Ekphrastic 25/The Fox Woman
To frogspawn
an egg is all
(together, a raft of universes)
A fox reads poetry
licks kanji till they stick to her tongue
(as any human would)
The wasp makes her nest as soft as ash
a glue of whiskers adhere the layers
(without whiskers the cat cannot measure
herself
her home
the twin bowls her paws make in the snow that is
nothing more than tears
vaporizing from cheeks
polished smooth as blue mirrors
or silk with a spider’s web motif
ice bones beneath).
Under a winter’s harvest moon
your twisted maple lashes caught the snow
(and sometimes my reflection)
At the end of our wedding night
your body, a crescent
your hair a bloom of fox tail.
***
This is it. My last ekphrastic. Only probably not. But it’s the last one I’ll probably ever write on a schedule (not that I adhered to that schedule very well. My timeline existed conceptually, but not actually). Anyway, this particular poem was written for the book The Fox Woman by Kij Johnson, who wrote my favorite novel of last year, Fudoki (which I also wrote an ekphrastic for).
***
Previous ekphrastic: Ekphrastic 24/Death Note
and
What the hel is ekphrasis + Ekphrastic Poetry Archive (For poems about A Game of Thrones, Fudoki, The Hunger Games, Blood Meridian, etc–basically, just the stuff to fulfill your brain’s literary sugar-cravings.)
Tattertongue
This is the way of the world: you get what you want and you’re just left wanting more. My first professionally published poem is now available through Strange Horizons. Needless to say, I am QUITE excited. Even so, it’s a quiet excitement. A spontaneous black hole excitement. At random points in the day, I’ll remember: someone gave me money for my words. My blog is no longer the only place that publishes me. That says something! Justification! I’m REAL. And then, after the blip of joy that inevitably follows such thoughts, I think moremoremore. Getting published is good incentive to keep trying to get published. It’s some sort of drug, I guess.
So. The poem. TATTERTONGUE:
Where have you been, Tattertongue?
lying with pelvis and ribcage
wanting want
old. old.
reading the mouth for
sugared ginger for
blood sausageWhy did you leave?
*** *** ***
Speaking of more, not long after this poem was released, I received another acceptance for another poem. Won’t say much about it now, except alien vampires.
Ekphrastic 23/The Drowning Girl: A Memoir
I begin in winter. Me, Winter.
(I beg in winter.)
Slow veined, should have shut off the water
for the season.
An avalanche from her mouth, her singing
down my throat
bisecting me from my summer legs
my wolf legs.
Sea-wolf, the orca is called
but she’s no killer and neither are they, so none of this is true.
And her name is Trawl, urchin salmon and stipe-threaded
she approaches the cannery.
Back in summer.
Seasons on a clockface.
What mysteries he made of your esophagus.
How you try to howl as you smile.
*** *** *** ***
I just can’t stop writing about this book. If my fingers touch my keyboard, the words I write are marked by it. Next week, I’ll write something resembling a review for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir and maybe try to figure out this obsession.
*** *** *** ***
Previous ekphrastic: Ekphrastic 22/The Drowning Girl
and
What the hel is ekphrasis + Ekphrastic Poetry Archive (For poems about A Game of Thrones, Fudoki, The Hunger Games, Blood Meridian, etc–basically, just the stuff to fulfill your brain’s literary sugar-cravings.)
Ekphrastic 20/Wonders of the Invisible World
Floss, spider webs, flax , from scalps
these are the wonders
the wanderers, their fish-belly key.
A blonde prism/on, wonder ous.
Good luck finding
the invisible, if you’re too dark to
turn to cold breath to
grub between the silken rawhide.
………………………………….
Anyway. Twenty ekphrastic poems. HEL. That’s a lot. Only it’s not, considering that I’ve been writing these things for exactly a year and a month (I posted my first ekphrastic on January 15th, 2012). Only twenty to show for all that time? Obviously, I’m not trying hard enough. I started writing them for deception. I wanted to trick my skull-meat into thinking about art. Not just swallowing it (yes, brains have mouths). But recently, I’ve started reviewing each book I read, and that’s working far better. Poetry’s too abstract (if you make it so); I can get away with too much shiit and say too little.
So, I’m going to hit 25 ekphrastics and stop. But not really. My next poetic project is this: work through Lewis Turco’s The New Book of Forms, which is what it says–a book of poetic form. Countless kinds of poetry for me to learn. I’ll go through the whole thing, form by form, week by week. Embarrassment by embarrassment. You have permission to jeer at my ass-baring.
….in the meantime, I’m going to go cuddle my last few weeks of ekphrasis.
……………………………………………………………
Previous ekphrastic: Ekphrastic 19/Sisters, Pain of Salvation (Sean Thomas covers)
and
What the hel is ekphrasis + Ekphrastic Poetry Archive (For poems about A Game of Thrones, anime, music, The Hunger Games, Blood Meridian, etc–basically, just the stuff to fulfill your brain’s literary sugar-cravings.)
beguiling chocolates and unraveling undines
…as beguiling as the finest chocolate and as subtly intoxicating as the rarest wine.
