women and ghosts by kristina marie darling book preview
DESCRIPTION
Why is there so much language, so many words I didn't want." Darling's collection interrogates a legacy of literary women that haunt our subconscious through paralleling a female narrator's mental strife alongside Shakespeare's tragic women: Ophelia, Juliet, Desdemona, Cleopatra, and more. Darling follows the trails of blood left on the page to explore violence done to women, both emotionally and physically. Through Darling's innovative forms, she's able to render the classical refreshingly new and chillingly devastating. Her writing, however, hits a more sensitive nerve: the terror of gendered violence and the chafing of powerlessness in womanhood, as her characters "cleave under the weight of my own dress." Yet, power is embedded in Darling's words, sharp and cutting as a razor blade: this is a collection all women should read.—Anne Champion, author of Reluctant Mistress and The Dark Length HomeWomen and Ghosts is a book for the brokenhearted: "Iced over with sadness," its speaker says (or doesn't), "I can no longer speak." In ghost text stricken from the record, she also says (or doesn't): "I wonder how someone else's life can seem so much my own." She means Desdemona's. Ophelia's. Juliet's. Cleopatra's. Lavinia's. But when I read these words, I think: not theirs, hers — I wonder how her life can seem so much my own. I love this book. I honor it. I cherish it. I lose myself in its tragedies, in the absences and silences of women's lives and I feel less desperate, less anxious, less alone. —Molly Gaudry, author of We Take Me Apart and Desire: A HauntingKristina Marie Darling is the author of over twenty collections of poetry and hybrid prose, which include VOW, PETRARCHAN, and FAILURE LYRIC, forthcoming from BlazeVOX Books. Her writing has been described by literary critics as “haunting,” “mesmerizing,” and “complex.” Poet and Kenyon Review editor Zach Savich writes that her body of work is a “singularly graceful and stunningly incisive exploration of poetic insight, vision, and transformation.” Donald Revell writes of her SELECTED POEMS, “Here is a new tradition, alive in bright air.” Kristina’s books have also been reviewed widely in literary magazines, including The Boston Review, Ploughshares, The Colorado Review, The Columbia Poetry Review, Rain Taxi, The Mid-American Review, Pleiades, and The Southern Humanities Review.Within the past few years, her writing has been honored with a Yaddo residency, a Hawthornden Castle Fellowship, and a Visiting Artist Fellowship from the American Academy in Rome. She has also held artist-in-residence fellowships at the Ucross Foundation, the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation, the Kimmel Harding Nelson Center for the Arts, the Atlantic Center for the Arts, the Hambidge Center for the Arts and Sciences, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, the Brush Creek Foundation for the Arts, the Vermont Studio Center, the Ragdale Foundation, the Santa Fe Art Institute, and numerous other institutions. Kristina is the recipient of international literary arts fellowships from Le Moulin à Nef (VCCA France), the Tenòt Foundation (France), the B.A.U. Institute (Italy), and 360 Xochi Quetzal (Mexico), as well as grants from the Kittredge Fund, the Elizabeth George Foundation, and the Rockefeller Foundation Archive Center. Her work has also been recognized with the Dan Liberthson Prize from the Academy of American Poets and nominations for the PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award, the Poetry Society of America’s William Carlos Williams Award, the San Francisco State University Poetry Center Book Award, and the Kingsley Tufts Award.Kristina is active as a literary critic, with reviews and essays appearing in such magazines as The Gettysburg Review, The Boston Review, The Colorado Review, Pleiades: A Journal of New Writing, and New Letters. Her critical projects have been supported by grants from the University of Missouri and the University at Buffalo, as well as a Riverrun FounTRANSCRIPT
KRISTINA MARIE DARLING
B L A Z E V O X [ B O O K S ] Buffalo, New York
Women And Ghosts by Kristina Marie Darling Copyright © 2015 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Interior design, Cover Design and Typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza First Edition ISBN: 978-1-60964-219-8 Library of Congress Control Number: 2015939196 BlazeVOX [books] 131 Euclid Ave Kenmore, NY 14217 [email protected]
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DAYLIGHT HAS ALREADY COME
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In Shakespeare's Hamlet, Ophelia drowns under the weight of her own dress. I had never imagined before that plain white silk could kill. A year and a half ago, I put on my best clothes. I boarded Flight 2682 to nowhere, watched the clouds tremble and swoon. I arrived in the heat of the day and finally, he met me at my door. All I could do was stare. He looked me in the eyes and said, I'm so sorry.
*
That unmatched form and feature of blown youth Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh...
When we first met, in a lush garden at the end of summer, I thought I would bear his children. First the bouquet, then crisp white linens, and eventually, little silver spoons. It is indeed expected that we accumulate these things. No one wants live in a strange house, opening and closing the same empty cabinet. A man is still standing with his hand against the doorframe. He clears his throat. He stutters.
*
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched.... At first, I didn't quite understand the question. Define closeness. Define empty. When he smiled, I felt my whole body grow colder.
*
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The glass of fashion and the mould of form.... Blasted with ecstasy.
If a man turns his head in such a way, who or what is shattered? In Hamlet, characters take knives to the heart, only to be survived by small fragments of their former selves: a courtier, a soldier, a scholar. We hear their footsteps in the corridor, never in unison. The floorboards swoon beneath the weight of their many feet.
