Book Talk

Dedicated to Shulamith Firestone


The books on my shelves are constantly
Talking to me in a multitude of voices.
Hey! You only read half of me!
You know you like ancient history!
Read me again (The White Goddess)!
Bet you can’t write as succinctly as I can!
(The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson).

Late at night, between shelves;
Shulamith Firestone (Dialect of Sex) and
The wonderful Luce Irigaray (The Sex Which
Is Not One and others),
Are having their own cross-decades discussion.

Don’t be concerned luminous wave, no one cares;
You can write about your most intimate moments-
(The Selected Poems of Pablo Neruda).

Ten or so of Julia Kristeva’s books sometimes
Wake me up at night arguing with themselves;
It saves me the trouble. I just wait for the decision.

Then sometimes I hear;
…I dove into the wreck, come on; you can too!
(Adrienne Rich’s Diving Into the Wreck)

Almost always, my favorite voice…
…Fall into my mesmerizing, eclipless spell ,
Fall in love with me all over gain…
(Angst by Helene Cixous).

And the cry of the neglected -
You haven’t even looked at me sister!

(Probably a Hemingway that dropped off the back of the shelf)
A slight exaggeration, but not much.