Draft
anonymous
i.
There is a colour that lies between blue and green.
(I am hesitant to give it a name;
naming things always imbues them with an unnecessary and problematic permanence)
My mother would call it green, I would call it blue.
In truth, perhaps it is neither. By which I mean, perhaps it is not a name.
In truth, I cannot describe it in words.
In truth, a photograph would be better
Let’s call it, for the sake of argument, green.
ii.
Virginia Woolf wrote, ‘the blue sea was bluer than ever’
‘bluer than ever’ in the sense that the sea
was more blue than it had ever been before,
‘bluer than ever’.
Or is it bluer than ever
as if ever is a thing that is blue
and it’s the bluest thing you’ve ever seen
until you see the sea that she sees
until you read her words,
the blue words,
until you feel blue in the same way she did
and then you know what it means to be blue.
iii.
Now when I told you to call it green arbitrarily
did you think of the green of your mother’s scarf,
the one she wears to welcome in the Spring?
Or did you think of the frosted grass in winter?
Maybe of your houseplants which stay alive so easily;
perhaps you think of envy, now?
But what about the slice of lime in your gin and tonic,
what about the bottle of Gordon’s? What about the absinthe,
the vomit, the first-aid kit, the paramedics? The monsters
under your bed that frightened you as a little girl?
iv.
Do you know why she never liked James Joyce?
It is because when she saw green she called it ‘the colour
of pea soup’ and wove it into cashmere,
knitted a cardigan,
draped it over the shoulders of Mrs Ramsay to keep her warm;
he saw the same colour and called it snotgreen
aaaatttttttccccccchhhhhoooooo!
(it’s all those fetishised compounds that set him off)
right out of Shakespeare’s nostrils, smeared
all over his hanky, sniffed,
licked -
but then
spat out into the sea, the blue sea that is bluer than ever
the snotgreen sea . . . the scrotumtightening sea . . .
There is a colour that lies between blue and green.
(I am hesitant to give it a name;
naming things always imbues them with an unnecessary and problematic permanence)
My mother would call it green, I would call it blue.
In truth, perhaps it is neither. By which I mean, perhaps it is not a name.
In truth, I cannot describe it in words.
In truth, a photograph would be better
Let’s call it, for the sake of argument, green.
ii.
Virginia Woolf wrote, ‘the blue sea was bluer than ever’
‘bluer than ever’ in the sense that the sea
was more blue than it had ever been before,
‘bluer than ever’.
Or is it bluer than ever
as if ever is a thing that is blue
and it’s the bluest thing you’ve ever seen
until you see the sea that she sees
until you read her words,
the blue words,
until you feel blue in the same way she did
and then you know what it means to be blue.
iii.
Now when I told you to call it green arbitrarily
did you think of the green of your mother’s scarf,
the one she wears to welcome in the Spring?
Or did you think of the frosted grass in winter?
Maybe of your houseplants which stay alive so easily;
perhaps you think of envy, now?
But what about the slice of lime in your gin and tonic,
what about the bottle of Gordon’s? What about the absinthe,
the vomit, the first-aid kit, the paramedics? The monsters
under your bed that frightened you as a little girl?
iv.
Do you know why she never liked James Joyce?
It is because when she saw green she called it ‘the colour
of pea soup’ and wove it into cashmere,
knitted a cardigan,
draped it over the shoulders of Mrs Ramsay to keep her warm;
he saw the same colour and called it snotgreen
aaaatttttttccccccchhhhhoooooo!
(it’s all those fetishised compounds that set him off)
right out of Shakespeare’s nostrils, smeared
all over his hanky, sniffed,
licked -
but then
spat out into the sea, the blue sea that is bluer than ever
the snotgreen sea . . . the scrotumtightening sea . . .
INTERLUDE
I wear red lipstick every day
because it makes me feel capable -
if I can fill my lips neatly with colour,
I can probably do lots of other things.
I wear red lipstick every day
because it stops me from eating too much
and encourages me to drink water,
I’ve heard that’s what you have to do to get clear skin,
I like the mark it leaves on the edge of the glass,
looks like I thought you had to kiss the water to drink it.
I’m not Narcissus, I promise;
it’s the clink of the ice cubes that turns me on,
they sound colder than ever.
L’indomable:
my favourite shade
a present from my mother for my eighteenth birthday
“it’s always worth paying for good make-up” I remember she told me,
not exactly the adult wisdom I was hoping to receive that day.
I wear it to the ballet class full
of old ladies wearing little girls’ clothes
and I sneer at them,
but I wear red lipstick
because I like the way it matches my leotard
and the studio’s walls are made of mirror.
It means the indomitable.
Those expensive names - perhaps there was a truth in what she said.
Of persons, etc: That cannot be overcome or subdued by labour, difficulties, or opposition;
unyielding; stubbornly persistent or resolute. Usually approbative.
Usually.
I wear red lipstick every day
because it makes me feel capable -
if I can fill my lips neatly with colour,
I can probably do lots of other things.
I wear red lipstick every day
because it stops me from eating too much
and encourages me to drink water,
I’ve heard that’s what you have to do to get clear skin,
I like the mark it leaves on the edge of the glass,
looks like I thought you had to kiss the water to drink it.
I’m not Narcissus, I promise;
it’s the clink of the ice cubes that turns me on,
they sound colder than ever.
L’indomable:
my favourite shade
a present from my mother for my eighteenth birthday
“it’s always worth paying for good make-up” I remember she told me,
not exactly the adult wisdom I was hoping to receive that day.
I wear it to the ballet class full
of old ladies wearing little girls’ clothes
and I sneer at them,
but I wear red lipstick
because I like the way it matches my leotard
and the studio’s walls are made of mirror.
It means the indomitable.
Those expensive names - perhaps there was a truth in what she said.
Of persons, etc: That cannot be overcome or subdued by labour, difficulties, or opposition;
unyielding; stubbornly persistent or resolute. Usually approbative.
Usually.
v: in which I imagine that my mother and I do not share the parameters of vision
All the Sirens sound the same
Limits of the diaphane
Image in the windowpane
nice and glassy.
and what of fairytales?
Afternoons at school rails
my attempt at makeup fails
to look classy.
vi: in which I imagine that my mother and I do not share the parameters of language
will you let me pick the flowers, mum?
what flowers?
will you let me pick the hollyhocks?
(she sees the hollyhocks)
yes, dear
(she picks the hollyhocks,
they are taller than her by a long way,
possibly even double her height)
what on earth would you do a thing like that for,
naughty girl, silly girl,
those were the best flowers in the garden,
they were doing so well in the shade from the wall,
they were growing so tall, oh ever so tall
and what of fairytales?
All the Sirens sound the same
Limits of the diaphane
Image in the windowpane
nice and glassy.
and what of fairytales?
Afternoons at school rails
my attempt at makeup fails
to look classy.
vi: in which I imagine that my mother and I do not share the parameters of language
will you let me pick the flowers, mum?
what flowers?
will you let me pick the hollyhocks?
(she sees the hollyhocks)
yes, dear
(she picks the hollyhocks,
they are taller than her by a long way,
possibly even double her height)
what on earth would you do a thing like that for,
naughty girl, silly girl,
those were the best flowers in the garden,
they were doing so well in the shade from the wall,
they were growing so tall, oh ever so tall
and what of fairytales?