. finifT~R wifDom' 9
A Journal of Words and Pictures for the Lesbian
Imagination in All WomenSPRING 1979
Editors: Harriet Desmoines & Catherine Nicholson
Poetry Editor : Susan Leigh Star
Contributing Editors: Sarah Hoagland , Beth Hodges,
Mab Segrest
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Morgan Grey , Pat Halama , A. Murray,
Vicki Nogle , Julia Penelope, Donna
Saunders , Mary Young

Cover photograph by Debbie Alicen
Printed by Iowa City Women 's Press

Copyright © Sinister Wisdom, 1979. All righ ts reserved to individual auth ors and artists.
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Address: SINISTER WISDOM , Box 30541, Lincoln, Nebraska 68503

CONTENTS"In America They Call Us Dykes" JR Roberts"Thirteenth Moon" ; "Mallia" Jacqueline Lapidus"Lesbian Origins Sex Theory" Susan CavinLESBIAN LITERATURE AND CRITICISM"There Goes the Revolution ... "Harriet Desmoines"Melancholia, and Why It Feels Good" Bertha Harris"Lesbian Literature and Criticism" Irena Klepfisz

LESBIAN LIVES
Photograph Barbara H. Bradford"Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life"
Portraits J. Z. Grover"Unit 18" Linda Marie" A Peck from a Peck"; "Sham""Leftovers"
Becky Birtha

212, 13
14

20
24
27
31

Jan Clausen

Stephanie Byrd

"The Woman Who Lives with Owls" photograph by Tee Corinne
poem by Martha Courtot"the box" Pearl Time'sChild"A Meeting of the Sapphic Daughters" Ann Allen Shockley"Nun in the Library Basement" Maxine Kent Valian32
39 , 40
41
44
45
48

50
54
60

ERASURE,VIOLENCE" Anonymity and the Denial of the Self'
Graphic Cheryl Swannack
Untitled Fragment Arlene Raven

Michelle Cliff

62
72

73
"Scrambled Eggs 3 : Women and Violence " Melanie Kaye
75
"Suttee" Mary Ann Daly
80
"Blessed Be" M. Kathryn Missett
81"for kate-violence reviewed" Marybeth Witt
84''War'' ; untitled poem Linda McDonnell
85,86"Night Lover" Janice Maiman
88
Review of Maureen Brady's Give Me Your Good Ear H. Desmoines 89"Crank Squeak Cough " Kimi Reith
91
Review of Moment by Moment Kathryn Wetzel
Bonnie Zimmerman
Review of Miss Marks and Miss Woolley" A-Mazing Wordsearch" Julia Penelope

959g

dyl~ere - searc.l,- photo from the collection of the
LESBIAN HERSTORY ARCHIVES2

JR Roberts

IN AMERICA THEY CALL US DYKES:NOTES ON THE ETYMOLOGY AND USAGE OF "DYKE"

The women-loving womenin America were called dykes
and some liked it
and some did not . ..
Judy Grahn, from "A History of Lesbianism"

In Sinister Wisdom 6, five Lesbians spoke intensely and articulately concerning the silences in our lives and how patriarchal language has been usedagainst us, how the fears of vulnerability and censure check our tongues,
rendering us powerless, isolated , and invisible . How the power to name is thepower to be. Lesbians have long been the object of vicious "name-calling"
designed to shut us up, make us shrivel and slink away. Dyke is one of thewords that has been negatively and violently flung at us for more than ahalf century . In the Lesbian/Feminist 1970s, we broke the silence on thistabooed word, reclaiming it for ourselves , assigning to it positive, politicalvalues. The reclamation of dyke has also necessarily involved an historical/
etymological search for its origins. Our generation of Lesbians has been stymied, mystified, and intensely curious as to how and why we have come tocall ourselves dykes.
The term appears to have originated in the United States. Although dyke
is used in England, the terms lesbian, Sapphist, and butch have been traditional
there (Partridge 1968). In the United States, dyke is a cross-cultural termfound in both Anglo-American and African-American slang. In African-American slang, dyke, as it stands alone, does not seem to have been in widespread
use as of 1970, but more commonly appeared in combination with bull toform bull-dyke, signifying an "aggressive female homosexual," bull-dagger,boon-<iagger, and bull-diker being variations. Bull was/is used in Black culture
to indicate Lesbian (Major 1970; Berry '1972).*
The earliest known references using dyke or dike (an earlier? spelling nolonger in wide usage today) to describe "masculine" Lesbians, or Lesbians
generally, date to circa 1920s·1930s, indicating at least a half century ofusage.t Partridge indicates that dike denotes a "female homosexual" and*Bull was a tabooed word circa early twentieth century, not to be used in mixed
company, s~gnifying "th~ male of the species," Less offensive terms like "top cow" were
often substituted. Bull bach was a rural term applied to "masculine" women (Wentworth
1944; Wentworth and Flexner 1975).
tEarlier, at the turn of the century, dy ke was one of many slang terms denoting thevulva (Farmer and Henley 1890-1904 : 338).
3

that the term comes from the combination bull-dike (Partridge 1968), which
was used among Black people as early as circa 1920s-1930s (AC/DC Blues
1977). Godfrey Irwin, a compiler of tramp aild underworld slang, likewise
supports this definition of bull-dike in a letter to Partridge dated September
18 , 1937. During the thirties, bull-dike was also being used among prison
inmates at Sing Sing to indicate a woman who practiced oral sex on men(Haragan 1935, as quoted by Partridge 1968). It is interesting that the homosexual bull-dike and the heterosexual bull-dike were both associated with
so-called "unnatural" and socially unapproved sexual behaviors . This is oneof many connections existing between homosexual slang, heterosexual slang,
and woman-hating slang.* By the 1940s we fmd dike or dyke listed in slang
dictionaries to indicate "masculine woman," being synonymous with otherwo"rds signifying "Lesbian" (Berrey & Van Den Bark 1942 , 1947).
In the pre-Liberation forties , fifties , and sixties, "Lesbian slang" was often
role-related. Dyke/dike and butch were used to signify "masculine" Lesbians
who wore "men's clothing" (Stanley , June 24 , 1977; Aldrich 1955 :54) .
"Feminine" Lesbians were femmes or flUffs (Vice Versa 1:6, November 1947).
Among Midwest Black Lesbians the words stud and fish were used respectively (Sawyer 1965). Special terms indicating varying degrees of "mannishness" were formed by adding prefixes, for example : bull-dyke, diesel dyke,
stompin ' diesel dyke. As Lesbian linguist Julia Stanley indicates , dyke in our
own time , the Lesbian/Feminist seventies, has undergone a change in meaningfrom a once pejorative term to a politically charged definition. This has
occurred within the liberation movements of Lesbians and gays. "To be adyke or a faggot," writes Julia , "refers to one 's political identity as a gay
activist . .. but redefming old terms that have been pejoratives for so longis not an easy process, nor is it something that takes place overnight. Among
women , new definitions are being made among usages of old terms. As we
redefme the old pejorative labels making them our own, what we choose tocall ourselves also takes on political meaning , defming one's political position"(Stanley 1974:390-391).
The personal is political. The personal is also historical. On many levels
we Lesbians today have experienced historical/political transformations.
Sometimes it is possible to recall an exact time and place where transformations occurred. Although I don't ever recall having used the word dykein the old pejorative sense, I do remember when I first began using dyke ina liberated sense. It was late 1973 ; I had just "come out" via the Lesbian/Feminist Movement. During a conversation with an older Lesbian friend who
had come out years earlier without the aid of a movement , I referred to thetwo of us as dykes . Her reaction was equivalent to "Hey, wait a minute!
Watch yer mouth!", as if I had uttered some terrible obscenity . She thenproceeded to enlighten me as to the older, negative meaning . But , I said , I
don't see it that way at all. To me dyke is positive; it means a strong, independent Lesbian who can take care of herself. As I continued with the movement, dyke took on even stronger political implications than "activist." Itsignified woman-identified culture , identity , pride and strength - women,*See "Sexist Slang and the Gay Community : Are You One, Too?" by Julia Stanley
and Susan W. Robbin s. Available from 1. Stanley , Department of English, University of
Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln , Nebraska 68588.
4alone and together, who live consciously and deliberately autonomous lives ,no longer seeking definitions or approvals according to male values. Soon
my older friend also began identifying positively with the word dyke .
Exercising this new power of self-definition , we now have a variety ofnames and definitions with which to describe our many political selves . Our
Lesbian lifestyle is very diverse, and our use of language and choice of names
and definitions reflect our many c)Jltural , racial, ethnic , class, regional, andpolitical backgrounds , as well as our generational perspectives . Today thestraight world continues to use dyke in the old pejorative sense. There are anumber of Lesbians who do also , and are repulsed by it. These Lesbians may
not have been exposed to the current movement, or, being concerned with
their status and survival in the straight world , they may reject the term as
harmful. There is also a segment of the Lesbian population which grew up ,came out , and participated in the earlier Lesbian culture before 1970 who
retain the negative definition they have always known . So the definition ofdyke has changed only for some Lesbians , not for all.
There are some questions to be wondered about. If dyke has different
definitions today, is it possible that there were different definitions in earlier
times? Did all Lesbians before the 1970s generally define dyke negatively?
Was it such a distasteful term , or were there those Lesbians who felt a senseof pride at being labeled dyke? What did it mean to them? Where did theAmerican tradition of the "mannish" Lesbian as dike/dyke come from?
The term dike or dyke had probably been around to some extent before
the 1930s-1940s when it first began to be documented in slang dictionaries.
Slang terms often originate among special groups , some of which are "outcasts" of mainstream society whose members feel alienated from the valuesof the dominant culture. Such groupings may be based on age , race, ethnic,
or class background. Among such groups have been the younger generation,
Blacks, hoboes, criminals, street people , artists and writers, gays and Lesbians.
The creation of new words and new definitions for old words serves a socialand political purpose : it may constitute an act of power and rebellion for
those who feel and are powerless ; or it may provide a sense of validationand identity denied by the dominant culture , thus becoming a source ofsocial/cultural cohesion and pride - a language of one's own. A new language
helps to articulate a new society . Some slang terms may even be adopted
by the dominant culture , eventually becoming "Standard English," or they
may fall into disuse or remain the linguistic property of the special group.
Slang terms may be collected and listed in published lexicons, dictionaries ,and thesauri. Defmitions may change with time. These are slow , complicatedevolutions influenced by social , economic, political , and intellectual ideas
and events in the dominant culture and among those outcast groups.
Currently, there are several theories concerning the etymology of dyke ordike , which are threaded together by the androgynous concept of the "manlywoman." Several have to do with ancient Greek legends. Poet Elsa Gidlow
raises the possibility that the word dyke may have had its origins in the
Greek word dike, that is Athene , the "manly-woman " who is the principleof total order (Stanley , June 24, 1977). There is also the related Flexner andWentworth (1975) hypothesis that dike probably came from hermaphrodite ,5Pair of New York Times
cartoons shows Mary Walker
being grabbed by a cop for
wearing trousers ...

