Exotica: the new form

[CharleyH]

I know I go on about it, so I will ask, well ... indirectly.

My fave quote is from Andre Breton is his Surrealist Manifesto ... that art cannot be anything but revolutionary ... so I was disappointed not to find a form called Exotica, even if my school poetry book taunted me with it, and YET I was excited that there could be one.

What does "exotica" (other than the movie ) bring to mind for you? Form wise.

How does "erotic" look on a page to you? IE what is the most erotic kind of poem to you? Written or read?

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Exotica - what form would it be. That's a good challenge right there.

It doesn't strike me as anything new and revolutionary, but something old and sensual, a treasure for faraway lands and times. Maybe a new form that is evocative of India and Bangladesh, of the Kama Sutra and the monsoons. A complex but fluid form, maybe not circular, but spiralling. Mmm - yes. Something to think about...

 

[CharleyH]

Exotica - what form would it be. That's a good challenge right there.

It doesn't strike me as anything new and revolutionary, but something old and sensual, a treasure for faraway lands and times. Maybe a new form that is evocative of India and Bangladesh, of the Kama Sutra and the monsoons. A complex but fluid form, maybe not circular, but spiralling. Mmm - yes. Something to think about...

Nothing is created 'ex nihilo' as I believe Northrope Frye said, so in essance - everything comes from the former. There is no such thing as new. And thank you for the wetness Lauren Now, with this new knowledge? Think hard.

 

[Angeline]

I know I go on about it, so I will ask, well ... indirectly.

My fave quote is from Andre Breton is his Surrealist Manifesto ... that art cannot be anything but revolutionary ... so I was disappointed not to find a form called Exotica, even if my school poetry book taunted me with it, and YET I was excited that there could be one.

What does "exotica" (other than the movie ) bring to mind for you? Form wise.

How does "erotic" look on a page to you? IE what is the most erotic kind of poem to you? Written or read?

My dear friend.

Read this poet. She epitomizes both to me.

 

[CharleyH]

My dear friend.

Read this poet. She epitomizes both to me.

I can read, and not feel the same. So what exactly is exotica in form - or erotic to you?

 

[Angeline]

I can read, and not feel the same. So what exactly is exotica in form - or erotic to you?

Exotica in form is what is new to me. I am less familiar with certain forms like pantoums and ghazals, sapphic verse, metric forms with which I am unfamiliar. They are exotic to me until I master them, twist them in a way that works for me.

Erotic to me is sensuality, which may or may not be openly sexual. Personally I prefer metaphoric writing where the sexuality is implied, rather than stated. Graphically sexual poetry bores me. There's no enticement.

Forugh Farrokhzad's poetry is erotic to me. This, to me, is a very erotic poem.

Sonnet XI

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Pablo Neruda

 

[The Mutt]

"I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

Okay, that's just weird.

 

[Angeline]

"I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

Okay, that's just weird.

perspective is everything

 

[BooMerengue]

newly found ways to speak of sensuality from far away places born of scent and touch and aged time out of mind... Exotica

excerpt from Border Walls by Farough Farrokhzad

Now
come closer
and listen
to the anguished beats of my love,
that spread
like the tom-tom of African drums
along the tribe of my limbs.

I, feel.
I know
which moment
is the moment of prayer.

Now stars
are lovers.

In night's refuge,
from innermost breezes, I waft.
In night's refuge, I
tumble madly forth
with my ample tresses, in your palms,
and I offer you the equatorial flowers of this young tropic.

Come with me,

Two years ago I wouldn't have looked at this twice. Now her books are high on my wish list.

 

[Angeline]

newly found ways to speak of sensuality from far away places born of scent and touch and aged time out of mind... Exotica

excerpt from Border Walls by Farough Farrokhzad

Now
come closer
and listen
to the anguished beats of my love,
that spread
like the tom-tom of African drums
along the tribe of my limbs.

I, feel.
I know
which moment
is the moment of prayer.

Now stars
are lovers.

In night's refuge,
from innermost breezes, I waft.
In night's refuge, I
tumble madly forth
with my ample tresses, in your palms,
and I offer you the equatorial flowers of this young tropic.

Come with me,

Two years ago I wouldn't have looked at this twice. Now her books are high on my wish list.

I think she is my all-time favorite poet. I discovered her when I was just 18. Her writing stuns me. From the first time I read her I could not get her voice out of my head.

Life is perhaps that enclosed moment
when my gaze destroys itself in the pupil of your eyes
and it is in the feeling
which I will put into the Moon's impression
and the Night's perception.

In a room as big as loneliness
my heart
which is as big as love
looks at the simple pretexts of its happiness
at the beautiful decay of flowers in the vase
at the sapling you planted in our garden
and the song of canaries
which sing to the size of a window.

