3.Avatar Review
     A Review of Poetry, Prose, and Art - Summer 2001

The Organic Untruthfulness of Woman

Poems by Pamela Moore Dionne

Hysteria is the organic crisis of the organic untruthfulness of woman.
                                                                        Otto Weininger
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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