Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: What Every Woman Should Carry by Maura Dooley

Friday, November 2, 2012

What Every Woman Should Carry by Maura Dooley

What Every Woman Should Carry
By Maura Dooley

My mother gave me the prayer to Saint Theresa.

I added a used tube ticket, kleenex,
several Polo mints (furry), a tampon, pesetas,
a florin. Not wishing to be presumptuous,
not trusting you either, a pack of 3.
I have a pen. There is space for my guardian
angel, she has to fold her wings. Passport.
A key. Anguish, at what I said/didn’t say
when once you needed/didn’t need me. Anadin.
A credit card. His face the last time,
my impatience, my useless youth.
That empty sack, my heart. A box of matches.

from: "Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times" edited by Neil Astley, page 116

florin - a former British coin worth two shillings or a gold coin formerly used in Eurpoe
pesetas - monetary unit of Spain before the Euro
anadin - a brand of painkiller sold in the UK

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3 comments:

Ben Ditty said...: You know the best poems, Marion :-); November 2, 2012 at 9:29 PM
erin said...: i love this poem, how it speaks for us all, but i wonder too what it might look like if we each wrote our own poem, how it might differ. that would be a hell of an interesting venture.

what would be in your bag, marion? (what would be in mine?)

(when i read poems like the eaven boland poem you sent to me i realize i have perhaps never written a poem. this is ok to realize. maybe one day i will:)

xo
erin; November 3, 2012 at 8:02 AM
Unlocked said...: I'm so glad you talked me into this book :) Damn Marion, if these just aren't the unrealist times I ever could have dreamt! I' not sure what my mother gave me...but I've added more than a 3 pack to it, for sure!

Love you dear friend.; November 4, 2012 at 11:27 PM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240