Radiance - a poem dedicated to my mom

My 85 year old mom is very sick right now. She will get an MRI on Friday, which hopefully will push medical personnel to figure out what she has.

With this in mind, I print/reprint a poem that is supposed to appear in Fat Poets Speak (2);  Living and Loving Fatly. (Copyright Frannie Zellman, 2013)

Frannie Zellman

Radiance                                                                      To My Mother

Plump and radiant,

You adored them all

With your eyes.

Flowers in your hair,

You twirled your fan

From admirer to admirer

And led the boys

A merry dance

As you jumped from one

To the other

And winked at some

You didn’t care to know.

One summer morning

You raised your arms

And yawned

Into being

Another crop of young men

To appraise

To render helpless

In your presence

Turning, Circe-like,

humans

Into sea swine

Who lost their speech

And instead

Could only make raw, rasping sounds

Of love.

Tiny, thin now,

You stay beautiful

Not just in memory

But in the eyes of those

Who meet your eyes

And report back

To their officers

That yes, the danger

Still exists

And by god and goddess

What a woman to win

And to keep

If you can avoid the spell.

But of course

The fun lies still

In bringing down

The danger of your spell

And in the allure

Of singing their aches

To you

Without words

In a far, unknown place.

And for a few,

If they were once easy with words,

In trying to find the right sounds

To capture the essence

Of your eyes

All at once,

Without fading.

Holy Grail Not

I was just listening to a song, in two wonderful versions, called "Alkali." Written by Tom Russell, it talks about a man who keeps on looking for gold, but can't find any.

Sadly similar to the way it used to be -and still is for many- for people who used to keep on trying to lose weight, but couldn't.  Of course after tons of research and blaming and fat shaming, we finally found out that actually most of us and our bodily systems are built so that we don't lose much weight - or lose weight, then gain it and often more right back. Some people keep on hoping and praying and starving themselves because they keep on looking for a result that is as elusive as that gold.

The sad thing is that while people are putting so much energy -and getting hungry, irritated and often actually sick as a result- into losing weight, or trying, they could be expending it on things that would make them so much happier instead, and also on eating that would make them happier and feel better. Some of it might even have to do with playing or walking or going on swings or dancing, movement that makes their bodies happy, but may not be what one thinks of when one hears the word "exercise."

Another sad thing is that some religious beliefs seem to push people into looking for what they cannot find, or doing things that hurt and torture their bodies in the name of faith.

I keep wondering why any loving god would push or force people to hurt themselves in the name of faith, just as I wonder why any intelligent doctor would prescribe starvation and/or torturing one's body in the name of health.

An editing moment

Sometimes I like poems I write. Sometimes I am less than thrilled with them. Either way, they all get edited. Indeed, they all must be edited. Sometimes it is good to leave them for six months, then return. Other times one can see what needs changing in a matter of hours.

Here is a perfect example.

I like the poem I wrote called Writing About Tigers. I think it merged the dream world and the real world in some well-thought-out ways. I like the way it connected the process of writing with the process of thinking about tigers.

However...I think that "Writing Tigers" would have said more of what I really wanted to say by leaving no imaginative space between "Writing" and "tigers."

And that verse starting with "Now that we know" simply doesn't belong in this poem. It is from a different register and domain. It is from the domain of "Social Justice," which, much as I approve of it, is not what this poem is about. The words are flat and preachy. This is a poem about leaping and imagination, not about "Save the tigers," although of course the poems implies this as well. And that is another thing. The poem actually implies this stance well enough not to need these words.

Writing (about) tigers     Frannie Zellman                   Take out "about." It is neither necessary nor appropriate.

Not all tigers will have the same
ferociously pleased teeth
phased into a smile
or tail that goes into a spin
when it wags.
If you wish to write (about) tigers,
you must first leave your wishes
for tiger speed and tiger eyes
at the writing door.
Tigers sleep and they sit
and sometimes they even cock an eye
or two
at what scurries and slips and scrims
on the jungle floor.
If they don't all pounce and tiger walk
on their way to crunching dinner,
you must understand that their tiger fire
is simply on low steam
and will erupt quite emphatically later
when smaller animals present themselves
for closer inspection
and digestion.

And oh one more thing..
They don't all burn bright.

(Now that we know that no one should request    Take out. Not the right tone and too literal for here.
their coats for rugs,
We also know that they need trees and prey
and watering holes.)

So if you still wish to write tigers, remember:
 they will play
with your imaginings
and slip off into the trees
with chunks of your words
as long as their ears and as thick as their breath
underfoot.

Clutch, learn to bear their green stare
like the light you remember
when the power goes.
It will warm you
as you call them
in dreams
before you pounce.


Ah. Much better!

haters of fat women

According to our legends, many of which are matched with facts, hetero men liked fat women at many points in our history, going all the way back to cave times. Good to cuddle with a fat woman to keep yourself warm, even after the discovery and use of fire.

Hatred of fat women seems to coincide/correlate with hatred of women in our times. Oh, what a surprise..and women who are in online media and write in public draw hate e-mails, no matter their size.

Telling us how we have to look is the last gasp of anti-woman and anti-feminist bigotry.

Anti-fat people are mostly not big fans of cuddling.

Writing Fat

Writing Fat

Past far past the bones of things
the stark outlines
that prod and hurt
when you try to love them
the die-ts that trash life
the good for you things
that squeeze happiness
out of days

Instead write lush
fillings sauces
pleasure
oozing with filling
fruit cream custard
whiskey spiced coffee
in front of a fire
hugs as long as your arm
and twice as soft
warm bellies to be rubbed
kissed
bitten if you like

and never forget the chocolate.

Writing about tigers

Writing about tigers     Frannie Zellman

Not all tigers will have the same
ferociously pleased teeth
phased into a smile
or tail that goes into a spin
when it wags.
If you wish to write about tigers,
you must first leave your wishes
for tiger speed and tiger eyes
at the writing door.
Tigers sleep and they sit
and sometimes they even cock an eye
or two
at what scurries and slips and scrims
on the jungle floor.
If they don't all pounce and tiger walk
on their way to crunching dinner,
you must understand that their tiger fire
is simply on low steam
and will erupt quite emphatically later
when smaller animals present themselves
for closer inspection
and digestion.

And oh one more thing..
They don't all burn bright.

Now that we know that no one should request
their coats for rugs,
We also know that they need trees and prey
and watering holes.

So if you still wish to write tigers, remember:
 they will play
with your imaginings
and slip off into the trees
with chunks of your words
as long as their ears and as thick as their breath
underfoot.

Clutch, learn to bear their green stare
like the light you remember
when the power goes.
It will warm you
as you call them
in dreams
before you pounce.

Muse(s) and chocolate

I find that chocolate has a most salubrious effect on my writing poems and contacting one of my muses. It is of course possible that the muses like chocolate, too. I have never seen any of them refuse it. I guess it is my equivalent of leaving cookies for Santa Claus. I leave chocolate for the muses.

I was not always cognizant of this important link. When I was younger and in an MA in Creative Writing program, I sought for a muse without chocolate. It did seem to appreciate halvah, especially the kind made by a certain co-op in Cambridge, Mass.,  but I did not grasp the relationship between the muses and chocolate. This made it a lot more difficult to contact the muse, especially since I only had one of them at the time.

Try it sometime. Contact your muse(s) and offer chocolate.

You'll all be happy.