The next poem I'll read is called, "Woman Before
Aquarium," the title poem.
And the picture's on the cover.
It's by Matisse.
And it occurred to me, I have to admit, after I wrote the poem,
but never mind, that Matisse, in his paintings,
represented two of the themes that women are
working out or working into.
Because it's mainly trouble, actually, in his paintings.
And one of those very sensual odalisques,
those women who are laying on couches.
They look like they're about to eat chocolates or something,
and they only got half of their clothes on,
and a lot of very bright colors around them.
And the other, were these very almost prim women.
Kind of aloof in some way.
And it occurred to me that the two things that women
are doing these days.
On the one hand, claiming the right to be sexual beings,
and claiming the right to be thinking beings,
having, all these years, been feeling beings,
emotional beings.
So in a way, he became an important figure,
or his figures became important figures for me.
And that's sort of what's going on in this poem.
"The goldfish ticks silently, little finned gold
watch on its chain of water, swaying over
the rivulets of the brain, over the hard rocks
and spiny shells.
The world is round, distorted the clerk said when
I insisted on around fishbowl.
Now, like a Matisse woman, I study my lesson slowly,
crushing a warm pinecone in my hand,
releasing the resin, its memory of wild nights,
my Indian back crushing the pine needles,
the trapper standing over me, his white-dead skin.
Fear of the crushing, fear of the human smell.
A Matisse woman always wants to be a mermaid,
her odalique body stretches pale and heavy
before her and the exotic wall hangings.
The only power of the woman--
to be untouchable.
But dressed, a simple Western face, a schoolgirl's haircut,
the plain desk of ordinary work, she
sits crushing the pinecone of fear, not knowing it is fear.
The paper before her is blank.
The aquarium sits like a lantern, a green inner light,
round and green, a souvenir from the underworld,
its gold residents opening and closing their wordless mouths.
I am on the shore of the room, glinting inside
with a flicker of water, heart ticking
with the message of biology to a kindred species.
The mermaid-- not the enchantress,
but the mermaid of double life--
sits on the rock, combing the golden strands of human hair,
thinking as always of swimming."