Category Archives: Poetry

Drool with me?

Posted on September 10, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

This morning, Alison Natasi’s piece “20 Poets on the Meaning of Poetry” in Flavorwire had me drooling. It’s hard to pick a favorite from among such an abundance of riches, but number 9 from Carl Sandburg’s Tentative (First Model): Definitions of … Continue reading →

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That thing that the other night I almost told you

Posted on June 10, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

We were doing that thing where we whispered things we love and it was your turn to ask and it was my turn to tell and my truest biggest answer was pounding in my chest so hard I thought surely … Continue reading →

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Some Neruda for some sadness

Posted on June 5, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

Sadness is knocking on my door this morning. It is the house of me she has come to looking for company. The mind does its mind-y thing, and, mind’s job is to know. The mind, especially in the throes of … Continue reading →

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Softness

Posted on May 23, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

I want to write about softness, about how things can be soft and hard all at once, like your cock last night. And again this morning. Also, I want to write about how the hardest things can bring softness. Like … Continue reading →

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Translating Neruda (Agua Sexual)

Posted on May 5, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

I share my hometown (Temuco, Chile) with beloved Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda. Although Neruda died in 1973, when I was just a wee girl, still, I like to think that Neruda and I drank of the same water, breathed the same … Continue reading →

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I like you when you are quiet

Posted on April 4, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

This morning, apropos of nothing better to do —which is not to say there aren’t many things to do, just, no thing better than translating some favorite lines of verse— I bring you my translation of Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet 15 … Continue reading →

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skirt basket

Posted on February 19, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

I carried the yard in you —pebble stick bone moss cone feather string and stone— and what I could carry in you was nothing less than the world to me up and up and up the mountain bend and bend … Continue reading →

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Variations on a theme: Away

Posted on January 6, 2013 by elisabethwithaness

Quite possibly we came together, he and I, not just for Leonard Cohen, not just for assumption-shattering sex, not just for conversations, hands on the back, and whispers in the dark, all of which have made me magnificently bigger. Quite … Continue reading →

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