Posts tagged goddess
Posts tagged goddess
In a quake she lost her head,
but the wave of his sax, she hears
in her stomach, her model womb,
and she’s moving again.
You won’t see it
you watch her sitting, passive as ever.
There, just a snake
of his music you might catch
in her languid form.
The tremor of stone is invisible
to any but closed eyes,
you have to listen to it,
as she listens to him
playing in a tavern
fifty centuries from where she sits,
to whistling sailors who earlier laughed
at her. Time binds her to a
stand but wakens her stone heart
to dance and sway.
Such music! It breezes round
her, through her, down her exposed
breasts and throbs
a romance. Whom has he lost
to play like that? He goes
to a blue place where only she can reach
him, away from the din of the club, away
from our blind ears
into her fertile arms.
When he plays he is hers
and every note he breathes is her
breath. When the applause rings
away he goes back to the everyday
but she knows, with an old woman’s
lust, that he keeps a whisper on his lips
for her, hot on the lips of his sax.
She’s spent so long asleep in this way,
an eternity of moving limbs
while she just lay, not gazing, not thinking -
but she has felt the winds from the sea
carve her cheekbones,
the salt on her round thighs caressed
by children, by lovers, by passing sailors
who laughed at her inflated hips.
How small she is, they say, how composed.
Don’t think she would not
disgrace herself. So many years
of being good, it weighs on a woman.
She longs to move her arms, to stretch
out to the sky, at last to wake!
rub her infertile stomach, her bottom, dance
a jig around the town square and see
them stare - how she would roar her huge belly
laugh, a fart in their faces who have been mocking her.
Above all she wants to wrap her legs around the sailors
The itch in her shoulder will not go,
that just a little movement
would scratch - ah no! she forgets,
she lost her right hand and must itch forever, unless
they do it for her, the sailors, the lovers, the children
she will never have, who stroke her gigantic
breasts, huddle in her arms,
blow their five-year old breath on her old cheeks.
Soon she will lose that as well: they plan
to place her in walls, bind her in glass,
stick a label in front of her - Do Not Touch,
Sleeping Goddess, circa 3000 BC, Malta.
She doesn’t feel her age, perhaps because she’s no mind
to feel it, just raw arms, raw legs, raw belly.
Ancient Spain: Ancestors, Shamans, Priestesses and Goddesses
Max Dashu presents an extremely rich and yet little-known cache of art and culture from ancient Spain and Portugal, spanning
the Mesolithic to late antiquity.
Neolithic figurines in stone, bone, and clay; women in rock art and ancestral stelas; lunula necklaces and female diadems. The Iberian Goddess, her fusion with Ashtart of the Phoenicians and Tanit of Carthage, Isis and Demeter, and the persistent veneration of Ataecina. Las Damas de Galera, Elche, Baza, Alicante, and many more. Priestesses and devotees offering libation at the great sanctuaries of Cerro de los Santos, Torreparedones, La Serreta, Caudete. Women’s ritual culture shown in ceramic painting and sculpture: musicians, processions, dancers, spinners, censers; wolf-women, bird-women, riders; the petroglyphs and ritual saunas of Portugal and Galicia.