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Whores Behind Glass

Author: Runes
Elite Ratio:    5.29 - 790 /815 /281
Words: 113
Class/Type: Misc /Misc
Total Views: 1061
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Merci, Monsieur Bellocq.

Whores Behind Glass

They live again, on my walls---
poised delicately with striped stockings,
reclining leisurely in pleasant nude...
Cotton-scant and smiling, we toast each other
like old friends who do not need real names
to be properly introduced.

They live again, the doorways stained
and open, inviting New Orleans summer
into our oddly decorated rooms...
Bed tables adorned with tattered lace,
pitcher-bowls of cooling water to wash away
the dust of our little gray tombs.

I should live so long as these fallen,
[caressed with razor-scratched protections]
to hide my face in coming years...
raise my arms with such simple provocations
drawing century-long stares and rumors
to firmly hold me here.

Submitted on 2010-11-04 17:22:35     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  I am not good at figuring things out is this a picture of you? One where you scratched out the face to hide your identity? The poem reads to me like you are this vampire madam looking at photos of your undead friends. Remembering times past and all the fun you had killing mortals. But of course the faces have to be scratched out or everyone would wonder how come you women still look so ravish-able after all this time.
| Posted on 2010-12-04 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ]
Bellocq! Such an odd man, and the obsessive tend to be -- quite brilliant. At one time I had a shoddy print of the one of the woman in striped stockings, sitting at the table. I loved the way the stockings moved with her legs and her nonchalant glance. I also had the one that you've posted with this poem above a clawfoot tub. I miss that tub. And those photos.

It wasn't just their form and structure, but the damage done to the photos (the obvious deliberate damage and then damage that time has a way of doing to things that aren't properly looked after) that captivated and synced me to them the most.

And since there seems to be some title speculation: I think it's perfectly suited if someone brushes up on their early photography processes. They were quite literally whores on glass and it also has the idea of being displayed but also untouchable (even when being touched).

My two cents on that.

There is an internal relationship/dialogue going on in this poem between the photographs and the writer that is wonderfully balanced. There is this sense of nostalgia, sorrow, and also forbearing. To be carried on in whichever way we are, regardless of scratches, intentional and un-. To find appreciation, not in what things should be but in their actual form. It makes me realize that beauty is not a word enough, and is only as good as its many many synonyms. What resonates here is beautiful, even if it is of hard things. The photos have been long fascinated over, and you've touched their history and mystery with your own with a sympathy that can only come from experience.

And I stepped, for a brief moment, back in New Orleans, which is always nice and best done from a distance these days.

| Posted on 2010-11-07 00:00:00 | by Lady of Shalott | [ Reply to This ]
  i love how this works fully as an entondra(still can't spell that close enough for es spellcheck to catch what it's suppose to be......) to emotion, legacy, and physical movement. between what seems like you and the photograph girls. idk if it's like your poetry........or your actions, or elements of both i suppose, but i like how this relates. and it's not degrading. i've been getting away from porn in general, what bothered me is how degrading some of the acts were. just cold kind of flesh-satisfaction that breaks the psyche. but this feels different. the surface seems overstated. like a playboy calling itself hardcore or something. talents can have their negative side.

as far as the title. well that's just what you call it. idk. titles never meant much to me unless they're like part of the code to be cracked. idk, i guess most people don't write/percieve as i do. but i like the contrast. it lets the reader know. this isn't as pretty as it sounds, but it's still up to the readers mind to make this neccisarily dirty. and as much as i'd like to percieve something like this as such sometimes, i don't think it really is.

it's innocent, in a way. people, i guess women more often, letting themselves live on. i guess we always associate nudity with sex, but this doesn't make me think about sex at all. idk. i guess i'm taking this in a much lighter context. maybe i'm filtering you pink again. maybe i've always been a kaleidascope.

this makes me think we're all whores behind glass here. in a sense.

we toast each other
like old friends who do not need real names
to be properly introduced.

idk. there are several ways this piece could be taken if we're not being literal. surely the musing is literal.

idk. either you're trying to hard to make this seem elegant, or you're testing us to see if we see it. either way. personally, i like the title. for the latter effect.
| Posted on 2010-11-06 00:00:00 | by cornonthekob | [ Reply to This ]
  i would call it something stupid and obvious like on my walls

i'd go that way because the poem cleverly focuses on the girls but the narrator, there at the end, she's carrying her baggage.


i don't rate myself with titles.

| Posted on 2010-11-06 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]
  I do not often have to say this, but it went a little above my head. Perhaps I am just over thinking it...

However, though I cannot say with certainty that I understand, I can say it leaves me with a positive impression, if not a positive feeling.

"like old friends who do not need real names
to be properly introduced."

The above excerpt is probably one of the most ingenious lines of poetry I have heard in some time, though over all, I'd probably have to say the second stanza is my favorite. That isn't to say there is anything wrong with the first or third.

Tanks for a good read...
| Posted on 2010-11-06 00:00:00 | by nicodemous | [ Reply to This ]
  i find the title to be gauche
(that's a word right?.....there's no redalert coming up
so it must be a word, and i'm optimistic it means what i mean it to mean).

sonically, if i were writing this i'd adjust just a few things, and include just a few more; this is to say i think you've done a good job on that front.

I should live so long as these fallen,
caressed with razor-scratched protections
to hide my face in coming years...
raise my arms with such simple provocations
drawing century-long stares and rumors
to firmly hold me here.

i like the way the bit i put in italics contrasts against cotton scant, and the ideas of course, it's fine phrasing to compliment the idea that death keeps a state of youth intact, just like a photograph,

the photographs themselves/itself along with the description of a parlour-room (english spelling)

(the description reminded me of one i read that was appended to a picture of a building in Pompeii ......)

anyway, the ideas compliment the action - cutting/suicide

and there's the apple.... because it speaks to the emotional cost of such circumstance, but in a very subtle way, and then those closing lines, the i should live so long bouncing off the they live again to bring the poem to a point of resolution, and here:

raise my arms with such simple provocations
drawing century-long stares and rumors
to firmly hold me here.

you can see the narrator actually hanging a picture.

(it's golden) because that's the moment to turn the focus to her and her circumstance as it relates to the world and her place in it, there's a situational affinity as it relates to emotion.

fine, and subtle work, i reckon.

(that's why i think the title sucks)

| Posted on 2010-11-06 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]

it's hard being a woman who was a whore. (in my experience at least). it's a part of me that never quite leaves or settles with itself. it's like a string of sadness that rolls up my spine. and i can't take it back.

what i like about this, is that there is no judgement. moreso, it's an understanding between toasts and images.

i ended up googling the photographer/images.

i think sometimes that there needs to be documentation. whether it is in images or words or documentaries telling the tale of lifes fates.

it makes the world more real.


just some thoughts.
| Posted on 2010-11-05 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]

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