“It is starting from the works of feminist thinkers like Donna Haraway, bell hooks and Silvia Federici that I find the theoretical framework to channel my writing and my vision of the world: it is urgent for our survival to repair the harm that the heteropatriarchy has done to men and women, and to the planet itself”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I recently reached the conclusion that I am a guitar.\u00a0\u00a0
There were numerous clues that suggested the above, but until now\u00a0\u00a0
I had lived blinded to them.\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
Firstly\u00a0there are of course my handsome curves,\u00a0\u00a0
the resonant hollow in my chest,\u00a0\u00a0
my stiff arms,\u00a0\u00a0
the tension of strings that keep me tied\u00a0\u00a0
to who knows what hair-raising notes of the past.\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
To that we must add my ability to align my body\u00a0\u00a0
against that of a musician,\u00a0\u00a0
my fondness for the numbers five and twelve,\u00a0\u00a0
my being able to sound only when strummed,\u00a0\u00a0
my inevitable position as an object\u00a0
my connection to balconies and bad poets\u00a0
my repeatability in simple chords\u00a0
my dusty fretboard\u00a0
my fixed form\u00a0
my frustration at not being a hat,\u00a0\u00a0
or a bird,\u00a0\u00a0
or a tree,\u00a0\u00a0
or a violin at least.\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
Every day I rise early for work,\u00a0\u00a0
hang from a wall,\u00a0\u00a0
or a shoulder,\u00a0\u00a0
or sit on a knee,\u00a0\u00a0
and repeat the phrases of the dead,\u00a0\u00a0
phrases that are not mine,\u00a0\u00a0
lever of the histrionic,\u00a0\u00a0
ancient shell.\u00a0
\u00a0
One thought and only one\u00a0\u00a0
brings me solace: that endings are mere artifice.\u00a0\u00a0
Nothing starts or ends. Not even I\u00a0
started at my navel or end at my skin.
This poem will be published in Split<\/em> (Blue Diode Press, press format) and Manca y m\u00e1s poemas<\/em> (EOLAS, press format). Translated into English by the author.
<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
THE OVERBURDEN<\/h5>\n\n\n\nTo Sergio Gonz\u00e1lez Rodr\u00edguez<\/em><\/pre>\n\n\n\nWe watched as they flayed the earth\u00a0\u00a0
muscles pulsating under topsoil\u00a0\u00a0
topskin\u00a0bunched up under the scraping tool\u00a0
\u00a0
We had loved the mountain\u2019s beauty as the creases<\/em>\u00a0
around our mother\u2019s smile<\/em>\u00a0
\u00a0
We called it \u2018the overburden\u2019\u00a0
and in full swing unpaired we indexed earnings\u00a0
invited ourselves to walk the bloodred carpet\u00a0
up the staircase amidst flashing successes\u00a0
\u00a0
We said \u201cthe surface material\u00a0\u00a0
covering the valuable deposit\u201d\u00a0
\u00a0
Because it is running out, we must steal faster\u00a0
because we were taught\u00a0\u00a0
because the law of money is greater\u00a0
because\u00a0
\u00a0
It is winter still and the earth is thawing.\u00a0
We erect barriers of dry branches like the pagans\u00a0
the water is dragged here in wheelbarrows\u00a0
\u00a0
And we allow the torn mountains\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0
to wrap themselves again around the silver<\/em>\u00a0
\u00a0
To place the body between the cogs\u00a0\u00a0
to dig in the body for the valuable deposit\u00a0
to open the body\u00a0
to make a triangular incision in the body\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
To cross the border of the body\u00a0
to be the midwife of the body\u00a0