. . . while less "modest"hoopskirted women
go free.

"Wear my clothes just like a man . ..
Went out last night / with a crowdo my friends / them upstairs womens /cause I don't like no mens / it'strue I wear a collar and a tie .. .
they sho got to prove it on me."- Ma Rainey, "Prove It on Me Blues" (1928)6

the -dite being "clipped" off and later evolving into dike, due to a regional(Coney Island??) mispronunciation. Cordova adds support to this hypothesis
when she reports conversations with older Lesbians who indicate the folk belief that the root word of dyke was once hermaphrodite, with its origins in
the Greek myth of Hermes and Aphrodite who join to create the androgynous
creature (Cordova 1974:22). Of the -dite to dike theory, Julia Stanley comments: "For reasons of my own, I've never bought the -dite to dike explanation, primarily because /t/ hardly ever becomes /k/ in natural languages. I'm
not saying it's impossible, especially in an unstressed syllable, where an alveolar might be heard as a velar, just that it's unlikely" (Stanley, June 24, 1977).
My own recent research has turned up an interesting, but never before
cited, usage of dike dating from late nineteenth and early twentieth century
America, representing another possible , and perhaps more viable , origin, basedin the social customs of the people rather than in classical allusion. Both
Schele de Vere (1871) and Clapin (1902) in their compilations of Americanisms indicate dike as denoting a man in full dress, or merely the set of maleclothing itself. Schele de Vere says this is a "peculiar American cant term,
as yet unexplained." Clapin, however, indicates that dike likely resulted fromthe corruption of the Old English dight (Anglo-Saxon origin). Dight meant
to dress, clothe; to adorn , deck oneself (Johnson, 2nd ed., 1827). In listing
dike, Mathews (1951) indicates a possible connection between dight and theEnglish dialect dick, both of which meant "to deck or adorn." By 1856
dight was cited by Hall as being nearly obsolete in the United States, while
diked and diked out were in use . The word dike probably came to America
with the English at the time of colonization, but once in America otherusages may have developed . Both Clapin and Schele de Vere indicate thatdike was not only used as a verb , but also as a noun to describe a person ofeither sex who was all dressed up . However, dike as a person or as a set ofclothing most often referred to the male sex.
There is growing evidence that during this same time period a number ofwomen in both the United States and Europe were adopting male attire, both
permanently and on occasion. Katz has called some of these women "Passing
Women" (Katz 1976: Ch. 3). These women dressed, lived , voted, worked literally "passed"-as men in the mainstream culture. Some were of the middle
and upper classes , or were artists. Others were independent , working classwomen who took on the guise of men in order to survive in a world where
women had few options. As "men," these women , some of whom were Lesbians , married other women and raised families. They could live and enjoy
their lives with women and still participate in the greater opportunities and. privileges awarded to men. This choice was often based in explicit or covert
feminism . When discovered , however , these women were often punished bysociety- arrested, fined, imprisoned , exposed , and forbidden to wear maleclothing. Sometimes the contemporary media picked up on the appearancesof these "she-men ," and a number of rather sensational articles appeared.
accompanied by photographs and drawings. Some of these graphics which
are reproduced in Katz indicate women dressed in a "full set of male clothing" - from hat to suit , to cane or umbrella, watch fobs and chains. to vests
and shoes. Lesbians and other radical women - such as the feminist Mary C.
7

