From nauplion@charm.net Sun Sep 10 10:03:11 2000 Received: from mxu4.u.washington.edu (mxu4.u.washington.edu [140.142.33.8]) by lists.u.washington.edu (8.9.3+UW00.05/8.9.3+UW99.09) with ESMTP id KAA150514 for ; Sun, 10 Sep 2000 10:03:10 -0700 Received: from fellspt.charm.net (root@[199.0.70.29]) by mxu4.u.washington.edu (8.9.3+UW00.02/8.9.3+UW99.09) with ESMTP id KAA13089 for ; Sun, 10 Sep 2000 10:03:09 -0700 Received: from charm.net (coretel-116-182.charm.net [209.143.116.182]) by fellspt.charm.net (8.9.3/8.9.3) with ESMTP id NAA12551 for ; Sun, 10 Sep 2000 13:02:20 -0400 (EDT) Message-ID: <39BBBE2E.AA61C5CE@charm.net> Date: Sun, 10 Sep 2000 13:00:35 -0400 From: Diana Wright X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.7 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) X-Accept-Language: en,el,tr MIME-Version: 1.0 To: Classics Subject: Medusa [POET'S CHOICE (washingtonpost.com)] Content-Type: multipart/mixed; boundary="------------AAE99E8F01559D6E16EF3DB1" This is a multi-part message in MIME format. --------------AAE99E8F01559D6E16EF3DB1 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A39599-2000Sep9.html --------------AAE99E8F01559D6E16EF3DB1 Content-Type: text/html; charset=iso-8859-1; name="A39599-2000Sep9.html" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Content-Disposition: inline; filename="A39599-2000Sep9.html" Content-Base: "http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/a rticles/A39599-2000Sep9.html" Content-Location: "http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/a rticles/A39599-2000Sep9.html" = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = POET'S CHOICE (washingtonpost.com) = = = =
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= POET'S CHOICE
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= By Rita Dove
Sunday, September 10, 2000; Page X16

O= ne popular myth that needs exploding: Poetry shouldn't make you laugh. Oh= , you can sigh, weep quiet tears, grow pensive . . . but laugh? Out of th= e question. "Serious" poetry can't be funny, can it?

=

Well, there's Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky," for starters, and th= e nonsense verse of Ogden Nash and Edward Lear. Russell Edson's prose poe= ms are deadly serious and outrageously funny at the same time. (I'll feat= ure him in a column later this fall.) But if you'd like to tickle your fu= nny bone while exercising your literary pectorals, I recommend the latest= book by Carol Ann Duffy. The World's Wife is a riotous sendup of idols p= ast and present; its premise is to let the wives of famous men tell their= side of the story. The resulting collection of dramatic monologues is hi= larious yet sobering. I'm afraid I can't reprint the testimonials of Frau= Freud or Mrs. Van Winkle in a family newspaper (suffice it to say that V= iagra plays a significant role), but this bon mot may amuse readers of al= l ages:

= =

Mrs. Darwin

= = =

7 April 1852

Went to the Zoo.

I said to Him--

Something about that Chimpanzee over there reminds me of = you.

And on a more contemplative note, here's a poignant c= onfession by one of mythology's most maligned monsters, Medusa. According= to Ovid's Metamorphoses, Medusa was raped by Poseidon in Athena's temple= =2E Athena believed Medusa to be at least partially responsible and punis= hed the sacrilegious act by changing her glorious hair to snakes. Carol A= nn Duffy's poem adopts a slightly different take on the theme of the betr= ayed woman:

Medusa

A suspicion, a doubt, a jealousy

grew in my mind,

which turned the hairs on my head to filthy snakes,

as though my thoughts

hissed and spat on my scalp.

My bride's breath soured, stank

in the grey bags of my lungs.

I'm foul mouthed now, foul tongued,

yellow fanged.

There are bullet tears in my eyes.

Are you terrified?

Be terrified.

It's you I love,

perfect man, Greek God, my own;

but I know you'll go, betray me, stray

from home.

So better by far for me if you were stone.

I glanced at a buzzing bee,

a dull grey pebble fell

to the ground.

I glanced at a singing bird,

a handful of dusty gravel

spattered down.

I looked at a ginger cat,

a housebrick

shattered a bowl of milk.

I looked at a snuffling pig,

a boulder rolled

in a heap of shit.

I stared in the mirror.

Love gone bad

showed me a Gorgon.

I stared at a dragon.

Fire spewed

from the mouth of a mountain.

And here you come

with a shield for a heart

and a sword for a tongue

and your girls, your girls.

Wasn't I beautiful?

Wasn't I fragrant and young?

Look at me now.

Carol Ann Duffy lives in Manchester, England and was a fr= ont-runner in the recent search for a new British poet laureate. Now that= appointment would have raised some eyebrows in Parliament!

("Mrs Darwin" and "Medusa" reprinted by permission fr= om "The World's Wife," copyright {copy} 2000 by Carol Ann Duffy. Publishe= d by Faber and Faber, Inc., an affiliate of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.) =

© 2000 The Washington Post Company

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