to pull out with pliers from the body\u00a0
to pull the braids of the body\u00a0
to distinguish the body\u00a0
to feel with the body\u2019s fingers\u00a0
to forget the weight of the body\u00a0
to structure the body\u00a0
to flee from the body\u00a0
to cross the line dividing the body\u00a0
\u00a0
To hear the sand sing\u00a0
the lizards scuttle between the rocks\u00a0\u00a0
the routes traced by bison across\u00a0
\u00a0
The body with most traffic\u00a0
the body enjoying a moment of solitude\u00a0
the body unknotted\u00a0
the florid body\u00a0
the body that frequents night clubs\u00a0
the broken body\u00a0
the tamed body\u00a0
the body found in\u00a0Lote\u00a0Bravo\u00a0
the body that does not demand respect\u00a0
the body on the edge of the bed, throat half slit\u00a0
the pitcher\u00a0body\u00a0
the body that rises for work when it\u2019s still night\u00a0
the body painted with sheet creases\u00a0
the body arm of the industry\u00a0
the cyborg\u00a0body\u00a0
the body with hands tied with the laces of\u00a0its\u00a0own shoes\u00a0
the body that needs to be accompanied by a man\u00a0
the body in black plastic bags\u00a0
the body that is the temple of god\u00a0
the body from whose\u00a0nipples\u00a0nourishment flows\u00a0
the body that does not belong to the body\u00a0
the colonized body\u00a0
the body folded between seat and steering wheel\u00a0\u00a0
mind body\u00a0
abaseable\u00a0body\u00a0
dishonored\u00a0body\u00a0
intoxicated body\u00a0
brown body\u00a0
long-haired body\u00a0
the body found in Lomas de\u00a0Poleo\u00a0
the body so filthy it is not a person\u00a0
the body with sleeves\u00a0open\u00a0like\u00a0fucsias\u00a0
the body astray\u00a0
the body dumped alive\u00a0
the body left unrecognizable\u00a0
the body lacking sufficient information\u00a0
the body with no marks of strangulation\u00a0
the body with the full force of the law\u00a0
the effaced body\u00a0
the body that drew circles with\u00a0the\u00a0pelvis\u00a0
the body in search of opportunities\u00a0
the migrated body\u00a0
the self-improved body\u00a0
the rebellious body\u00a0
the bone remains of a body\u00a0\u00a0
the teeth of a body memorized by a mother\u00a0
the body separated from the soul\u00a0
the body recognised by\u00a0its\u00a0tattoos\u00a0
the body in\u00a0found\u00a0Cerro Bola\u00a0
the body planted like a message\u00a0
the body with a voice ignored\u00a0
the pillaged body\u00a0\u00a0
the looted body\u00a0
\u00a0
As Joshua Whitehead said,\u00a0
\u201cthe best part\u00a0\u00a0
about having\u00a0
no body\u00a0
is that\u00a0we\u00a0cannot be shamed\u201d\u00a0
\u00a0
That\u2019s why we got rid of our body\u00a0
that\u2019s why we took off our body like\u00a0giftwrap\u00a0
\u00a0
The body that knew\u00a0
the body that desired\u00a0
\u00a0
The body in a dorsal decubitus position\u00a0
\u00a0
The now deceased woman\u00a0
moved like a serpent in bed\u00a0
allegedly
<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
LINES OF ALGEBRA<\/h5>\n\n\n\nHis sleep was dark.\u00a0
\u00a0
The city\u00a0\u00a0
was swallowing our money\u00a0
and flashing it at us again\u00a0
like a coin pusher machine.\u00a0
I lay awake,\u00a0
a\u00a0Tibetan hungry ghost\u00a0
whispering grains\u00a0\u00a0
of sand:\u00a0\u00a0
one by\u00a0\u00a0
one\u00a0
they fell\u00a0
from my lips\u00a0\u00a0
to his ear.\u00a0
I watched the storm roll away, the blue\u00a0\u00a0
way the skyline\u00a0\u00a0
was coming into view.\u00a0
The house sighed,\u00a0
out of breath. How hard\u00a0
it was working\u00a0
to keep us\u00a0\u00a0
in.\u00a0
\u00a0
*\u00a0
\u00a0