Walker, Harriet Hosmer, and Edmonia Lewis,
the Black/Native American sculptor-werealso dressing in much the same mannerin the United States and Europe, notespecially for the purpose of "passing" as men, but for the real and implied emotional, political, and social
freedoms inherent in the male costume.
This radical expression of emancipation (which has centuries of
tradition behind it) continued
well into the twentieth century and included both
women of color andwhite women.
It seems possible that in the American
culture where the term dike
denoted "the full set of maleclothing" or "a man in full dress,"
this term could also have been applied to women who dressed insuch clothing. Possibly these earlyradical women, dressing and passing in male clothing, both permanently
and on occasion, were in fact our first dike sisters in America.
Again, Julia Stanley, who feels that the above etymology for dyke is themost viable she has heard, comments: "Your proposed etymology doesn't
exclude the possibility that Wentworth and Flexner were correct in their
hypothesis. That is, you may have come up with the 'missing link' in thesemantic development of the word dyke , since it is stretching it a bit to relate it to the Germanic ditch" (Stanley, June 24,1977).
If my hypothesis is correct, it could further be proposed that the meaningof dike was changing during the time period from the late nineteenth century
to circa 1930s-1940s, that dike had begun passing from a predominantly
positive male and/or neutral meaning to a derogatory female slang term.
Linguistically, it may have gone through a process called "degeneration of
meaning." By the 1930s dike, preceded by the equally tabooed bull, hadbeen assigned sexual and derogatory meanings which could be applied bothto Lesbians and to heterosexual women practicing tabooed sexual behaviors.
By the 1940s-1950s-1960s the pejorative term dike/dyke was almost exclusively applied to "masculine" Lesbians, with other meanings becoming more
obscure, though not yet obsolete. Linguists have found that this "process ofdegeneration" is a pattern often occurring to words which make such a maleto female transition.
For this same period of possible linguistic change, there is growing evidence
indicating a general altering of attitudes toward women's relationships with
Sketch of Edmonia Lewis from Profiles of Negro Womanhood8each other.* Increasingly more negative aspects were being assigned to such
relationships in the twentieth century than had been assigned them in thenineteenth century. Medical and psychiatric science was labeling such relationships "unnatural," "degenerate," and "sick." All manner of "masculine"
characteristics of both a biological and psychological nature were attached
to Lesbian women , as well as to other women who "deviated" from traditional , "god -given," (male:..ctefined) " female roles." Speculating once again since words and their meanings are used to reinforce the values of a given
society, it may be that the linguistic change described above was related tothe social/political change concerning defiilitions of Lesbianism and female
sex roles. If a concept is assigned negative values , then the language used todescribe that concept will also assume negative meaning. The language becomes a vehicle by which the value is perpetuated. Thus dike , once used todescribe a well-dressed male , becomes a vulgar and hateful epithet to be
hurled at women who rebel against confining roles and dress styles.
It is interesting to note how our "new" radical 'iefinitions echo the " old"radical traditions as signified by the term dike/dyke. Betty Birdfish, a friend
in Chicago , wrote to me about a Lesbian dance to be held there, and how"wimmin are talking about 'dyking themselves up' for it." In my next letter,
I asked Betty exactly what that meant-"dyking ourselves up." She responded :About 'dyking ourselves up' : I think it can mean a whole lot of things.
In general , dressing up so one feels most beautiful, most proud of herself. I've seen that take many forms in the dyke community, at events.
For example, Allison with her hair in corn rows and beads , wearing African garb . Or Jogie with a tuxedo and panama hat. Or Beverly looking likea gypsy with loose-flowing clothes , jewelry , scarves and wearing scented
oil. Or wimrnin with tailored blazers and slacks and vests. Or even wirnrnin
with long-flowing ankle length skirts or dresses. Many interpretations.
Many expressions. For me 'dyking myself up' has been getting more definite in its expression lately . For the dance I wore a pair of high-waisted
black slacks, a white shirt with tie and pin , and a black satin , doublebreasted, padded-shouldered, very tailored , old jacket. I felt very strong
and beautiful in it. Before the dance, I had 'practiced' dyking myself up
in a more radical way: I put on a different long sleeve shirt with collar
and a silk tie that has wimrnin together painted on it. I put my hair up ina bun, very close to my head sq that it looked short, and put on a 'mannish' (I wish I had another word) straw hat. I looked like old-timey photos
of Lesbians who you know had longer hair, who put it up, dyked up insuits , waistcoats, or tuxedos . I liked the way I looked , but wasn't readyto go 'out' yet in full dyke array. So I modified it for the dance . For me,'dyking up' means the tailored suit: elegant, comfortable and strong. I
guess I don't see this wear as just a 'masculine ' privilege - but clothing thatwimmin/dykes can wear to feel good in. I think I'm no longer as afraidof feeling 'butchy': to work on my body , to develop muscles and strength,
to be more active physically (sports , karate, etc.), to move with moreforce, strength, confidence. I'm realizing how stifled I've been by society
which condemns this development in wimmin . And I realize how our own*See Carroll Smith Rosenberg , "Th e Femal e World of Love and Ritual : Relations Iktween Women in Nineteenth Century America," Si!(lls I : I (Autumn 1975) : 1-19 ; AIiL"eEchols, "The Demise of .Female Intimacy in the Nineteenth Century or There wasn · t a
Dyke in the Land,'" unpublished paper, n .d .. 34 pp.

dyke community continues to condemn it by labelling it 'butchy' andtherefore 'male-identified' and therefore wrong. I don't care anymore(in my head-but not yet in my gut) about all those condemnations-I
want to grow in ways I know I've always wanted to.
(Betty Birdfish, August 4, 1977)
For the Lesbian of yesteryear, getting "diked up" may have had the same
exhilarating, liberating, and fearful effects it has for contemporary Lesbians,
but even more so since few women at that time wore pants. To wear "maleclothing" before the advent of trousers for women and the so-called "unisex"
fashions of today, was indeed radical and revolutionary. It signified a rebellion against male-defined roles for women, which "women's clothing" symbolized and perpetuated by rendering women passive, dependent, confined,
and vulnerable. Yet this autonomous act of rebellion also made women vulnerable to punishment, ridicule, and ostracism.*Dike/dyke need not remain a vulgar epithet of self-hate, shame, andnegativism, a term signifying "masculine." This is the definition which aheterosexist, dyke-hating society has formulated and which many Lesbians
past and present have unquestioningly accepted. By defining some of us as"men" and some of us as ''women,'' society has sought to divide us, to create
inequality based on heterosexual roles, thereby defusing the political powerof women loving women , reducing it to a pseudo-heterosexuality which,according to their thinking, is both artificial and inferior to the "real thing."
Dike/dyke still remains a word hidden in history. But this new etymology
suggests the possibility of some quite radical origins. Rather than wincing
at the word dyke, we might better remember and commemorate those early
Lesbians and feminists who refused ''women's clothing" and "women's roles."They may have been our first dyke sisters.
*It should be noted that these vulnerabilities were not experienced by women only in~he nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. As late as 1968, Lesbians were being arrestedm Dallas and Houston, Texas for wearing "men's clothing." See: "Special Release to theLadder." The Ladder 13: 1/2 (October/November 1968):4041; "Who Can Tell Boys fromGirls." The Ladder 13: 1/2 (October/November 1968) :4142 .

SOURCES

AC/DC Blues: Gay Jazz Reissues, Vol. l. St-l06, Stash Records, Mattituck, New York,1977.
Aldrich, Ann. We Walk Alone. New York: Fawcett, 1955.
Berrey, Lester V. and Van den Bark, Melvin. American Thesaurus of Slang. New York:Thomas Y. Crowell, 1942, 1947.
.
Berry, Leonard J.Prison. N.p.: Subsistence Press, 1972.
Betty Birdfish (Alwin). Letter to JR Roberts. Chicago, Illinois (August 4,1977). Collection of JR Roberts.
Clapin, Sylva. A New Dictionary of Americanisms. New York: Louis Weiss, 1902.
Cordova, Jeanne. "What's in a Name?" Lesbian Tide (June 1974):21-22 .
Farmer, 1.S. and Henley , W.E. Slang and Its Analogues (J890-1904) . Reprinted ed. , New
York: Arno Press, 1970.
10

Hall, Benjamin H. A Collection of College Words and Customs. 2nd ed. Cambridge: John
Bartlett, 1856 (1851). Reprinted ed ., Detroit: Gale Research , 1968.
Hargan, James. "The Psychology of Prison Language." Journal of Abnormal and Social
Psychology 30 (1935):359-365. (Note: the "more unprintable expressions" such asbull-dike were omitted from the published list, but were available upon request to
those who were "especially in teres ted in the subject. ")Johnson , Samuel. A Dictionary of the English Language. 3 vols. 2nd ed. London: Longman , Rees, Orne, Brown, and Green et al., 1827.
Katz, Jonathan. Gay American History: Lesbians and Gay Men in the U.S.A . New York:Thomas Y. Crowell, 1976. Pb., Avon, 1978.
Major, Clarence. Dictionary of Afro·American Slang. New York : International Publishers,
1970.
Mathews, Mitford. A Dictionary of Americanisms on Historical Principles. 2 vols. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1951.
Partridge, Eric. A Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English. 7th ed. 1967; Supplement 1970. New York: MacMillan, 1970.
Partridge, Eric. A Dictionary of the Underworld. 3rd ed. London : Routledge and KeganPaul Ltd., 1968.
Schele de Vere, Maximillian. Americanisms: Th e English of the New World. New York:Charles Scribner and Co., 1872.
Stanley, Julia P. Letter to JR Roberts. Lincoln, Nebraska (June 24, 1977). Collection of
JR Roberts.
Stanley, Julia P. "When We Say 'Out of the Closets!'" College English (November 1974):
385-39l.
Sawyer, Ethel. "Study of a Public Lesbian Community." Masters Thesis, Washington
University. St. Louis, Missouri. 1965 .
Vice Versa 1:6 (November 1947) . (Includes discussion of role-related slang; examined by
Elizabeth Bouvier at the Homosexual Information Center Library, Hollywood, Calif.)
Wentworth, Harold. American Dialect Dictionary. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1944.
Wentworth, Harold and Flexner, Stuart B. Dictionary of American Slang. New York:Thomas Y. Crowell, 1975.

