[KINDLE] ✿ Loose Woman: Poems By Sandra Cisneros – Golanvideoagency.info

Loose Woman: Poems Of the poems in this collection, the ones I like the most come from the central section entitled The Heart Rounds up the Usual Suspects here is the poem of the same title I sleep with the catwhen no one will have me.When I can t give it awayfor love or money I telephone the oneswho used to love me.Or try to lure the leeryinto my pretty web.I m looney as a June bride.Cold as a bruja s tit A pathetic bitch.In short an ordinary womanGrateful to excessiveness.At the slightest tug of generousness,I stick to the cyclops who takes me,lets me pee on the carpetand keeps me fed.Have you seen this woman I am considered harmless.Armed and dangerous.But only to me.Most in this section are in a similar vein, or mood, with a certain dry humour aimed at herself, which I think is what I like Phones feature quite a lot in her poems and you certainly arrive at the sense that she is a woman, often waiting for her lover I Don t Like Being in LoveNot like this Not tonight,a white stone When you re 36and seething like sixteennext to the telephone,and you don t know where.And worse with whom I don t care for this fruit ThisMexican love hidden in the boot.This knotted braid Birthcord buriedbeneath the knuckle of the heart.Cat at the window scratching atthe windswept moonscurrying along, scurrying along.Trees rattling Screen doors banging raspy.Brain a whorl of swirlingfish Oh, not like this.Not this.This poem or less reveals the age of the writer, who was born in 1954 and this collection Loose Woman, was first published in 1994, so most of the poems are about a woman in her late 30s Sometimes I felt I was a little too old to appreciate her love fantasies, or even her dependence on love and that elusive, perfect male but then I also felt jealous, perhaps re inspired No one is too old for love, for the pain, and its massively egocentric whims Most of Cisneros poems are about love it s strange because I have just left a woman from the late 12th century whose every poem was also about the vagaries and traumas of Love Marie de France Perhaps I am a little obssessed.In the third part of her book Heart, My Lovely Hobo , the poems are longer and thus a little complex and also quite descriptive, for example there is one entitledLos DesnudosA Triptych , which is about 3 Spanish or Mexican painters and particular works by each of them Goya, Diego Rivera and of course Frida Kahlo, Cisneros pays homage to her fellow artists but the poem is still about love, or rather the dangerous aspects of love.I will take just a couple of verses because it s a long poem IIn this portrait of The Naked Maja by GoyaI ll replace that naughty duquesawith a you And youwill do nicely too, my maharaja.The gitano curls and the skin a tonedarker than usual becauseyou ve just returned from Campeche.All the same, it s you raised with your arms behind your head staringly coyly at me from the motel pillows.Instead of the erotic breast,we ll have the male eggs to look atand the pretty sex.In detail will I labor the downfrom belly to the fury ofpubis dark and sweet,luxury of man thighand coyness of my maja s eyes.The poem continues with another 11 12 verses, but what I like, is that she makes no bones about the fact of her multiple lovers and secondly this poem is clever she does what all good academic feminists are doing now, which is to reverse the traditional roles of viewer and viewed And, she suggests the erotic move down her lover s body with will I labor, but means explicitly as an artist, rather than lover with her words She, therefore, positions herself powerfully as viewer and artist which I like.Also from this third section a poem which designates a balance between love and work, an important one, because I think it helps us to perceive the intense but essentially lighthearted nature of her poems about love relationships When you read the whole book you begin to understand the finely tuned balance she has achieved between the highs and lows of love A Man in My Bed Like Cracker CrumbsI ve stripped the bed.Shaken the sheets and slumpedthose fat pillows like tired tonguesout the window for air and sunto get to I ve letthe mattress lounge inits blue striped dressing gown.I ve punched and fluffed.All morning I ve billowed and snapped.Said my prayers to la Virgen de la Soledadand now I can sit downto my typewriter and cupbecause she s answered me.Coffee s good.Dust motes somersault and spin.House clean.I m alone again.Amen.Very nice do not let the simplicity of her lines woo you into thinking this is a simple poem or poet Her muse is the Virgin, she gives her power, and when the lovers leave it is with a sense of relief that she can return to her work, her writing And finally my last choice because otherwise I will be in trouble with the copyright laws this one like so many of them hums with the sense of desire and sexual energy but like a true artist she feeds that energy into her work Vino TintoDark wine reminds me of you.The burgundies and cabernets.The tang and thrum and hissthat spiral like Egyptian silk,blood bit from a lip, blacksmoke from a cigarette.Nights that swell like cork.This night A thousand.Under a single lamplight.In public or alone.Very late or very earlyWhen I write my poems.Something of you still tautstill tugs still pulls,a rope that trembled hummed between us.Hummed, love, didn t it.Love, how it hummed.Last note there is of course her famous, or infamous poem in this book Down There , which I believe she wrote, partly in defiance of John Fowles s Confront the cunt and I like it too I think it s good to remind men from where they come See page 82 my edition Julie You re in love with my mind But sometimes, sweetheart, a woman needs a man who loves her ass. You Bring Out The Mexican In Meby Sandra CisnerosYou bring out the Mexican in me.The hunkered thick dark spiral.The core of a heart howl.The bitter bile.The tequila l grimas on Saturday allthrough next weekend Sunday.You are the one I d let go the other loves for,surrender my one woman house.Allow you red wine in bed,even with my vintage lace linens.Maybe Maybe.For you.You bring out the Dolores del R o in me.The Mexican spitfire in me.The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.The raise Cain and dance with the rooster footed devil in me.The spangled sequin in me.The eagle and serpent in