*
Th' observed of all observers, quite, quite down...
He would watch as I tried to make sense of train schedules. I wanted to be alone in the church, so that I could ask something of the marble statue, the milky-eyed saints. Even then, I searched for the right word. Alone with my thoughts, I felt as though I had fallen asleep in a strange bed. I looked out at the platform. It was always the same woman, boarding the same train.
*
When the chapel door closes, what will I be left with? The dress was too heavy for me to carry. I set it near the altar, folded in a perfect square. From the aisle, the window looked as though it had been repeatedly fractured. I wanted to finish the ceremony. I wanted so badly to leave.
*
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state... In Hamlet, Ophelia loves without regard to her station. The daughter of Polonius, and
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sister of Laertes, she is a young noblewoman reaching far above her magnificent, ornamented, fully submerged head. Throughout the play, many characters hint at the unsayable: a torn dress, an empty glass, the same bells ringing in the distance.
But what does it mean to give one's consent? We are led and misled by those we love, an expectant white backdrop shuddering in the distance.
*
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword....
After loss, we are survived by small fragments of our former selves. A neatly folded gown, a heap of dead lilies, a silver earring. In the film version of this story, Fortinbras, Horatio, and Osric are spared. We see in each them some of Hamlet's features: the dark blue eyes, a cheekbone, a freckle. What would it take to hold together the pieces? I undo the buttons on my dress. I pull back the sheets. I try my best to sleep.
*
What a noble mind is here o'erthrown...
Was I the victim or wasn't I? On the very last night, he tried to tell me I was pretty. He opened a book I had read, but didn't understand. He read aloud from it. I felt myself getting drunker. He kept telling me, drink. That was when I looked out the window. I saw my crystal shot glass gleaming in his hand. He quietly set another in its place. The room grew colder and colder. I began gathering my things to go.
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*
What does it mean to give one's consent? Throughout Hamlet, Ophelia keeps misunderstanding the question.
No more but so?
Do you doubt that?
I do not know, my lord, what I should think...
We are led and misled by those we love, the same bells ringing in the distance. After loss, death, and madness, she wonders how the world can look so much the same. She enters stage left. She exits.
*
That sucked the honey of his music vows...
If a man changes his mind, who will be sorry for you? I try to call home from the airport. But everyone there is so happy. My sister-in-law is finally pregnant. I feel my dress grow heavy. I think of a lake.
*
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T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see... I keep remembering the landscape, the way he seemed a part of it. The room still colder than it was before. The same bells ringing. I try to think about the weather. I board Flight 2682 to nowhere, watch the clouds as they tremble and swoon.
ESSAY ON FAILURE (I)
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I. OPHELIA
do you doubt that no more but so I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart but good my brother 'tis in my memory lock'd and you yourself shall keep the key of it so please you, something touching the lord hamlet he hath, my lord of late made many tenders of his affection to me I do not know my lord, what I should think my lord he hath importun'd me with love in honourable fashion and hath given countenance to his speech my lord with almost all the holy vows of heaven I shall obey my lord o my lord my lord I have been so affrighted my lord as I was sewing in my closet lord hamlet with his doublet all unbrac'd my lord I do not know but truly I do fear it he took me by the wrist and held me hard then goes he to the length of all his arm no my good lord but as you did command I did repel his letters and denied madam I wish it may good my lord how does your honour for this many a day my lord I have remembrances of yours that I have longed long to re-deliver my honour'd lord you know right well you did and with them words of so sweet breath compos'd my lord what means your lordship could beauty my lord have better commerce than with honesty indeed my lord you made me believe so I was the more deceived at home my lord o help him you sweet heavens o heavenly powers restore him o what a noble mind is here o'erthrown the courtier's scholar's soldier's eye tongue sword th' expectancy and rose of the fair state the glass of fashion and the mould of form th' observ'd of all observers quite quite down and I of ladies most deject and wretched that suck'd the honey of his music vows now see that noble and most sovereign reason like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh that unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth blasted with ecstasy o, woe is me t' have seen what I have seen see what I see no my lord ay my lord I think nothing my lord what is my lord you are merry my lord ay my lord nay 'tis twice two months my lord what means this my lord belike this show imports the argument of the play will he tell us what this show meant you are naught you are naught I'll mark the play for us and for our tragedy 'tis brief my lord you are as good as a chorus my lord you are keen my lord you are keen still better and worse the king rises where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark how should I your true-love know say you nay pray you mark he is dead and gone lady white his shroud as the mountain snow larded all with sweet flowers well god did you they say the owl was a baker's daughter lord we know what we are but know not what we may be god be at pray let's have no words of this but when they ask you what it means say you this indeed la without an oath I'll make an end by saint charity I hope all will be well we must be patient but I cannot choose but weep to think they would lay him i' th' cold ground they bore him barefac'd on the bier you must sing 'a-down a-down and you call him o how the wheel becomes it it is the false steward that stole his there's rosemary that's for remembrance pray you love remember and there is pansies that's for thoughts there's fennel for you and columbines there's rue for you and here's some for me we may call it herb of grace o' sundays and will he not come again but as you did command I did repel his letters and denied