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Review A Review of Poetry, Prose, and Art - Summer 2001 |
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The Organic Untruthfulness of WomanPoems by Pamela Moore Dionne Hysteria is the organic crisis of the organic untruthfulness of woman.He says I suffer from wandering uterus, that terrible neurosis. Tells Freud my tongue, ever the serpent, reflects Weininger's theory. Can a group of men be this wrong, ever? All is transference in their talk of ill-mannered patients. Freud, the Father, hears Jung's denial. The Wunderkind didn't clutch my hand – never clung. Ever. He denies he tasted the rime of salt on my upper lip, draped his fingers round my waist. Denies he claimed polygamy suited his wife. Says he offered no such plum, ever. In early letters, he sang praises – my mind a fertile impulse – the weight of my hair in his hand – my scented wrists. Were these arias actually sung, ever? Fingernails bite my palms, cut ruby semicircles. He confides a faithless nature. Talks of bees and black-eyed Susans. Claims not to have been stung, ever. When Emma gave birth to Franz, Jung was not with her. The Jahrbuch convulsed him with labor. At last, an heir and a legacy. So continues the deepest spew of dung ever. Freud pens missives to me, strangely crabbed, aslant. He thinks to soothe me with phrases about women who assess emotion better than men. I do not bite my lips, play dumb, ever. Jung speaks my name in esses that hide a tooth I know full well. For him, the polyglot's life – one voice for wives one for conquests. Each a bead as carefully strung as ever. I am that writhing in the pathways of his cranium. The blue worm vein at his temple. I am Sabina Spielrein, conscience on whom he'll be hung forever.
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