Ah
this is my lot
this is my lot
my lot is
a sky which is taken away at the drop of a curtain
my lot is going down a flight of disused stairs
to regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia
my lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories
and dying in the grief of a voice which tells me
I love
your hands.

I will plant my hands in the garden
I will grow I know I know I know
and swallows will lay eggs
in the hollow of my ink-stained hands.

excerpted from Another Birth

 

[CharleyH]

"I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

Okay, that's just weird.

LOL

 

[CharleyH]

Exotica in form is what is new to me. I am less familiar with certain forms like pantoums and ghazals, sapphic verse, metric forms with which I am unfamiliar. They are exotic to me until I master them, twist them in a way that works for me.

Erotic to me is sensuality, which may or may not be openly sexual. Personally I prefer metaphoric writing where the sexuality is implied, rather than stated. Graphically sexual poetry bores me. There's no enticement.

Forugh Farrokhzad's poetry is erotic to me. This, to me, is a very erotic poem.

Sonnet XI

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Pablo Neruda

Interesting point. Thank you. Once I think on it, then I am sure I will have much to say.

 

[Angeline]

Interesting point. Thank you. Once I think on it, then I am sure I will have much to say.

Good. Now I don't have to out you.

 

[CharleyH]

Two years ago I wouldn't have looked at this twice. Now her books are high on my wish list.

Thanks, Boo.

Ok. So what is erotic in your own writings (addressing all poetry people)? And what is the form you(all) take as 'exotica' by your, I am sure, very diverse definitions?

 

[CharleyH]

Good. Now I don't have to out you.

ROFLOL.

 

[BooMerengue]

Good. Now I don't have to out you.

Out her?!?! How much outer can she get?? I think she's great, but she scares the shit outta me!!!

laughing

 

[CharleyH]

Out her?!?! How much outer can she get?? I think she's great, but she scares the shit outta me!!!

laughing

LOL - she has something on me! The bitch.

 

[Angeline]

Out her?!?! How much outer can she get?? I think she's great, but she scares the shit outta me!!!

laughing

I promised her I wouldn't tell. hahahahahaha

Isn't this fun Charley? We'll create a fun scandal.

(Lauren will be buzzing me on Yahoo any minute now. LOL!)

 

[flyguy69]

Exotica: I hear brass and crash, the tinkling of bells behind veils. The smell of prairie sage and turned earth. The heat fits like a shirt, palpably heavy. There is movement, always movement. Sometimes so subtle I can't tell if it is me or the world turning, but always movement.

I have to write some!

 

[PatCarrington]

Exotica: I hear brass and crash, the tinkling of bells behind veils. The smell of prairie sage and turned earth. The heat fits like a shirt, palpably heavy. There is movement, always movement. Sometimes so subtle I can't tell if it is me or the world turning, but always movement.

I have to write some!

you just did...


I hear brass and crash, the tinkling
of bells behind veils. The smell
of prairie sage and turned earth.

The heat fits like a shirt, palpably
heavy. There is movement, always
movement. Sometimes
so subtle I can't tell
if it's me or the world turning.

 

[Angeline]

you just did...


I hear brass and crash, the tinkling
of bells behind veils. The smell
of prairie sage and turned earth.

The heat fits like a shirt, palpably
heavy. There is movement, always
movement. Sometimes
so subtle I can't tell
if it's me or the world turning.

Thank you. I'm glad one of us had the energy to point this out. I thought it, but I'm too stupified with heat and humidity to follow through on my thoughts today.

 

[flyguy69]

you just did...


I hear brass and crash, the tinkling
of bells behind veils. The smell
of prairie sage and turned earth.

The heat fits like a shirt, palpably
heavy. There is movement, always
movement. Sometimes
so subtle I can't tell
if it's me or the world turning.

And I didn't even need malaria shots!

It will be fun to write something outside my own comfort zone, though. Exotica for me may be a sonnet!

 

[PatCarrington]

Thank you. I'm glad one of us had the energy to point this out. I thought it, but I'm too stupified with heat and humidity to follow through on my thoughts today.

he's a natural.

i'm not sure if he knows it yet...

...do you, fly?

 

[flyguy69]

he's a natural.

i'm not sure if he knows it yet...

...do you, fly?

I am not au naturale: I quite clearly still have my pants on!



Thank you both, though, for the compliment!

 

[CharleyH]

I promised her I wouldn't tell. hahahahahaha

Isn't this fun Charley? We'll create a fun scandal.

(Lauren will be buzzing me on Yahoo any minute now. LOL!)

I have always dreamed of being in the Enquirer along with .... Prince Charles and .... UFO's?