Jane Eaton Hamilton

"I cannot and will not cut my conscience to fit this year’s fashions.” – Lillian Hellman

Tag: On Love

“Alice began to undress the past.”

Here, then, from 2011, Jeanette Winterson peeking in at the cows between Gertrude and Alice. How, precisely, did Gertrude bring Alice to her bovine pleasures? Did Gertrude, too, have cows, whether self-administered or Alice-administered? From what acts did cows materialize? How often did they find each other? Did sex wane over the years as Gertrude took lovers?

I traveled to Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris and after I had run my palm over the red kisses on Oscar Wilde’s grave I strolled around the corner to Gertrude’s grave, which seemed immense. I thought about fat corpses needing fat coffins needing wide graves, and I thought about how small the eventual skeleton would be underneath. I thought that when Alice, years later, was interred and recognized on the back of Gertrude’s gravestone, she could easily have fit, by then, into Gertrude’s box, with Gertrude, there to produce bubbles of heavenly cows for the rest of eternity.

Granta

This what we get killed for

My heart chokes for all the victims, survivors and loved ones of the Orlando executions. We hold you in our queer hearts. Always. All ways.

Excerpt from my 1998 poetry chapbook, Going Santa Fe, which won the League of Canadian Poets Poetry Chapbook Award judged by bill bissett.

62)

 

Tell me something about lesbians

 

We are famous for potlucks

 

Tell me something real

 

I am trying to tell you

she and I are the same thing

 

I am trying

to tell you I am a woman

she is a woman

the same thing

as you, just

two people uniting

netting love from the

marine heavens

 

We comfort each other

when the sky churns like a cauldron

grey foam

 

Wouldn’t you wish this pleasure

on anyone?

 

63)

 

The truth is I grew the

tub of nodding sunflowers

And the bowl of chicken

on the harvest table? I cooked

And the quilt you lie on? I sewed it

And the book in your hands? I wrote it

And the baby’s cheek? I kissed it

 

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Ursula K Le Guin

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“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, THE LATHE OF HEAVEN

“To Write, Stop Thinking”

typewriterJEH

An article on writing by Kathryn Harrison, author of “The Kiss,” at the Atlantic. Here is where we go to succumb.

To Write, Stop Thinking

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