they be the “young lovers”? There is death, someone younger dying that could refer to Ryosuke killing Kikuno’s customer.
The coming of spring suggests the lovers’ season par excellence. The beginning of love. Summer would mean this love is already ripe, like fruit.
I also see the traditional men-women roles. “The weakness of men” who are supposed to be so strong but they are weak with the pleasures of the flesh as they need prostitutes and sex, often abusing women. Luckily the rain and the storm seem to come as an opportunity for purity, for the prostitutes to clean themselves and to get rid of this life. The “lucky red silk” appears to me as the symbol for the brothel, now a “floating debris”.
The two women sit and wait on the rooftop, a symbol for an anchor where they can hold on to. “The shooting star” means hope, a wish that someone will come and rescue them from the flood, maybe the second he, Oshin’s second opportunity in life, that is, Ryosuke coming by boat.
by MARTA POMBO SALLÉS
© All rights reserved 2016