11

THIRTEENTH MOONimornings sallow as a sick childdays running damply one
into the other
Persephone
bitter as pomegranate
winds a woolen muffler round her throat
writes disillusioned lettersto her motherslowly the river
freezesradiators clank and whine
all over the city , sending up grimemarking wallswith secret messages

ii
Shetland ponies' velvet noses
snort tiny clouds into the afternoon
as pink-cheeked Atalanta comes racing
round the park
leaving dazed loiterers scattered in her wake
like wormy apples, looking
for Artemis
who ambles lanky in flannel pants
and padded coat, her quiver slungcarelessly over her shoulder
they kissexchange the latest gossip
then strip down to their karate gear
ready for a few swift kicks
iii
night gales send stragglers scurrying along the sidewalk
like dead leaves at the foot of someconcrete and steel Olympus
where colored lights blink their interminable code
where Hera reigns
behind her curtained face her courage flames
blood simmers in her womb
heavy as soup
spoonful by spoonful
she feeds the baby secrets

it was not Zeus who lived the cycle of transformations!
it was 1 who loved Leda - 10 - Danae!
the moon listens
ripensswellsexplodes with irrepressible laughter
as housewives drop their ladles , dustcloths, brooms
embracing each other in fragrant rooms
all over the ci ty-Jacqu eline /,apidus
12

MALLIAthe red earth is ready for planting
the mountains crouchingover the backbone of this island
for thousands and thousands of years
are tiredgrey and wrinkled in the August sun
with their muzzles between their paws
they will not growl at us
still we step warily
not touchingshading our eyes
the crickets suddenly silent
sheltered among banana trees
a donkey in foal nibbles dry grassthe island people say
only donkeys mate in May, and wehave been wise enough to wait
for our season
I am no lovesick Pasiphae
and you no god in rut disguisedlate rays light the field for us
stumbling in the furrows
holding our breath as if expecting
the ruins miraculously to become palaces
the labyrinth to wind itself
around us
why?
drawn
to each other again and again
as an archaeologist returns to a much-loved
landscapewe find only empty jars
questionsswarm unanswered in the air like gnats
climbing the coast road toward town
the sunset blinds us
you turnaway
this is not the place for my discoveries
what I came for was the planting the red earth
but hear in your body volcanoes rumbling
and the dull clank of spade on stone- Jacqueline Lapidus

13Susan CavinLESBIAN ORIGINS SEX RATIO THEORY

I am a Lesbian Feminist sociologist. This paper will challenge the heterosexismof patriscience because heterosexism is the major basis of male supremacy. By
patriscience, I mean the misogynist, male supremacist science which claims tobe objectively neutral, but is in fact sexist , racist, classist , ageist , and heterosexist. Patriscience equals modern male science of the seventeenth, eighteenth,nineteenth , and twentieth centuries (although its roots trace back to ancient
Greek patriarchy). While most patriscientists are male , some are female. These
are women, with little or no feminist consciousness, who identify more withthe privileges of their male colleagues than with the women's liberation movement 's critique of patriscience .
Heterosexism is an ideology of patriarchy which economically sanctifies
heterosexuality-especially procreative intercourse-as sacred and ordained byimaginary patriarchal gods, as the only normal purpose of sex, while at thesame time criminalizing homosexuality as a perversion , a sickness, an abnormality , or as a crime . Heterosexism is still dominant ideology in the Americansocial sciences reflecting American society , which is extremely homophobic.
A heterosexist social system is a stratification system which gives straightpeople privileges, social status, economic incentives and rewards to be exclusively heterosexual by taking away the civil rights and social status of lesbians
and gay men .
Heterosexist attitudes include the assumption that lesbians do not reallyexist , that heterosexuals are the only people in the world. Heterosexism isalso the Weltanschauung which assumes that butch-femme role play is biologically determined, nll-tural, and normal-as if butch and femme are the only
sex roles women and men know how to play. Heterosexism is the intersectionof the economy and ideology of male supremacy with heterosexual supremacy.
Now I will examine three sex variables-societal sex ratios, female sexuality,
and sex segregation- in relation to the three related problems of the origin ofhuman society, the origin of women 's oppression , and theory of women 's
liberation. I begin first with sex theory of origin , then present a theory on
the origin of women's oppression, then I will present cross-cultural sex data
to support these theories, and return to theory of women's liberation in theend .
Social Origin: I begin with the theory that the origin of human society is
characterized by: high female-low male societal sex ratios in the adult or total
population or both; incest; year round homosex segregation, excepting heterosex mating intervals; and a year round prevalence of female asex, homosex,
and bisex compared to the relative infrequency of exclusive heterosex.
This suggests that early human social organization closely resembles thesocial organization of the predominantly female primate herd. I submit thatsocial relations between adult females form the basis for primate social organization, both human and non-human, as the mother-daughter unit is the original
and continuing base of the primate family.
14

The majority of males born into early human society are segregated outside
the perimeters of the female community at adolescence , whereas the majorityof females born live inside the community of origin. Thus, the prevalence ofhomosexuality I posit occurs in two separate places in relation to the community of origin . Lesbianism occurs within the perimeters of the female community, while male homosexuality is a prevalent feature of male life outside·the female community.
An important point here is that from the beginning, female society isequivalent to society itself. That is, society is always at core gynosociety.
Female homosocial relations are critical to the formation and maintenanceof the family, community, and society. Due to both sexism and heterosexism,
patrisociologists generally miss this point and falsely assume that society is
sex neutral.
While exclusive heterosexuality may be present at origin, as I would expect
all sexuality modes are, exclusive heterosexuality is not the numerical, original
norm for the entire socio-sexual world of non-human and human primates.
Female sexuality inside original society may be asexuaI, lesbian , or bisexual
year round. Heterosexuality is practiced for reproductive purposes only.
No one to date has adequately answered the human sexuality question oforigin, as to which came first: asexuality, bisexuality, homosexuality , or heterosexuality? Patriscientists who claim heterosexist origins, i.e., those who assume
that no lesbians, gay men, bisexuals, or asexuals exist originally and insist that
only exclusive heterosexuals populate the original world, are in no empirical
position to substantiate their heterosexist ideology.
Patriscientists have never produced a shred of evidence to prove that lesbians
are not present at social origin . It is my position that patriscientists must provetheir assumption that all prehistoric dead women are exclusively heterosexual
before they can correctly conclude that no lesbian , asexual, or bisexual females
exist in early society. These heterosexist generalizations cannot be proved regarding living women in present society, much less the dead of prehistory. Yet
heterosexists still function under the impression that the burden of proof ison lesbians to prove lesbian existence, when they have yet to establish theveracity of their assumption that all historical and prehistorical women are
straight. Later in the paper, however, I will present brief empirical evidenceof lesbianism among several hunting and gathering societies and lesbianism
across all observed non-human primate and mammalian society, which strongly
suggests that lesbianism probably obtains at origin since , in the social sciences,the literatures on gatherer-hunters and non-human living primates are widelyused as methodological tools in the reconstruction of early prehistoric humansociety.
Perhaps the most interesting point to be grasped in any theory of sex andsociety is that until the actual incidence of lesbianism , celibacy, bisexuality ,and male homosexuality is known, the actual incidence of heterosexuality remains unknown. This applies to either prehistoric or historic society . Heterosexist patriscientists seem to miss this point entirely, by omitting or underreporting lesbian and gay phenomena.
But the total sexuality per society is equal to the sum of these four relative
frequencies of: homosexuality, asexuality, bisexuality , and heterosexuality.
Obviously , the value of heterosex cannot be solved without knowing the othervalues since each is only a ratio of total societal sexuality . In other words,
15