me.The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.The Aztec love of war in me.The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.The berrinchuda, bien cabrona in me.The Pandora s curiosity in me.The pre Columbian death and destruction in me.The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.The fear of fascists in me.Yes, you do Yes, you do.You bring out the colonizer in me.The holocaust of desire in me.The Mexico City 85 earthquake in me.The Popocatepetl Ixtacchiuatl in me.The tidal wave of recession in me.The Agust n Lara hopeless romantic in me.The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.Sweet twin My wicked other,I am the memory that circles your bed nights,that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.I claim you all mine,arrogant as Manifest Destiny.I want to rattle and rent you in two.I want to defile you and raise hell.I want to pull out the kitchen knives,dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,like it or not, honey.You bring out the Uled Nayl in me.The stand back white bitch in me.The switchblade in the boot in me.The Acapulco cliff diver in me.The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.The dengue fever in me.TheAlarmamurderess in me.I could kill in the name of you and thinkit worth it Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,female and male, who loiter and look at you,languid in you light Oh,I am evil I am the filth goddess Tlazolt otl.I am the swallower of sins.The lust goddess without guilt.The delicious debauchery You bring outthe primordial exquisiteness in me.The nasty obsession in me.The corporal and venial sin in me.The original transgression in me.Red ocher Yellow ocher Indigo Cochineal Pi on. Copal Sweetgrass Myrrh.All you saints, blessed and terrible,Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,I invoke you Quiero ser tuya. Only yours Only you Quiero amarte Aarte Amarrarte.Love the way a Mexican woman loves Letme show you Love the only way I know how. Strong, sensual, erotic, funny, poignant, beautiful. I m sure these poems felt bold and revelatory when this book came out in 1994, but now they just seem like rejected Lilith Fair songs. This poetry collection is incredible Sandra Cisneros is a phenomenal writer and plays with language here in really interesting ways I will be returning to this book again and again. A Candid, Sexy And Wonderfully Mood Strewn Collection Of Poetry That Celebrates The Female Aspects Of Love, From The Reflective To The Overtly Erotic Poignant, Sexy Lyrical, Passionate Cool And Delicate Hot As A Chili Pepper Boston Globe Like a tango, salsa, musky summer night, Mexican food, women with dark shiny hair, and men with dark eyes This poetry has it s own scent and taste When everything you ve been reading seems bland, this revives the senses. Hey man idk poems really but Sandra came up w some Sick pet names that u can call your lover or best friend Paper parasol of pleasuresFleshy undertongue of sorrowsSweet potato plant of my addictionsI ll answer to sweet potato plant or undertongue for short though ty for asking As much as I would like to give an enthusiastic review, I cannot It is very much a fledgling attempt, linguistically, stylistically, subject matter wise Growing up in San Antonio from the age of three, I thoroughly appreciate the references depictions of a place I am beyond fond of Perhaps I am a victim of time Perhaps she is Perhaps at the point of publication, this style was a very unique in its presentation Perhaps it was not clich Perhaps it did not seem as a caricature of the Hispanic experience At this moment in time, it does It may sound counterproductive to rail on a fellow Hispanic writer who is actually quite established, but I cannot turn my eye mind away from my perception of flaws As poetry goes, I cannot discredit the depth from which emotions such as these are drawn Poetry is a very intimate exercise declaration I can however comment on the method I can comment as an insider into the Hispanic this very city experience I can provide commentary on the popular artistic depictions which are strewn into the mainstream by artists which are supposed to manifest my particular cultural experience No culture is a monolith yet there exists intimacies which register deeply within our ethnic groups We can identify when they are drawn upon We can identify when stereotypes are actuated, fulfilled, exploited, we can also tell the sincerity of such proclamations Perhaps this occurred at a point in time when overcompensation existed So to thrust these over animated stick figures, of what being Mexican is, was what was needed I do not feel the need to promote or be boisterous about my heritage The art which spumes forth, in itself, is a proclamation of the heritage My very essence defines redefines what it means to be a Hispanic American Indeed it is a search A journey to be able to identify, to illustrate, to evoke, to exemplify what it means to be Hispanic, but at the expense of sounding clich , that does not resonate well with me personally A conflict exists, the persistent tug of assimilation into American culture, the lure of what it means to be American flies in the face of what it means to preserve the rich romantic root of what it means to be Hispanic The confluence of becoming, the dichotomy of remaining the paradox of combatting who we are It is the transformation all cultures face when ameliorating into this melting pot I did appreciate her sensuality, her feminist treatises, her playful spirit, her unapologetic raucous foolery Those seemed genuine The Hispanic depictions did as well There is just something that irks me about fulfilling clich s Must I carry a sign around with me saying I live, eat, die, shit, breathe being Hispanic I do not think so But in action, these things happen without my control yet I do not feel the need to peacock these attributes I will always love promote la raza but I feel as a writer my duty is to humanity, to myself, to the craft, yes, to the identity to which I owe much of who I am, my razaness As this is a very early work, I hope to read with the intent to find a fully developed mature writer.

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About the Author: Sandra Cisneros

www.macondofoundation.org , and is Writer in Residence at Our Lady of the Lake University, San Antonio She lives in San Antonio, Texas.