Some New Poetic Speakers

Lately, the speakers in my writing (in my poetry, especially) have been feisty. Feisty and pissed off and not afraid to let everyone know it. In a recent poem, I have the speaker mailing back a blanket to an ex-lover, after a cat has given birth to six kittens on it. In another, Enya goes out the window to be replaced by Green Day shaking the neighbors’ walls. (For the record, I actually like Enya. Part of my childhood and new age-y aunt influences.) I don’t know where they’re coming from, these angsty, taking-no-shit, (and I think) very frustrated females. Because they’re distinctively female in my mind. (I’m still waiting for a good male speaker to show up, he’s there, just very deep and very quiet for now.)

Maybe one cause can be attributed to a quote I saw on Tumblr recently, taken from Scott Lynch’s Republic of Thieves that went thusly:

A boy may be as disagreeable as he pleases, but when a girl refuses to crap sunshine on command, the world mutters darkly about her moods.

I dabble in feminist readings/articles–I’d like to get more into it, the way some of my friends are. They know stuff. I know a little bit. I’m taking a Women’s Literature course this semester which has been phenomenal. Our white Western male perspective frustrates me, as much as I  know there are so many people working to bring new perspectives, new voices into the mainstream. It feels like swimming upstream–changing centuries of history. Sometimes it’s  hard to identify it in yourself–I caught myself wondering if I should post one of the more vengeful poems on Tumblr. Well hey, I said. The speakers in your poems aren’t you. If people read them as you, well, tough. And why be apologetic for having an angry female speaker? Buck up, buttercup. I posted them.

Another cause might be one of my female professors talking about how some of her male colleagues don’t understand why walking alone to the parking lot after her late class makes her nervous.

“Women really worry about that kind of stuff?” one asked.

Deep, deep sigh.

Here’s a third for possible female speaker frustration: in the last two months, various family/family friends (including my mother) have asked if I’m in a relationship, if I’ve “found” anyone yet, and expressed anywhere from mild surprise to profound shock at hearing that I am not, nor am I looking that hard. (My mom hastily countered her response with, “Well good. Don’t settle,” but there’s still a little bit of asdjf;kajs;sjdsa panic there too behind her eyes.)

And lastly, In the latest InStyle magazine, Jennifer Lawrence was interviewed and the journalist made the mistake of asking if “Have you given any thought to having kids?” The following scene ensues:

Her eyes go dull. “I love kids and I hope I have kids someday, but not now,” she recites.
“So you’d like to fall in love and have some babies? Any immediate plans?”

She glares at me. I’m reminded of her character in Winter’s Bone the scene where she’s showing her two younger siblings how to skin a squirrel and pull out the guts. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says. (InStyle, December 2013)

I gave a giant eyeroll at the interviewer’s question. Like, really? REALLY? Lawrence’s response cheered me up though–I think I’m going to start using that tactic. I don’t want to talk about it. I have other, more important things to do than answer nosy questions about my relationship status, thank you. I also dislike that this question had to come up. It was unfortunately inevitable and I was waiting for it, and sure enough. Ta-da.

So yeah, I guess it makes sense that the female speakers in my poems are a little on edge. Kind of fed-up with the gooey romance stuff and the six rows in Walmart dedicated to make-up and other beauty products, and that so much of society is oblivious to the pressures put on women, 21st century notwithstanding. I’m lucky–I have some incredible male friends, my father identifies as a feminist, and I go to a pretty liberal school. But I repeat: I’m lucky.

At any rate: be on the look-out for some feisty speakers in the next few weeks. They’re here and they are loud.