sociologists will never know how many straight people there are in society
until they know how many lesbians , gays , asexuals, and bisexuals there arein society .
Now to conclude this section on social origin , I will reiterate the major
theory that the origin of human society is characterized by: high female-low
male societal sex ratios; incest ; year round homosex segregation, except heterosex mating intervals; and a year round prevalence of female asex, homosex,
and bisex compared to the relative infrequency of exclusive heterosex.
Patriarchal transition, the beginning of women's oppression, is characterized
by : (I) a mass societal shift from the original, prehistoric high female-low
male sex ratios to the historic high male-low female sex ratios of patriarchaltransition and early patriarchy, then later to the near equal sex ratios ofestablished and late patriarchy , which is accomplished by (2) gynocide andfemale infanticide , (3) by decreasing female-increasing male social space throughthe mass heterosex integration of all adolescent and adult males into femalesociety , (4) causing chronic rape, i.e. , forced female heterosex, (5) whichmarks the start of the male "energy-capture " of female sexuality and , thus ,reproduction. The mass heterosexualization of women simultaneously begins
the persecution of non-heterosexual women, i.e., lesbians, spinsters, celibates,
as well as non-monogamous heterosexual women such as prostitutes, and socalled "frigid" heterosexual women.
These are major sexual conditions which precede the institutionalizationof the economic oppressions of women which Engels describes in Origin. Further research into more sex variables may yield other sexual preconditions
for the establishment of the oppressions of women. More research into therole heterosex incest plays in the development of the patriarchal family should
prove extremely relevant to the origin of women's oppression.
I suggest that the first enduring heterosex relationship is the mother-son
relation, followed by the sister-brother relation . Patriarchal biologic maintains
that the husband creates the father who then creates the son. My sociologic
reverses this s(;!quence; I suggest that the son is the first male to reside withmother as lover. The son becomes the first residential and social father who
creates the role of the residential husband.
The incest taboo may have effected patriarchal transition in that the ban
on mother-son and brother-sister sex alters social organization in at least two
ways: (1) the incest taboo may cause the entrance of male strangers into
female society, which had previously allowed only select adult male kin inpositions of close physical proximity to females; and (2) if previously sonsand brothers were selected as fathers and are then replaced by male strangers,
both the biological and social power of brothers and sons is usurped-thus
oedipal jealousy may have a biological basis, rather than just being a mythicalor psychological drama .
I theorize that the reason why a woman's brother is regarded as the social
father of her children in matrilineal societies still extant in late patriarchy is
due to the brother's prior biological paternity of his sister's children in earlier
matrilineal systems.
Up until this point, everything I've said is purely theoretical. It is impossible
for me to empirically prove all the theories just presented , especially in the16

five minutes left this speech. However, I will now briefly build an empirical·
case to support two of my major theories regarding the origin of human society.t
The two sex hypotheses I will empirically support now are : (1) that theorigin of society is characterized by high' female-low male sex ratios; and (2)that lesbianism obtains at social origin.
Consider sex ratios first. Using ninety-two total population societal sex
ratios drawn from the Human Relations Area Files at City University in New
York in May 1978, I found that sixty-two percent of these societies have nearequal sex ratios, twenty-four percent have high female-low male sex ratios,
and fourteen percent have high male-low female sex ratios.
I also checked for adult sex ratios among these ninety-two societies, treating
anyone fifteen years of age or older as an adult. There was information on theadult sex ratio on sixty of the ninety-two societies studied. My results showthat , of the sixty adult sex ratios, over half were near equal, over a third werehigh female, and only seven percent were high male sex ratios. This evidence
only demonstrates that not all societies have near equal sex ratios, as patriscientists tend to falsely assume.
Originally, I had intended to study only the societal sex ratios of huntersand gatherers since most of my hypotheses concern 'prehistOric society. However, due to lack of sex ratio information of hunters and gatherers, this proved
impossible . Nevertheless, twelve societies in my world sex ratio sample turned
out to be hunters and gatherers. I found that seven out of these twelve gathererhunter societies have high female-low male total population sex ratios; thisis equivalent to fifty-eight percent. More information is needed on hunting
and gathering sex ratios before any conclusive results are found. However,this available data does support my hypothesis.
Generally, I found that high female-low male sex ratios (adult or total
population) are modally associated with: hunting and gathering, matrilocality,
absence of stratification , approval of homosexuality, extended family, motherchild household, non-urban society, and sororal polygyny.
'
Near equal sex ratios are modally associated with: patrilineality, patrilocality, independent family, nuclear household , complex stratification, urban
society, condemnation of homosexuality, monogamy.
High male-low female sex ratios are modally characterized by : patrilocality,
lineal family and household , non-urban society, absence of stratification,
monogamy.
This evidence supports my contention that gynosociety is characterizedby high female-low male sex ratios , while patriarchy is characterized by either
near equal or high male-low female sex ratios (although further research isneeded to test these hypotheses).
Now consider lesbianism. My cross-cultural lesbian sample contains thirtysocieties where lesbianism is recorded in the social science literature; thesethirty societies are distributed unevenly across all world regions: six societies
in Africa; four in the Circum-Mediterranean ; two in East Eurasia; five in the
Insular Pacific; ten in North America ; and three in South America . The time
tThose interested in the full hypothesis tests should read my dissertation, which is on
microfilm at the University of Michigan under the title : "An Hystorical and Cross-Cultural
Analysis of Sex Ratios, Female Sexuality , and Homo-Sexual Segrega tion Versus HeteroSexual Integration Patterns in Relation to the Liberation of Women ." Write : University
Microfilms, 300 North Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106 .
17

of these thirty societies where lesbianism is reported ranges from Atheniansociety in 450 B.C. to AD . 1957. This means that I excluded from the sample
all societies where Lesbian Feminist Liberation movements have appearedsince 1957 .
Incidentally , I am working on the societal level, not the level of individual
lesbians; my research case is society, specifically societies where the presenceof lesbianism is recorded in social science literature and is at the same timecross-indexed in G.P. Murdock's 1957 "World Ethnographic Sample ." I use
Murdock's information on the total society in order to comparatively study
lesbian sexuality across society.
My results show that lesbianism crosses all types of subsistence: hunting
and gathering , agriculture, fishing, and animal husbandry . It is important tonote here that twenty percent of my lesbian sample comprises societies where
hunting and gathering is the dominant subsistence. This evidence alone disproves the erroneous assumption that lesbianism is a " product of decadent,
bourgeois capitalist society."
Furthermore, lesbianism crosses all types of plan t cultivation, all households , all settlement patterns , and all marriage forms except polyandry. Lesbianism crosses all major forms of family , marital residence, mean size of
local communities, martial exchange , social stratification , and post-partum
sex taboos. I conclude from this data that lesbianism is geographically , socially,and economically widespread across human society ; and that patriscientists
generally ignore the empirical expanse of female sexuality due to their heterosexism.
Cross-specially , lesbianism has been observed among: baboons , gibbons ,chimpanzees, domestic cats , horses , lions , rabbits, dogs , pigs , sheep, guinea
pigs, cattle, rats , mice, hamsters , goats , porcupines , elephants , bats, hyenas ,raccoons, donkeys , and porpoises .
Since there is evidence of lesbianism among human hunters and gatherers,
and among all observed primate and mammalian society , this suggests thatlesbianism obtains at human origin. And if lesbianism obtains at the originof society, then there is nothing "unnatural" about the phenomenon, eithersocially or biologically. This brings me back to my original point that thesocial science bias against lesbianism is more ideologic than scientific.
This concludes the empirical part of this paper. Now consider several
theories of women 's liberation.
Women's Liberation : There are numerous avenues to the liberation of
women. The possibilities outlined here are not the only routes out of patriarchy , but they are each capable of the empirical test. The real empiricaltest of any liberation solution to the oppressions of women will be conductedby grass roots women themselves , not in an academic paper or in a social
science laboratory. The thirteen theoretical solutions I see are :1. Female guerilla warfare and sabotage of patriarchal states.
2. Female abolition of the recognition of "fatherhood ." Collective female
refusal to tell men who are the "fathers" of their children. This can be accomplished by the simple method of straight women never sleeping with
only one man for any length of time, but always having at least two matelovers . This method is based on the assumption that mass high rates of "illegitimacy" will destroy paternity , " father-right ," and the patrilineal family .
18