One grain\u00a0\u00a0
of sand is still stuck\u00a0
in my throat. I cough,\u00a0\u00a0
cough\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
for an ablution\u00a0
like the reflection of water\u00a0
on the side of the boat.\u00a0
\u00a0
Make me\u00a0\u00a0
what I am\u00a0\u00a0
(said the boat to the water)\u00a0
because I\u2019ve never\u00a0\u00a0
been able\u00a0\u00a0
to be it alone.\u00a0
Because I know nothing\u00a0
else but the print of your hand\u00a0\u00a0
where you struck me\u00a0\u00a0
(said the boat to the water).\u00a0
And why is this of note?\u00a0
That the water in its ways\u00a0
knew where the ache was.\u00a0
Where, medicinally,\u00a0
to put the kiss.\u00a0
\u00a0
The more you hurt me (said the boat) the less\u00a0
it hurts.\u00a0
\u00a0
*\u00a0
\u00a0
We wake\u00a0\u00a0
late and sticky.\u00a0\u00a0
The little cough still\u00a0lodged\u00a0
in\u00a0my throat like a crumb or a gruff\u00a0\u00a0
repetition of performativity:\u00a0
\u00a0
\u201cI\u2019m this, I\u2019m this, I\u2019m this\u201d\u00a0
\u00a0
He offers me water and I barely \u201cmmm\u201d\u00a0
unsure if this means yes or no.\u00a0
To him it\u2019s a yes.\u00a0
So\u00a0I drink.\u00a0
\u00a0
*\u00a0
\u00a0
Cold water\u00a0\u00a0
down the\u00a0center\u00a0
to fold myself\u00a0in half\u00a0
and\u00a0in half again\u00a0
lift the pleated flaps\u00a0
till\u00a0I\u2019m a math paper\u00a0
boat.\u00a0
\u00a0
Splay myself out again,\u00a0
show the folds.\u00a0
\u00a0
Must\u00a0smoothe\u00a0down,\u00a0
not let the water gather\u00a0
or slide\u00a0in\u00a0straight\u00a0\u00a0
lines.\u00a0
\u00a0
I\u2019m this, cough, I\u2019m this, cough.\u00a0
\u00a0
*\u00a0
\u00a0
From my throat I pull a red thread,\u00a0
almost living.\u00a0
\u00a0
I pull long, long.\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
Lanky lines\u00a0\u00a0
of red algebra are drawn.\u00a0
This is my math\u00a0problem:\u00a0
\u00a0
one plus one plus one
does not make a marriage, but listen.\u00a0
His voice is hollow\u00a0
and wind,\u00a0like birds\u2019 bones.
This poem is displayed in Manca y m\u00e1s poemas<\/em> (EOLAS, press format) and its English translation, by Robin Myers, is published in Manca<\/em> (Argon\u00e1utica, 2019).
<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
THIS BODY OF A WOMAN I INHABIT<\/h5>\n\n\n\nThis body of a woman I inhabit\u00a0
from which I\u2019ve raised a hand to touch the hair on the head of a Moses suddenly moved\u00a0\u00a0
to the inside-out weeping of an entire childhood\u00a0
of slicing rabbits upper lip stiffened bearing the world\u00a0
having his way with voltmeters brandishing monkey wrenches drilling walls soldiers protecting\u00a0
the softness of our angles our wisdom of curtains, from which I\u2019ve batted eyelashes to seduce three, four from which I\u2019ve traced\u00a0
the sinuous\u00a0\u201cS\u201d\u00a0of desire\u00a0
which\u00a0Cratylus\u00a0called \u201cserpent\u201d and Adam called \u201cperception of flux\u201d\u00a0
from which I\u2019ve tired of nursing\u00a0
like Teresa and Diana\u00a0
the fear they didn\u2019t feel when they touched lepers\u00a0
with their immaculate hands, the lips\u00a0
with which they kissed\u00a0
their blessed wounds, from which I\u2019ve scrubbed the axel grease\u00a0
letting\u00a0fibers\u00a0soak in a universal river of saliva from which I\u2019ve bled drops miscarried fertilized the wheat the ivy from which I\u2019ve been all-fat of the land where goats graze\u00a0
This poem and its English translation by Robin Myers is published in Manca<\/em> (Argon\u00e1utica, 2019).