Or so says Publishers Weekly of Patricia McKillip’s new collection, Wonders of the Invisible World.
I must (mostly) disagree*. I just didn’t find it as wondrous as everyone else did.
Yes, many of these stories are beautiful, beguiling, maybe even wondrous. But they are also delicate, to the point of breakage. Sometimes because of borderlands, boundaries close to fracturing that give the stories a trembling power. Two worlds spilling into each other. But sometimes the delicacy is brittle, a weak thinness, often because of characters so without character they become more invisible than the supposedly invisible worlds they inhabit. Which is funny, because I took the ‘wonders’ of these invisible worlds to be the creatures living there. How wondrous is something without potency? Worldbuilding is fun, but unless your character eats my heart out, I’m not there.
Here (being there) be kelpies, undines, horned gods and fae on motorcycles. There were clever twists–man snaring undine, a woman who escapes her kelpie-captor. But some fell short: the undine in ‘Undine’ drips occasional hints of her self, but more often than not, she just feels like a land-stranded water creature slowly losing her sense of purpose. So perhaps it makes sense that she feels diluted, like an archetype that’s lost its way (as is the case with a number of other characters throughout the collection). But her plight would have felt more painful to me had she been an individual first and an undine second. It’s not that I needed her to feel humane–just alive, even when she’s estranged.
I like raw, dark things; Wonders of the Invisible World wasn’t quite feral enough for me. But I’m not looking for something perfect–just good. And, despite its flaws, this collection was good. A little heavy on your not-at-all rare and rather un-intoxicating pale waif-girls (though often with a quirky strength, which I can appreciate), but the abrupt, not-a-moment-too-soon endings were lovely. Kept the worlds invisible.
***
*I just wanted to say that this…thing is my first actual book review. I’m not asking for slack-cutting. Give me shiit–lots of it. It’s a good way to learn. I just want people to know that I know how frenetic and full of piss this post mostly is. Writing helps me sort out the things in my head. It’s a mess in here.
………………………………………………….
Books read, 2013:
Prince of Thorns
Wonders of the Invisible World
2312 (review-ish thing coming soon)
Darius Shea
At some point, I should learn how to color in Pain Tool Sai. In the meantime, more lineart. Yes.
Moss
As I prepare myself to rejoin the elves, goats and plant-powered cities of my current manuscript (FABLE), I’ve been drawing. You’d think that rereading the first half might be more conducive to the whole preparation effort–especially since I took a 2-month long break to work on my band’s EP–but I’m just going to pretend that that’s not the truth and instead, give you a glimpse of Moss, one of two main characters in FABLE (he’s the one who has his apartment invaded by a narcissistic fire-elemental pop-star–the other anti-hero of the tale).
This is obviously just the line art, but I’ll be honest: I’m relieved. I’ve finally (finally) figured out how to achieve clean digital line art. That took far too long. (Also, for whatever reason, the image looks a tad fuzzy on my screen; if you have the same problem, click on the picture–that should take you to a crisper view.)
resistance
It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone, but Meken’s good at it. Somehow, he knows to put his hands in the places I like—cheek/jaw and lower spine. He tastes like chocolate, grease, salt. I pull back. He sags against me, dazed, wary. I’m not sure what that means. I don’t think on it. “Open your mouth a little more,” I tell him. I won’t eat, but I’ll taste. I want flavor so bad. My hands grip the counter behind, my tongue finds his tongue.
[excerpt from FABLE, the novel-in-progress]
(Playing with the program Paint Tool Sai, slowly teaching myself how to paint digitally. Critique and art mauling welcome.)
Copyright Jenn Grunigen © 2013. All rights reserved.
Prince of Pricks…uh, Thorns
So, in the spirit of trying to shame myself into reading more, better material, I’m keeping track of every book I read this year. But the shaming, apparently, is failing. Why? My first pick: Prince of Thorns, by Mark Lawrence. It was exactly as I expected it to be–which is to say, full of unrelenting rape and misogyny (and no, it’s not just the story). Actually, I read it because of the rape and misogyny. Because I like to feel sick and degraded. [1]
I’d write a review, but I think these two say all that needs to be said:
“People who like this sort of thing.” Being a review of Mark Lawrence’s Prince of Thorns
And…
Mark Lawrence’s PRINCE OF RAPE QUEUES and the neckbeards that defend it
(Which isn’t a review, precisely, but is still enjoyable.)
[1] Uh, no. I read it because part of me enjoys raging at things, and also because there’s a lot (something?) to be learned from bad books.
………………………………………………..
Books read, 2013:
Prince of Thorns
Ekphrastic 18/Fudoki
Tail-like the tale settled
marrow-like I internalized:
smoke and dew
asleep in wet ashes
wake in a home built of charred bone
cracked to get inside it.
The rain in your black hair when we woke
nose-to-nose
tails tied
glass beads on your tortoiseshell skin.
–here, in mist, without roads or sense
–the gods do not speak to me*
I want these lines tattooed inside
the heels of my feet.
…………………………………..
*The first two lines of the last stanza are quotes from the book, pages 117 and 106, respectively.
