eros, logos: ancient history: conjure

Sunday, January 04, 2009

ancient history: conjure

Not now but then. Ancient history. Painful, and shameful, to write and to feel. But here it is.
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I'd like to be the malignant spirit, the bad witch over your house. I'd cast a spell that would murder your children.

Better yet, just take them from you, steal them away, give them happy homes with others somewhere and no memory of you.

I'd rip mandrake root out of the dark earth at midnight, mix it with my menstrual blood and cast a spell to dry up your wife's breasts. No more milk there, only bile and gall. Oh yes, I know about your lactation fetish, I've been inside your head for over a year now and whatever fantasies you have I know now without you telling me. How else do you think I've gotten in so deep? I know what you want before you tell me.

How appropriate that you'd choose me for your Other, the woman without children. I knew always that you'd have to go back to her, the source of fertility.

But in my wishes she isn't any longer. I'd steal away and poison not your happiness, but your fertility. I'd doom you to be together and childless forever. I'd wear a white chiton and make sacrifice to the Furies, the Erinyes in a dark grove. How clever the Greeks were, reserving the most bloody, the most dangerous and elemental powers, the chthonic always to the female deities. And how foolish the men were, calling them euphemistically The Kindly Ones, Eumenides, imagining that to do so could appease them and turn them away. They were so fearful of drawing their attention that they were afraid to speak their names.

I'd call them by their proper names, to do their proper work.

Don't imagine that because I have no children I am not fertile. No, I'm bloody and dark and endlessly fertile, and I've murdered two of my own children in the womb. Why would I have pity for you?
Medea killed her very own children for revenge, and Clytemnestra tells us of the sexual pleasure she felt when stabbing Agamemnon to death in his bath. Her womb rejoices: "As his blood spattered me I gave thanks to God, just as the soft earth in springtime gives thanks for the showers of rain, opens up joyfully and gladly puts forth buds."

Don't imagine that I can be easily appeased.

I'd steal away her milk, and then I'd drain you of your sperm. I'd call on the Erinyes to wither your balls, leave them empty and aching like her womb. I'd send rats to gnaw their way out.

And then I'd leave you alone together, forever, to conjure what you could.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
Anne Sexton, Her Kind

Labels: ancient history, erinyes

posted by O @ 01:09


12 Comments:
At 05 January, 2009, Anonymous said… "I'd cast a spell that would wither your balls, leave them empty and aching like her womb... And I'd leave you alone together forever to conjure what you could. Eeep! Shivers down my spine. I hope that the ancient part of the ancient history is ditant enough that this hurt has faded somewhat -- and I hope this fucker got what he deserved. Such a powerful piece, so well expressed, and so piercing; i'm tingling all over. At 05 January, 2009, O said… Oh no worries. I'm tagging all these sorts of things 'ancient history' because they are. I think it's still important to acknowledge our past though, and these were feeling (very fleeting) that I did have. I only just wrote it, so it's emotion recollected in tranquility. ;) I'll be continuing to tag the old stuff with 'ancient history' so people realise it refers to two years ago, when i really stopped writing, not now. Also, I think other women may be able to recognise something of themselves in it, or so I hope. I think we've all been there, and really, no form of jealousy or rage compares to sexual jealousy (which is really what this is about)--I think? At 05 January, 2009, Anonymous said… Remind me never to piss you off, OK? "The Mourning Bride"(1697) by William Congreve. "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." sss At 05 January, 2009, Anonymous said… Greek literature and erotica! I'll have you know I was Clytemnestra in a past life. I think I've found heaven. At 05 January, 2009, Frequent Traveler said… I remember being in such rage and pain... Blessings to you, dear O, that that deep hurt can be assuaged inside of you... For in your own healing, the desire for detsruction and revenge fades, and your own soul is nourished with peace... Sometimes we forget that the wost karma anyone can have is the way they behave, so our tormentors are not really getting away with anything at all. They usually are very self-destructive... Cyber-Hugs, Loving Annie At 05 January, 2009, Liras said… How utterly sweet of you. At 06 January, 2009, O said… ss--The congreve is perfect; everyone always forgets the first half when quoting it, and I love that half. Jane's Teeth-welcome! I think many of us can identify with her, but Euripides' Medea is even better, I think. Thank you for reading (and commenting!) hi Annie--Thanks. Again, no worries, this really is ancient history but I had to write it in the present tense for some reason. Liras-- you know me. ;) At 09 January, 2009, Zander Vyne said… O, I realize this was written with real pain behind the pen, but as prose goes it's very good, and very powerful as a result. A reminder to me as a writer to pull no punches, even if it means stirring up ancient agony. Bravo. Zander At 10 January, 2009, O said… zander, Thanks for visiting, and commenting. I was afraid of people's reactions to this. I'm glad they've been supportive. cheers, O At 11 February, 2009, selkie said… there is a powerful rage in many of us that can poisin if we do not somehow release its vitrolic poison. I've felt those emotions. I've been there (more than once, truth be told). I write those truths (for truths they are, in that moment, in that second) in private - brave O to release them to teh world so people such as I can look at them and know I am not alone. At 13 February, 2009, Anonymous said… I love the focused and pin point-sharp intensity of your rage in this piece. I've read it about 10 times because every word contributes to the seething fury that wants to unleash and strike its target. Just beautiful. At 13 February, 2009, O said… selkie, I love the way you think and your honesty and I look to you as an inspiration. thank you for reading me. TDB, It means so much to me that you would want to reread this, as I love your writing. And this was painful to look at and feel,--and admit to myself-- much less show to others. It was very hard. but what's the point if we don't write nakedly? I admire you for doing that, and selkie too. You write differently but there's the same intent to bare the self.
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