<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
INDIGENOUS BIRTHING POSITION<\/h5>\n\n\n\nWhat really sets me off is when\u00a0
the sun digs its dentist hooks into my knees\u00a0
and scrapes extracts tubercles\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
She roams the floorboards\u00a0
kneels before her husband hugs him\u00a0
his knees pressing into her belly\u00a0
there\u2019s\u00a0vomit hurricane howls\u00a0
she stands on her head in lotus pose\u00a0
her thighs watch the moon\u00a0\u00a0
close its only lid\u00a0
the\u00a0neighbors\u00a0retort but why if the anaesthesia\u00a0
progress antiseptic lazy\u00a0
containers\u00a0
\u00a0
(I remember Diego\u2019s\u00a0greenblue\u00a0characters in\u00a0The Arrival of Cort\u00e9s<\/em>\u00a0
their swollen knees misshapen)\u00a0
\u00a0
They named the baby \u201ceye of the storm\u201d and he spoke\u00a0
on the first day\u00a0
with the tips of his eyes alone\u00a0
\u00a0
The snow outside fell faster slipped into mourning\u00a0
we watched it together\u00a0\u00a0
\u00a0
Little boy\u00a0
little eye of mine I said to him I felt like crying when I saw you\u00a0
\u00a0
And he knew\u00a0qu\u00e9\u00a0parte\u00a0de\u00a0m\u00ed\u00a0was worthless<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"“It is starting from the works of feminist thinkers like Donna Haraway, bell hooks and Silvia Federici that I find the theoretical framework to channel my writing and my vision of the world: it is urgent for our survival to repair the harm that the heteropatriarchy has done to men and women, and to the planet itself”. THE GUITAR\u2019S LAMENT I recently reached the conclusion that I am a guitar.\u00a0\u00a0There were numerous clues that suggested the above, but until now\u00a0\u00a0I had lived blinded to them.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Firstly\u00a0there are of course my handsome curves,\u00a0\u00a0the resonant hollow in my chest,\u00a0\u00a0my stiff arms,\u00a0\u00a0the tension of\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":9599,"parent":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"inline_featured_image":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_wpcom_ai_launchpad_first_post":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[201],"tags":[],"segment":[],"subject":[],"class_list":["post-10496","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-anthology-of-feminist-poetry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
Juana Adcock: This body of a woman I inhabit – IDEES<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/en\/juana-adcock-aquest-cos-de-dona-que-habito\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Juana Adcock: This body of a woman I inhabit – IDEES\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"“It is starting from the works of feminist thinkers like Donna Haraway, bell hooks and Silvia Federici that I find the theoretical framework to channel my writing and my vision of the world: it is urgent for our survival to repair the harm that the heteropatriarchy has done to men and women, and to the planet itself”. THE GUITAR\u2019S LAMENT I recently reached the conclusion that I am a guitar.\u00a0\u00a0There were numerous clues that suggested the above, but until now\u00a0\u00a0I had lived blinded to them.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Firstly\u00a0there are of course my handsome curves,\u00a0\u00a0the resonant hollow in my chest,\u00a0\u00a0my stiff arms,\u00a0\u00a0the tension of\u2026\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/revistaidees.cat\/en\/juana-adcock-aquest-cos-de-dona-que-habito\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"IDEES\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2020-02-11T10:56:24+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2020-03-05T18:53:13+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/revistaidees.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/33-Antologia-v1.jpg?fit=2000%2C800&ssl=1\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"800\" \/>\n\t<meta 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