The book that fed this poem, Fudoki, by Kij Johnson, was probably the best thing I read in 2012. If nothing else, the book was by far my favorite. It gave me something feral; wanderlust; death–and I’m shy of death in a strange way: I fear it (so much to destroy, and eat, so little time) and I don’t (tangent-cycles; curiosity; my gut-heart flailing for the unknown). I can’t remember where I first heard of the book, but it was this review (Kij Johnson’s FUDOKI doesn’t read like weeabo fanfic!) that reminded me of its existence and led me to read it.
Previous ekphrastic: Ekphrastic 17/Basilisk
and
What the hel is ekphrasis + Ekphrastic Poetry Archive (For poems about A Game of Thrones, anime, music, The Hunger Games, Blood Meridian, etc–basically, just the stuff to fulfill your brain’s literary sugar-cravings.)
sex with a thunder god
I worry about losing myself to overexposure, harsh light. As if putting myself into publicly intimate words will erase me into non-existence. But look at that metaphor–it negates my fear. Espaliering and evisceration will give me knowledge. I’ll be my own intestine-oracle. Know myself better. And other people? Will think they know me better, but let’s be honest–good luck with that…[1]
So I had this dream. Partly inspired, I think, by N.K. Jemisin‘s The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. If you haven’t read the book, the main character (Yeine) has sex with the god of night, chaos and change while flying through the universe. [2] So–that was basically my dream, only I was fucked by Thor. I don’t actually remember the sex (probably thankfully), just that I had it with the god of thunder. And then, the dream jumped and I was watching my husband record growls for our upcoming EP in a co-worker’s car, while said co-worker was watching outside the window with her boyfriend.
Hm. (WHAT?) I just…dunno.
…………………………………………………………
[1] Do I think I’m ego-brained and special? I think I’m ego-brained and special.
[2] Quote almost completely stolen from Requires Hate‘s review (last sentence of the fourth paragraph).
Starvation and Books that like to Steal: Hunger Games, Game of Thrones, sex, and another thing…
Because I just went for a twelve mile run and refuse to eat until my dear lover wakes up, my empty stomach is too distracting to get any book-editing done till after I’ve eaten. In the meantime, articles on The Hunger Games and Game of Thrones, and other book-related posts I’ve been reading.
I worry a lot about appropriation, because I write. And I try to write deep and complex and specific. I write about aliens, I write about earth goddess; I have characters who kill people, characters who are men who love other men and–naturally–have sex with other men, characters androgynous and aquatic with blue-silver skin, characters who are more swamp than human.
Keeping all this in mind, I obviously don’t just ‘write what I know.’ Strictly following that rule is an act of stupidity. I’m a writer, I’m a liar. I’m going to write what I like. But. I’m going to do it with care. And that means authenticity. It means specifics. It means research and heart, a lucid mind and sensitivity. Which is why I worry about appropriation. Taking someone else’s beloved, or painful or–or just heartclose experiences and basically raping them is not okay. And needless to say, I don’t want to do that. But, also needless to say, no matter how hard I try, I probably will.
So what to do? Write. Write. Write. Research. Talk, interact. Absorb. Observe. BE. Be human.
Yes, I’ll screw up. But hel, I was born, I exist. Screwing up is a way of life.
One way I try to minimize the screw-ups is by reading. By understanding the art I enjoy and, simultaneously opening my eyes to its flaws:
[Take note: I don't strictly agree with everything said in the following. Accord is not my purpose.]
What’s Wrong With The Hunger Games Is What No One Noticed and The Hunger Games Is A Sexist Fairy-Tale. Sorry.
These articles are about Katniss Everdeen of The Hunger Games. About how she’s basically emptiness shelled in badass. I like The Hunger Games. I grew up reading Hatchet (and the million books that followed thereafter) and Far North, My Side of the Mountain, Hungry for Home, Julie of the Wolves and essentially any book that involved trees and killing/wildcrafting to fill your belly. Add in wolves and I was a very happy, feral child indeed. The Hunger Games is all this (minus the wolves–no, the mutts don’t count), plus dystopia, another favorite thing of mine. But it still has its problems.
White Until Proven Black: Imaging Race In The Hunger Games
Another good article about The Hunger Games. This one, though, discusses not how screwed-up its characters are, but rather, its fans.
Next, Enter Ye Myne Mystic World of Gayng-Raype: What the “R” Stands for in “George R.R. Martin”
I like A Song of Ice and Fire, but we have our troubles, that series and I. This article touches upon some of them.
Also, an article about writing sex and what you DON’T know–Queering SFF: Writing Sex–To Do or Not To Do?
Along the same lines (but with a focus on place and people): Euro-Fantastic. And the list that, in part, sparked the just-mentioned post: Recommendations: Non-European Fantasy by Women.
And, finally, just how much is Smaug’s treasure-hoard REALLY worth?
Below, you’ll find two of my favorite comments (by the same guy):
wip 1/arrival page 1
This is what happens when you start something that should already be finished: you obsess, immerse, stay glued to the computer for hours, trying to figure out how the hel your new tablet works. (I’m still working on that, but slowly, we’re learning to get along.)
