The whisper in the darkness
when no one else is there;
the shiver down your spine when
the wind kisses your hair;
the deep lust that fills you
and lays your dark soul bare,
that all who surround you
might know the sin you wear.The voice of sweet temptation
that tests your feeble vows;
the stream of lurid visions
that darkness might arouse;
the carnal need that burns you
that no prayer call might douse;
‘tis I, your phantom lover —
I’ve come to claim you now.
A kickass response to Anis Shivani’s (constant) criticism of creative writing:
Karen Babine’s crisp rebuttal. Here is a bit:
…the main issue that Shivani overlooks—whether intentional or not, in his purpose to incite as much reaction as possible in his readers—is the difference between creative writing and literature: literature is artifact. As my fiction students identified last week, artifact brings to mind archaeology, digging, brushing away, interpreting this long-dead item for what it can tell us. Creative writing, on the other hand, considers a text as a living, breathing thing, something that puts my students in a chair next to Raymond Carver, because “Cathedral” did not spring, fully-formed, from the mind of Carver. He was once a beginning writer too. He wasn’t always Raymond Carver.
And:
What is clear, however, that Shivani has equated creative writing with the feminine, and “real” writing with the masculine, for the purpose of silencing voices other than his own. Calling creative writing “Oprahfied” certainly genders the creative writing in terms that call to mind powerful women, mass appeal, and to him, little substance.From this argument, only women go to therapy; men do not. But what is particularly interesting about this phrasing is that it is a female mindset that phallically penetrates the workshop. He genders the workshop itself in other ways, using “she” to represent the creative workshop teacher—though it is interesting that as Shivani also argues that students are guided to imitate the models that the female teacher brings to class (Carver, Hemingway, Barthelme, Plat, Glück, and Levine are the ones he mentions), two women, four men, but the method of imitation that he rails against comes strictly out of this classical, masculine, rhetorical tradition.
Love this poem!!!
bodasdesangre:
How dare you
stretch night to
cover morning!
Is it not bad enough
I can’t shake winter
from under my rain boots?
Take your shadow
shackled to my veins,
and the scent of your skin,
and leave me be,
in the care of silence,
where we are but passing dreams.
