the bath, part 4
I am a slave to the nudity of women.
I do not know with what resolve
I could stand against it,
a naked woman
Asking of me anything.
An unclothed woman is
sometimes other things.
I see her in a dish of green pears.
In front of the New York Public Library,
Do you know that postcard of mine?
In those lions there is something
For which I have in exchange
Only sounds. Only my fingers.
I see her everywhere. She is the lions
And the pears,
those letters of the alphabet
As children we called dirty, the W,
The Y, the small o.
the wet clothing on the line.
Or, you know, to be more intimate,
May I? The nub, the nose of the pear,
Do you know what I mean?
Those parts of the woman
I will call two Spanish dancer hats,
Or rounder sometimes,
doughboy helmets from the War.
Sometimes they are flat
in the late afternoon
Asleep. Like drawings,
Like a single rock thrown into the lake,
These parts of a woman
an imperfect circling
Gyre of lines moving out,
beyond the water.
They reach me at the shore, Anselmo.
And they have always been
faster than I am.
It’s like watching the lassoing man,
The man with the perfectly circling rope,
Pedro Armendariz in the Mexican movies,
Or Will Rogers. Wherever one is from,
Whoever this man is.
And he is always there.
Everybody knows one.
He always makes his big lasso,
twirling his rope
Around himself and
a woman from the audience
Only I am the woman,
do you understand, Anselmo?
Caught in the circling rope. I am the woman
i have to admit that i don't exactly know what to make of all of this. when i used to do my magazine i realized that both male and female artists were most likely to feature their nudes female.
i like looking. feel comforted by looking.
so is it sexist? fashionable, yes (at that time, 'bathers' was a de rigour subject), but oppressive too? i just don't know. what do you think? if you are a woman, do you feel you are capturer or captured?
and men -- same question.