3. Collective female secession from nationalist, patriarchal states to form
an international collectivity of women committed to creating new gynosocieties .
4. Female separation from patriarchy and individual men . Individual women ·can leave men sexually, emotionally , socially , politically , economically, andideologically, thereby refusing to perform wageless services for men . A mass
exodus of females from the high heterosexually integrated areas of patriarchy
to remote borders to form all-female colonies is one liberation solution .
5. Female reproductive strikes ; the refusal to bear patriarchy any moresons until female demands are met.
6. Increased female rates of heterosexual frigidity , celibacy , and lesbianismwhich decreases the rate of female heterosexual monogamy , thus interrupting
the mass production of "fathers" and sons .
7 . Some Marxist solutions which are helpful for the liberation of womenare, of course , the abolition of the patriarchal family, heterosexual monogamy,
the Sta te , private property , the patriarchal church and tnale religions .
8 . Female economic sabotage of patriarchy using the male supremacist
sexual division of labor against it self. That is , across sexist divisions of labor ,women are economically segregated into housework , food preparation andproduction , health care, education, child care , socialization, and other service
sectors, and - in industrial societies- clerical sectors . These are critical areasof societal maintenance, the disruption of which would prove problematic
fo r the continuance of patriarchy. Indirect or direct revolts in these female
sectors should make the female future interesting .
9 . Strengthening female social-political-economic organization , female
solidarity and social ties, and female social networks- which disrupts thepatriarchal process of isolating women from the female community , andthus reduces the casualties of women scarred by patriarchal oppressions.
10. Development of a high female collective consciousness regarding malesupremacy and patriarchy-which should lead to a female reexamination of
mother-son relations , and the development of non-patriarchal socializationof sons by mothers.
11. Development of high female-low male societal sex ratios at all levelsof social organization. Near equal and high male sex ratios, which are characteristically institutionalized in patriarchy , are the source of the dangerously
high rates of rape , child molestation , and violence against female and children.
The female community must close ranks and select only those few men who
respect women's liberation to live inside female society. Sororal polygyny
may be more liberating for straight women than heterosexual monogamy.
12. Female political struggle for the redistribution of earth space, which
is at present completely dominated by male states. The creation of all-female
spaces for women to escape the male violence and oppressions of patriarchy
is necessary for the liberation of women . Females have the right to preserveat least fifty-two percent of earth space from male exploitation , destruction ,and pollution of the female environ. Women need not only one homeland ,but many. And finally :13. Women will not be liberated until lesbians are liberated , as lesbians will
not be liberated until women are liberated. That is , women 's liberation cannot be achieved until female se xuality is set free at last.
Presellt ed at " Wom en alld Scientijic R esearch " panel of th e A .A.A.S. meetings ill
HOllston, Texas, Jalluary 6. 1979.

19

LESBIAN LITERATURE & CRITICISM
The following three pieces grew out of the 1978 MLA panel on "Lesbians
and Literature: Transcending the Boundary between the Personal and thePolitical. " The panel was chaired by Susan Wolfe; participants were Harriet
Desmoines, Susan Leigh Star, Bertha Harris, and Mary Daly.
Harriet Desmoines

THERE GOES THE REVOLUTION ...

For six months the title of this panel has been inducing in me a kind ofquiet panic . I'd write down "the personal and the political in Lesbian literature.. . " and promptly lose the piece of paper I'd written it on. When I fmallysat down to the typewriter, I discovered that I was in a full-blown state ofhysterical paralysis. It was not "the personal" that was paralyzing me. Since
Catherine and I started Sinister Wisdom almost three years ago , Lesbian writing
has more and more come to be the focus of my life , my context, the air I
breathe. And it doesn't panic me to say what that has meant for me personally :it has meant my sanity. Lesbians have given me many things I never had beforebut my most favorite thing about Lesbians is that they have given me for the
first time names for the world which accord with my own deepest perceptions.
Human-being literature never did that for me . It's the written and spoken
words of Lesbians that have shown me a world I can understand, withstand,and stand with.
In my more splendiferous moments , I think that the survival and well-beingof Lesbians is all the political justification Lesbian literature could ever wantor need. But that's playing fast and loose with the word political, which has
to do with the Big Picture, the human race . So, most of the time when I
think about politics and Lesbians, I feel exactly like this very bitter stanza
from Jan Clausen's poem "dialectics" 1 :i am a lesbian, forfeit
the universal . i cannot
tour Cuba in comfort
nor read my poetry
to rooms with kind men in themsmiling kindly
to halls with well-heeled poetrylovers in themclamoring for the truth.
20

In the face of Cuba, kind men, well-heeled poe try lovers , and " the truth,"
I feel very small and very paralyzed : me , sir? I am a lesbian- there goes theuniversal, there goes humanism , there goes the revolution , there goes history ,there go "the people ," there goes the freedom train , and I just turned in myticket .
Catherine once taught me what to do when you don't know what else to
do : you go play with the dictionary . So I went and played with the dictionary
and discovered that the word political is related to the word police. They
have the same root, which leads me to believe that just possibly coercion may
be inherent in the ways the word political has been used . Playing further ,I discovered that police and politics come from the Greek word for city , polis ,which in turn is supposedly derived from an Indo-European word meaning
fortress. That gave me four words to mess with- political, police, city-state,
and fortress - and they all smelled to me somehow spermatic.
Which is why, for conversation among Lesbians- and particularly for conversation about our work , whether that is organizing or teaching or farming or
healing or writing-for all these conversations , I would love to be able todeclare a ten-year moratorium on the word political. The unvoiced assumptions that underlie its use are patriarchal- that is , falsely universal. And I
don't believe that I'm the only dyke in the country who needs to be innoculated against those assumptions. If "being political" still means to us-evenin the very very back of our beads ; at even the most subterranean levels ofconsciousness- being citizens of their city-states, politic defenders of theirpolis , second-line troops defending their fo rtresses , then the Lesbian writing
I'm seeing and wanting to see more of is not political and shouldn 't be
described as political. It is not engaging in or taking sides in patriarchal
politics- partriarchal politics being that which can be succinctly characterized
as Boys A versus Boys B and to hell with whoever gets caught in the crossfire ,including the raped women of Bangladesh.
Patriarchal politics has worked for the last maybe five thousand or so
years on the basis of mass delusion , and the background of the word politics
gives clues as to what that delusion may be. Men must imagine that theircity-states and their fortresses and their police and their political movements
are going to protect them against something. However , it's clear that the mostdangerous animals are male homo sapiens , and their political institutions don't
protect them from each other; on the contrary, their political institutions
make them more dangerous to each other. Therefore, their political behavior
is irrational ; it can 't be reality-based since it doesn 't work toward survival,
it works against survival. Their fortress in the wilderness is a delusion, amindbox, a university of dead universals , a defensive system erected against
the wild , against nature , against the real-ness of every real thing. And theconceptual cornerstone of that defensive system that protects no one fromno thing is the very unreal (and very snotty) human-being-as-king-of-the-beast
theory.
Human males appear to have put "mankind" in a conceptual box andeverything else outside and underneath that box. Women they place ambiguously at the boundary , sticking half in and half out of the human-being box.
And their solution to our ambiguity in their own minds has been to enslave21

