WATERMARK

a poet’s notebook

Established 02004

  • Drag

    A pastel background, blue and pink, with a lace border. Three human figures, two feminine, one an anatomical image from the back. Also an anatomical heart and brain.
    the sum is greater than the parts. Digital collage by sb. Full credits at flickr.

    Drag was, in my lifetime, acceptable. Men were allowed to pretend to be women, for entertainment. Men’s organizations played with it often, even ritually. Old photos appear now on the internet of famous men (J.D. Vance for instance) coyly posing in makeup and wigs. 

    Of course there was the gay version, sort of underground, sort of private, sort of not for straight viewing. We were allowed to nod at this behavior as long as it was play, but not, as it sometimes is now, gender fluidity. 

    I was in my twenties when I realized that I, too, dressed in drag. Let me be clear, I was fine being female, never wanted to be a boy, was not even a tomboy. Though I did covet some of the boy privileges I was beginning to recognize. 

    But, all that dressing! The makeup, the short skirts, the high heels, the stockings, the done hair. It was work. It was expensive. It was not, physically, comfortable. I know now that I pulled it off, but I did not know that then. One can never be pretty enough. 

    And with gender — my gender — came other expectations. Marriage, motherhood, sweetness, compliance. These I failed at. These I never wanted, and even if I did, I hadn’t the talent. Boys, of course, had their own demands, on themselves, and on us. 

    This is the third of a series on Gender. The others are:

    Gender: Ambiguity
    Gender: Anatomical?

    , ,

  • Caturday – Beau

    A collage with several images of cameras. The central image is a photo of a black & white cat, sweetly resting.
    Picture Perfect Beau, August 02020. Digital collage by sb. Full credits at flickr.

    , ,

  • Seasons

    Four panels, each representing a season, with one haiku / small poem on each. Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer.
    Seasons. Small poems & digital collage by sb. Text of poems below. Full credits at flickr. I’m thinking of posting some old collages, with some old poems. Is that a good idea, or not-so-good? Sometimes when I look back at old work, it inspires me to get back at it. 
    fall
         september night 
         waiting 
         for the moon

    winter
         winter coming 
         in spiked boots 
         the taste of nettles 

    spring 
         who regrets 
         the passing of winter 
         the coming of spring? 

    summer
         summer solstice 
         longing for someone 
         who doesn't long back

    , , , , , , ,

  • Gender: Anatomical?

    Inexplicable. Digital Collage by sb. Full credits at flickr.

    When do we need to know someone else’s gender? 

    • If we wish to reproduce with them. It matters then. Sometimes. 
    • If we are attracted to them? Why? If attraction is there, is that not enough?
    • For risk assessment. Boys and men are more dangerous than girls and women. For women and girls in a space without other people about, this is essential information. (Sorry, sensitive nice boy, nothing personal.)
    • In public bathrooms? I honestly don’t see how. Public bathrooms have booths. We can all use them. 

    (And, you, bathroom gender police, while you are checking for camouflaged males attempting to enter the women’s room, a male-to-male pedophile is next door in the men’s room with a small boy.)

    I remember well the both-gender bathroom on airplanes panic! that killed the Equal Rights Amendment. It made no sense then or now. It had nothing to do with sharing bathrooms, as we all do in our own houses and elsewhere without difficulty. 

    All this clearly has to do with something else entirely. Such panic over anatomical differences. Perhaps these differences aren’t as important as we think they are? Or perhaps something else is at stake. 

    This is the second of a series on Gender. The first is here.

    , , ,

  • Gender: Ambiguity

    A naked man and a woman in robes of green, red, and yellow reach toward each other. There are elements on the page: lace, flowers, mechanical gears. As is often the case, I got a bit carried away here, layering stamp after stamp and following my intuition with elements, with no idea where I was going. It seems to be some sort of gendered allegory. I don’t know what it means. If I did, I might be a bit annoyed.
    Allegory. Digital collage by sb. See detailed credits at flickr.

    Decades ago I went to a friend’s house for a cup of coffee and conversation. Her child and a new neighborhood friend came through the kitchen and stopped to visit. They were around seven to nine years old, dressed in jeans and t-shirts and sneakers. The new friend had a nongendered name, like Kelly, or Chris. We chatted for awhile and then they went upstairs to play. 

    My friend and I sat silent for a bit, in discomfort. Finally I asked, “Do you know if that’s a boy or a girl?” 

    “No, and they’ve been around too long now to ask.”

    We talked about our discomfort, which we both realized was our problem. The child seemed perfectly comfortable in who they were; we were the ones who squirmed. And why? How could it possibly be our business what gender this child was?

    (more…)
    , , ,

LINKS:

Poetry Blog Digest @ Via Negativa