לוסיל קליפטון היא אחת מהמשוררות האהובות עליי.
היא נולדה ב-1936 בבאפלו, ניו יורק ונפטרה ב-2010. היא הייתה מחנכת, מרצה לספרות ולכתיבה יוצרת, סופרת לילדים ומשוררת עטורת פרסים.
שיריה מאופיינים בהישרת מבט אמיץ במציאות הכואבת, הפצועה, המלאה באובדן אהובים שנולדו או לא נולדו, ובאובדן הגוף, הנושר ומתפרק לאיטו.
קליפטון נפטרה מסרטן בגיל 74, כרותת רחם ושד, בגוף פצוע וחסר. אך שיריה עולים על גדותיהם מחמלה. הם מתארים את שלמותה עם גופה, את אהבתה לגופה, לעצמה, את קבלתה.
הנה כמה שירים שלה, שאהובים עליי במיוחד.
(שירים נוספים אפשר למצוא כאן)
Homage to My Hips
these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places, these hips
be free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
this hips are magic hips.
I have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!
If I Stand in My Window
If I stand in my window
naked in my own house
and press my breasts
against my windowpane
like black birds pushing against glass
because I am somebody
in a New Thing
and if the man come to stop me
in my own house
naked in my own window
saying I have offended him
I have offended his
Gods
let him watch my black body
push against my own glass
let him discover self
let him run naked through the streets
crying praying in tongues
an only breast
leans against her chest wall
mourning she is suspended
in a sob between t and e and a and r
and the gash ghost of her sister
t and e and a and r
it is pronounced like crying
it is pronounced like
being torn away
it is pronounced like trying to re
member the shape of an unsafe life
Poem to My Uterus
you uterus
you have been patient
as a sock
while i have slippered into you
my dead and living children
now
they want to cut you out
stocking i will not need
where i am going
where am i going
old girl
without you
uterus
my bloody print
my estrogen kitchen
my black bag of desire
where can i go
barefoot
without you
where can you go
without me
you have been patient
as a sock
while i have slippered into you
my dead and living children
now
they want to cut you out
stocking i will not need
where i am going
where am i going
old girl
without you
uterus
my bloody print
my estrogen kitchen
my black bag of desire
where can i go
barefoot
without you
where can you go
without me
To My Last Period
well, girl, goodbye,
after thirty-eight years.
thirty-eight years and you
never arrived
splendid in your red dress
without trouble for me
somewhere, somehow.
thirty-eight years and you
never arrived
splendid in your red dress
without trouble for me
somewhere, somehow.
now it is done,
and i feel just like the
grandmothers who,
after the hussy has gone,
sit holding her photograph
and sighing, wasn’t she
beautiful? wasn’t she beautiful?
and i feel just like the
grandmothers who,
after the hussy has gone,
sit holding her photograph
and sighing, wasn’t she
beautiful? wasn’t she beautiful?
What the Mirror Said
listen,
you a wonder.
you a city
of a woman.
you got a geography
of your own.
listen,
somebody need a map
to understand you.
somebody need directions
to move around you.
listen,
woman,
you not a noplace
anonymous
girl;
mister with his hands on you
he got his hands on
some
damn
body!
you a wonder.
you a city
of a woman.
you got a geography
of your own.
listen,
somebody need a map
to understand you.
somebody need directions
to move around you.
listen,
woman,
you not a noplace
anonymous
girl;
mister with his hands on you
he got his hands on
some
damn
body!
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