INNER DIALOGUE WITH A POETESS
Written by Anna Panunto
Dead poets named her goddess of the night while the roots of the earth named her the great Marfisa. She is female, she is female, she is female!
I am greatly tempted to shout at the world that my poetry and prose is authentically femina. I am a self-affirming and whole femina. This word is borrowed from the Italian language. It is a rather young word, stemming from the 14th century and having undergone some changes in spelling. It means woman. It classifies a gender – female.
Over the decades, my femina writing has blossomed from outward to inward, while pushing unknown limits, even to my genderless soul. The theme of sensuality is always ever present and greatly misunderstood by many. Those readers that simply read words and cannot feel my inner dialogue and alas, they will get lost in translation. A dialogue that is meant to free up space – contaminated space. Do my words transpire or merely vocalize a submerged femina desire?
Poetry has been my outlet ever since my genderless soul can remember. On paper, I have been writing since the age of 13. Yet, my soul has been immersed in the poetic form ever since it can remember. I can breathe better after every creation – be it prose or poetry. Do my words draw from a feminized sexual energy? I can smell every letter … and in every word there is a red rose.
I desire to encourage separatism and union in every word to every verse, to every prose… Oh, don’t be misled. I do not write to titillate the body but more the nerve endings. I demand to be freed from the unexpressed. To exhibit a knowledge and understanding that goes beyond words….
Long ago, I was asked if I desire to be inclusive. I never responded and perhaps, that was selfish of me.
Now we all live in a world that is pressed for time. Tick tock… time is our enemy… and words vibrate much slower. Who has time to even fathom the physicality of a femina? How painful this physicality is… one can feel the thorns of every rose.
I cannot control how people feel when they read my poetry and prose but most will make a funny face and just resort to simple comments such as, “ very nice words Anna… nice metaphors’… I nod my head politely – what else can I do?
The act of reading poetry and prose requires time – essentially time for the heart to penetrate every syllable to every word. And there was the word, behind the word, of a single meaning, with a double meaning. Let’s not forget the sound of the words, and then the feelings behind the sounds of the words. There is an invisible musical tone behind this creation. Some can hear it while others can breathe it.
I have felt a deep rage throughout my existence. Don’t misunderstand me – I celebrate it . My rage does not exist in my primal brain. Sadly enough though, many will think so.
A halo of hope
Behind every word
Resonating in my chest…
Beating drums, healing
Like a shaman in disguise.
Some see me as a sleepwalker while others don’t even see me. Yet the sound of voices surrounds me every waking hour of my existence- I am femina. I AM, I AM, LOOK AT ME.
I am your sister, your wife, even your mother. Most of all, I am a warrior. I let others grow and open the bars of prison.
Let them grow, unafraid.
Let them fall upon your touch.
Your words resonate, even if they taste like salt.
For salt, cleanses and purifies all that is not.
Do I write to express unconditional love? Unconditional love comes from centuries of breathing. It is an eternal flame that travels from soul to soul. It knows no gender. But, I contend, that mine is femina. My flame burns and whispers in my left ear, “ Come here, my poetess, and sneak some salt in their hearts when they are not looking”.
AND SO IT IS.