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Poems with Anais Nin

by seanfarragher 

Posted: 15 April 2005
Word Count: 337
Summary: Diary Inspired by Anais Nin's Fiction
Related Works: “Facts Are Stubborn Things” -- Revised 3 • Books from the Bible • Broken Photographs, Dutch Art and Time Machines • Hurrah, Hooray, Huzzah • Modern Man Discovers Dark Matter • No Milk and Cookies • Stations of the Cross • Tsunami 12/26/2004 • Wonderful History -- • 

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Letters with Anais Nin

“She took off her dress. She had long black hair, a pale face, slanted
green eyes, greener than the sea. She was beautifully formed, with high
breasts, long legs, a stylized body. She knew how to swim better than any
other woman on the island. She slid into the water and began her long easy
strokes towards Evelyn.”

Anaïs Nin, Mallorca

Letter from Anais Nin To Sean

Every stroke is like the foundation
of Adam you pound and twist.
Make your cock shift from inner
to outer space. That way when you lift
you are not empty, while the air
above your sex has a crisp outline
--movements down inner thigh
easy to sway, a lilt almost, dark
reservoir where you are satisfied
before it happens, as you wait
anticipating that several blink.

Letter from Sean to Anais

When i kiss, my lips are tender and nibble
and my breath sweet can be heard in
that autumn forest as a river runs
down your spine; you are a mouth that licks
the back of my hand nibbling on my fingers
while I find the crease of your vulva
and liberate the edges. You're a lovely,
fertile reef where impossible swans
hold my cock within the fireworks
spoken as light storms remember
the reflected grace of your mouth
and eyes when we stare into that abyss
that never stops so wonderful sex
rides our back to an ancient sea
forgotten when the tide pools break.

2. Anais

She had long black hair and when she spoke
the hair covered her eyes, and you cleared them
by brushing the strands back, slipping your ideal
into her mouth, her long legs drawn against your
anticipation of some deep distress when you finish
later, a great shark of a ship hunting the strokes,
spliting the pearl clam open with your
simple breathing foaming hurricanes,
when they reach half-way suddenly still --
the anchor falls through the splash
raging down our street released
to an undetermined depth.


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Comments by other Members

laurafraser at 15:32 on 16 April 2005  Report this post
anais would have been proud Sean,

(well as far as i can assume something like that!)

and oh how lovely to read poems about my faveourite female writer, (actually i think one of the few women writers, whom i truly admire and whose work and every page I adore and find intoxicating).

Miller too would no doubt have loved these poems as well, how could he not, when a word he used most often, "cock" is scattered throughout. Yet these poems do not have his sense of the vulgar, you, i think, are after some kind of ideal here, that feeling one has after lovemaking, that everyting is duey soft. Miller was harsh with words, he'd spit them out with ferocity, here you are tender with them, you play with them and produce effects that ripple. It is as if your finger is rythmically disturbing some calm waters whose ripples produce these startling and at times stnning images:

"my breath sweet can be heard in
that autumn forest as a river runs
down your spine;"

"You're a lovely,
fertile reef where impossible swans"

etc etc.

Actually reading these again, the word "cock' seems to rattle slightly, as if it does not quite fit, but I think that might be a feminine reaction to a poem that seems to speak with such masculine poetic romance. So that word is either perfect, becasue it does resonate of sex and is such a direct and to many a confrontational word. Or it is wrong, because I think with your imagination you could probably create a word, or image that blends more...
oh i don't know, i have rambled and now quite lost as to how to make my point.

Suffice to say you have captured the eroticism of Nin sublimely.


seanfarragher at 20:40 on 16 April 2005  Report this post
Thank You for the compliments and praise. I posted the poems here rather than seminar where they think I am a sex maniac from my Byzantium. I do feel tender, and not rough like Henry towards Anais of her unexpuragated Diaries. She had a marvelous life and a painful life. Henry Miller was lost somewhere in her love for June. Anais's erotica led me to believe that only women can write it, or a man who tries to be a woman, and at the same time is very much the straight non-sexist, homophile. I wrestled with the word cunt more. When it is used to objectify women as "You cunt!!" that is not the worship of the Irish word for it, Gig. Sheelanagig.... one word for woman in Irish
shows how precrhristian Irish worshipped the Gig as a sacred symbol of the earth and procreation. When the Christians came they destroyed the gig sculptures that adorned the entry portals of the pre Christian dwellings.


Let's write letters to each other as our favorite literary character. This is an exercise I do at zoetrope.

Create a character. I would prefer it to be female, but it could be male, but if it were male, I would create mine female to encourage relationship (not necessiarly sexual).

Are you game. Do it in email with me. I could be an unknown man in Anais's life. And you could be an unknown UK friend of Anais in Paris in 1931. Am I pushing you too hard to correspond .... I have this image in mind of you as a proper English woman who is breaking down boundaries. You are upper middle class (Professionals) perhaps married, but no children. farragher@comcast.net

Thanks for your read and support


Beanie Baby at 22:06 on 18 April 2005  Report this post

I don't know why - it just is - all that moistness, that fluidity. The words themselves are beautiful -

You're a lovely,fertile reef ...


spoken as light storms remember
the reflected grace of your mouth

You are a brilliant poet, Sean. I don't always understand your work (if I'm honest) but I always love reading it.

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