With the speaker that came to class today, I decided to look more into the poems that she was writing, and upon looking at said poems and at the resources online provided, I was struck by one poem that was rather abrasive. When I first read it, it really struck one cord in particular, but upon reading it a second time as our guest did, I realized it had a deeper meaning inside. The poem, Untitled by Elizabeth Austen, goes like this;
Untitled
The beginning of wisdom is in getting things
by their right name. —Chinese proverb
Ear. Nose. Eye.
We teach every child
to point and name.
The child goes to school,
learns “he” is the norm,
“she” the grammatical
variant. When the place
between her legs is left
unnamed, what lesson
does the child learn
but that what she discovers there
doesn’t quite exist
(except to be washed, face averted).
Eventually she’ll find
the dessicated,
reticent Latinates--
the language and labels
of diagnosis
and prohibition--
a linguistic burka, rooted
in pudere: be ashamed.
She’ll find the dysphemisms
of juvenile slang--
metaphors of confused fascination--
geographic euphemisms.
(Might as well call it Australia.)
Quarter of a million words
but not one with the raw
authority, the accurate—forgive me--
mouth feel
of the thing itself. So taboo
as to be nameless,
that place all human aching starts.
When I finished reading the poem, I realized how true the titled came out to be, and how intentional it was to the poem. Not only that, but the meaning behind both it, and the subject matter in the poem go deeper than just the surface. I loved thinking about the layers that came with it, and loved reading it multiple times through to really peel back the different meanings behind a poem that can be taken purely at face value.
Untitled
The beginning of wisdom is in getting things
by their right name. —Chinese proverb
Ear. Nose. Eye.
We teach every child
to point and name.
The child goes to school,
learns “he” is the norm,
“she” the grammatical
variant. When the place
between her legs is left
unnamed, what lesson
does the child learn
but that what she discovers there
doesn’t quite exist
(except to be washed, face averted).
Eventually she’ll find
the dessicated,
reticent Latinates--
the language and labels
of diagnosis
and prohibition--
a linguistic burka, rooted
in pudere: be ashamed.
She’ll find the dysphemisms
of juvenile slang--
metaphors of confused fascination--
geographic euphemisms.
(Might as well call it Australia.)
Quarter of a million words
but not one with the raw
authority, the accurate—forgive me--
mouth feel
of the thing itself. So taboo
as to be nameless,
that place all human aching starts.
When I finished reading the poem, I realized how true the titled came out to be, and how intentional it was to the poem. Not only that, but the meaning behind both it, and the subject matter in the poem go deeper than just the surface. I loved thinking about the layers that came with it, and loved reading it multiple times through to really peel back the different meanings behind a poem that can be taken purely at face value.