us, to try to bring our wildness under male control, to hunt and rape, tameand exploit us as they have done with all other life forms outside their fortress .
Of course , the conceptual box enclosing "mankind" keeps splitting, exponentially splintering , into males A versus males B, males A-I versus males A-2 ,and so on, whence arises that din of competing voices , all screaming motherfucker and shooting at each other. And it is extremely difficult for us when
we 're caught in the crossfire to remember- or even care- that these arefactional infights , that they are battles taking place inside the same fort - andthat outside the fortress , outside and beneath the walls of the fantasy
fortification , the earth quakes , the wind howls , and the real world begins.
The real world begins outside and beneath partriarchal politics . There's
a very useful paragraph in Adrienne Rich's "Women and Honor" that I keep
seeing quoted : "Truth is not one thing , or even a system. It is an increasing
complexity . The pattern of the carpet is a surface. When we look closely,or when we become weavers, we learn of the tiny multiple threads unseen
in the overall pattern , the knots on the underside of the carpet." Just so ,when we look beneath the surface of what patriarchal politics says is goingon in the world , when we look at what's swept under the carpet , when we
look at the seamy side of life , as my mother would say - we can see the multiple
threads and knottings that are the connections between women. And it isthese connections between women that Lesbian writing focuses on : "theconnections that do not appear on the surface of so-called "universal" literature;
the connections that ,escape the sweep of so-called "universal " revolutions ; theconnections that are part of the wilderness that patriarchy erects its defenses
against - connections which , paradoxically , exist in the heart of their humanbeing fortress . A central taboo in patriarchy is the taboo against womenconsorting with women - and yet that tabooed consorting, allying , connecting
has gone on and goes on in front of their noses , and men and most women
don' t think it's real.
These connections between women form what there is of a genuine social
fabric in human societies- in contrast to which , patriarchal social theories,
patriarchal political theories, look very much like castles in the air , or flying
carpets to nowhere. The point of Lesbian writing, insofar as I can perceiveit, is with words , with language , to make tlle connections between women
real to us , real in our own minds. And that process of making-real what isalready under our noses amounts to a kind of exorcism of patriarchal
politics .
In 1975 Julia Stanley wrote an overview of Lesbian Novels that was published in the Margins issue on "Lesbian Feminist Writing and Publishing.,,2
In that article , she traces fifty years of the Lesbian novel from The Well of
Loneliness to Riverfinger Women, and she shows how the consciousness ofthe novels begins to change , how that exorcism of patriarchal politics begins
to occur. In the pre -1970s novels Lesbians are only intermittently real-toourselves; we are described as inhabiting a nightworld of dreams and shadows,
an enchanted forest that is most often shattered in the end by the violent
intrusion of the "real " world. But with the Lesbian feminist movements
comes a basic conceptual shift in the novels: from what the so-called "real"world thinks of us , to what we think of ourselves and each other. The focus
22remains on women with women, but now the women are not seen throughpatriarchal eyes, we are seen as real-in-ourselves; as Julia puts it, we have
moved into our own lives.
A similar conceptual shift in which what is right under our noses, theconnections between women, is finally endowed with full reality occurs inToni Morrison's novel Sula. Sula is not a novel by a Lesbian about Lesbians,
but in her essay in Condition~, Barbara Smith shows in convincing detail how
to read it as a Lesbian novel. I'm really butchering the novel and Barbara's
reading of it by giving a plot summary, but in case you don't rememberthe main characters Nel and Sula are girlhood best friends; Nel marries andSula leaves town so their friendship is interrupted. Their friendship is finallydestroyed when Sula comes back home and starts whimsically fucking aroundwith Nel's husband. Sula dies young and she dies alone, believing that Nel
will never remember their girlhood together, "the days when we were two
throats and one eye and we had no price." But the last thing she thinks as
she stops breathing is, "Well, I'll be damned, it didn't even hurt. Wait'll I
tell Nel." And twenty-five years after Sula is buried, Nel finally does recognize
what they had together, the secrets they had kept between themselves, thewildness they shared ... she remembers what those days meant, the realityof them, and what the reality of their loss means. The reality that Nel andSula created together is, it seems to me , what Lesbian literature is all about.
Many feminists get very upset when we start talking about a Lesbian
imagination in all women, or when we start trying to place novels like Sulain relation to a tradition of Lesbian writing. So I want to end by very
briefly saying why I think we need all the connections between women
examined with a Lesbian consciousness and why I want those examinations
recognized as Lesbian. First of all, because of the way women are. The
partition of the body that patriarchy tries to effect does not work very wellwith us , and it's not so easy after all to categorize and isolate the sexual fromthe nonsexual when it's going on between women. The word Lesbian points
to the erotic tone of everything that happens between women-between mothersand daughters, between sisters, between students and teachers, between girl friends
And if thinking about that makes you feel as nervous as it makes me feel, thenI think we can agree that the energies we generate between ourselves in all ourheavy-duty connectings are tabooed in patriarchy because those energies are
powerful-and scary-and it's about time we tapped into them . Secondly,
Lesbian means that women can be everything to each other; and that's aninsight that I dor't care to have partitioned off into some subculture of women's
culture. Finally, Lesbian is a lush and slippery word, and it works like voodoo.
The fear of it has turned many a woman into a zombie; and the love of it canbe the release of an inner spring.
NOTES
1. in waking at the bottom of the dark : poems by Jan Clausen, 80 pp., $3.50(including postage) from Long Haul Press , P.O. Box 592, Van Brunt Station, Brooklyn,
N.Y. 11215 .
2. "U ninhabited Angels: Metaphors for Love" in Margills: A Rel'iew of Little Maga:illC's
and Small Press Books, No. 23, iss ue edited by Beth Hod~es .
3. "Toward a Black Feminist Criticism" in Conditions: Two (1977), $2.50 from
Conditions, P.O . Box 56, Van Brunt Station, Brooklyn, N.Y. 11215 .

13

Bertha Harris

MELANCHOLIA, AND WHY IT FEELS GOOD . ..

Between the time I delivered some thoughts on the state of lesbian writingat the MLA 1978 Convention, and now, The Masked Bandit and I packed
38 suitcases, one dog and one cat- and abandoned the frozen North Fork ofLong Island for Southern California . The experience was not unlike Napoleon's
retreat from Moscow. We told the clerk at the American Airlines counter how
lucky she was that we were not Elizabeth Taylor : had we been Elizabeth Taylor,we would have had 40 pieces of luggage each .
Elizabeth who? she asked.
Nevertheless, I have bought a guide to the homes of the stars and havelearned that Rita Hayworth is furious with Glenn Ford because his TV antennais blocking her view. Rita who , you ask? The Pacific surf wakes me in themorning. There is a flower here called Star Jasmine whose scent, at night ,transfixes me in my faux pas.
In brief, I have lost or mislaid the typewritten observations some were
happy enough to hear at the MLA . Thus, the digression on Rita Hayworth,and Stars, above. Rule Number One : Until you have seen Rita Hayworth in
Gilda , you do not know the meaning of lesbianism . Above all things , I hopea rumor reaches the East that Bertha has gone Hollywood . .. .
But no matter: with a little concentration, it all comes rushing back . We
were to address ourselves to that immemorial subject, the relationship between politics and literature ; the immemorial lesbian relationship . Susan LeighStar and Harriet Desmoines did that very thing, very well . They even said
new things about a subject nearly as old now as radial tires . Retreading;swerving dangerously around hapless school children ; the Mary Martin lunchboxes flew in the air; I felt my canines enlarge at the smell of the blood theydrew. Mary Daly , however , confmed herself to herself, not unexpectedly .
Except for her essay in spontaneity , which took the form of insult (but I
am as accustomed to hearing my ideas called "deranged" as I am to hearing
my expression of them called "finely honed ").
I said that I had already said about all there is to say on the subject oflesbian literature and its political implications at the first forum on homosexual literature the MLA ever sponsored . I called that finely honed work''The Purification of Monstrosity : The Lesbian As Literature." ("As" because
there is not, and never will be, "lesbian literature " per se , as there is Russian
literature , Black literature, etc . "Monstrosity" because we belong somewhere
between the literature of horror and terror, and the Romantics.) I have not
yet published this paper (for reasons best kept cunningly close to my chest) .
Thus I cannot (can I?) blame the public for its continued fuzzy thinking on
the matter .. .. That would be (wouldn't it?) tantamount to accusing an 18th
century Polynesian of Popery because he has not yet embraced Methodism .
It is all a matter of opportunity, isn 't it?
24

It interests me to see how political functioning eventually particularizes
itself in individuals. Mine has come to be appearances as the Death's Headat the Feast of Love . The Tipper-over of the Apple Cart. The Fly in the
Syrup . Etc . When lesbians gather to congratulate each other on having successfully produced a body of work that makes all previous work both vileand irrelevant to "female-identification " - it is my duty to point out that the
body of work that has shattered Western civilization does not exist. I congratulate them on having produced true confessions , folklore, religious ecstasy
and myth. And downwardly-mobile sitcoms a la Horatio Alger in reverse. I
congratulate lesbian writers of fiction and poetry who would have written
no matter what: Cather and the sexy mid-west ; O'Connor and sexy Catholicism; Mary Shelley and the sexy monster ; the Brontes who invented modern
lesbianism out of the Romantic movement (which encouraged the outlaw
life, pantheism and strange music in my ears fa r more than modern feminismhas) .
A discussion of "lesbian sensibility " in writing is a discussioJl of the Romantic
temperament: a love affair with freaks and monsters ; a loathing of both motherand father (unless changed into gothic forms); sexual fascination with the"underdog" (which has nothing to do with class consciousness). Just for starters .
Lesbian sensibility is in the work of P.B. Shelley (as well as MW. Shelley);
Blake; Nabokov ; T. Williams ; Dostoevsky . And Kingsley Ami~ and Euripides.
As well as in Barnes ; M.F. Beal (an attraction for well-wrought violence);
Arnold , etc.
There exist novels and poems about lesbianism and the activities of lesbians
that do not have lesbian sensibility (Lawrence's The Fox ; Jane Rule's The
Desert of the Heart-but Rule 's This is Not for You is more sensibility thansubject : like Henry James 's "The Beast in the Jungle") . .. .
Of course , Joyce was wrong when he insisted that art be uncontaminatedby politics . But marching to the extreme opposite of his injunction does notmake right of wrong. It makes a "separate but equal" wrong ; wrong becauseof the onerous inhibitions lesbian-feminist politics seek to place on the writerof genuine talent ; wrong because these inhibitions are becoming (almost) a
standardized prosody without which "lesbian" writing is not the real thing(there is a near-parallel in the 18th century's regard for the couplet and what
it might , and might not , express) . Since both good and bad lesbian writers
want to be " politically correct" (i.e., admired and bought and read by lesbians) ,politics must bend to aesthetics rather than otherwise . Immediately. People
who write from the "lesbian sensibility" write against the rules . The politicalrule is to purge oneself of classism , racism, ageism , elitism , sexism. Etc. The
literary rule is to purge oneself of nothing. There is no such thing as a bad
writer who is classist , racist , ageist , elitist, sexist. Etc. Only good writers havethese interesting avenues of prejudice open to them: and good writers comefrom all backgrounds and economic classifications ; in all colors and from all
ethnic persuasions (saving the middle class: which never produces good writers):
in all ages (save those who are twenty-five or younger) . The difference between literature and tract is mule -headed prejudice : from which spring thosequalities that make literature more interesting than life - wit. irony. eccentricity.
paradox, illusion and sarcasm.

"Outside" I am a vehement devotee of the party line. "Inside" (here) I
must profess (without fear of capital punishment) in the interests of literatureand its uncertain future a (selective) loathing of the young and a (selective)
pleasure in the aged ; that I enjoy the company of Irish Catholics and am
put to sleep by those who worship the goddess (all proper homosexuals are
put off by fertility rites ; our interest in the agricultural is limited to a dozen
long-stemmed American Beauties) . That capitalism , like all forms of injustice ,is sexier than communism. That reading books (at least one a day ; and thesecond should be a murder mystery) will breed revolution (if that's what youwant) more surely than consciousness raising (at least revolution more appropriate for lesbians than for hippies) .
I believed , once , that lesbians were the incarnation of metaphor , paradox,
dream , iconoclasm , illusion , sarcasm , wit , irony: the stuff of literature . I was
thinking of women like Djuna Barnes (more talked about , I suspect , as a"foremother" -how she must shudder if she hears it !-than read), and Berenice
Abbot and Janet Flanner and Romaine Brooks and Renee Vivien ; of greatlovers and phrase-makers like Natalie Clifford Barney. Of great Sherman tanks
like G. Stein. I was thinking of myself, too.
When I run into lesbian writers who believe they will learn their craft andtraditions from Indian chiefs , witches , theologians , therapists and narcissists:
I run them down. I have taken up roller skating along with Southern California .
As Vivien Leigh so poignantly expressed it : " As God is my witness! " I will
never read another lesbian tale that is about victimization or female genitalia :It Was a Dark and Stormy Night ... . (to be continued).

26

RESPONSE

Irena Klepfisz

CRITICISM: FORM AND FUNCTION IN LESBIAN LITERATURE
I was very disturbed and at times angry as I sat listening to Bertha Ha"is'stalk at the "Lesbians and Literature" session of the 1978 MLA convention.
I realized afterwards that her talk raised for me some essential questions about
the form and function of criticism in our literature. What follows, therefore,
is not a direct, point by point refutation, but rather a reaction to the context
in which the talk was presented, its purpose, its assumptions, its tone.
Through conscious or unconscious intent, the organizers of the convention
had scheduled two lesbian events, a "Lesbians and Literature" session and aperformance by Deidre McCalla and Llena de la Madrugada, for 7 p.m. on
the last night of the convention. Though it was too late for rescheduling, all
the participants involved refused to compete with each other and insisted,despite the circumstances, that both events would take place. Discussion andplanning logistics of course took time, and McCalla, who began late and who
was forced to shorten her concert, did not finish until 8 :30, when the lesbian
literature session should have been over.
At this point, those attending (more than 200) were told to move toanother floor. More time lost. And then finally, a little after 9 p.m., the literature session got under way. But not without further loss, for the feminist
publishing panel (consisting of representatives from various feminist presses)
had been scheduled for that hour. Again everyone agreed that both eventswould take place. But the literature panel did not end until almost 11, and,though a handful of women stayed for an informal discussion, most (including
a number of the scheduled panelists) left out of sheer exhaustion. Thus, thefeminist publishing session never took place.
So after months of planning and preparation by members of the gay caucus,
members of the women's caucus, and individuals who had expected to givepresentations, the final tally for the events scheduled was: one session completed; one session shortened; one session entirely lost.
I've reconstructed these events because I think they are typical of thecircumstances under which lesbian literature exists today. In one form or
another, deliberately or accidentally , it is continuously being thwarted, sabotaged, limited, never given the space and breadth it needs and deserves. Whatsurvives does so always at an incredible price and under severe restrictions;what survives is almost always an exception , requiring far more planning andeffort than equivalent establishment projects. As lesbian/feminist writers,
editors, publishers, teachers, students, and organizers, we have all had torecognize the grim fact that more time and energy goes towards countering
resistance to a project than to the project itself. Frequently we are exhausted
before we even begin any meaningful work. How often can one hear the27response to a new suggestion : " It's a good idea, but it makes me tired justthinking about it." It is as if lesbians were subject to a different force ofgravity, requiring them to use four times more energy to complete a simple
mechanical task than those living on Main Street , U.S.A.
Bertha Harris might view the above as another version of the narrative of"viCtimization" which she so abhors. I view it , however, as a necessary reminder that any space and time lesbians manage to wrest for themselves mustnever be taken for granted, must never be wasted. And it is because of thisdepressing reality that I was far more upset with Harris's remarks about thestate of lesbian literature than I might have been had there been a dozen
other panels and a dozen other occasions to discuss that subject. As it was,there was only one, and I felt frustrated and at moments angry at what I
perceived to be the misuse of a hard-won opportunity.
II

Harris's critique had an uncomfortably familiar ring to it , for the criteria
and assumptions underlying it were almost identical with those of male critics
who belittle the literature of women , especially lesbians. What we write , weare told is not significant because it is focused on such unimportant mattersas our bodies, our sexuality, our lovers, our mothers; and when we manage
to divert our attention away from these subjects, we mistakenly bypass timeless issues and focus our writing on such temporal topics as economics , race ,survival, oppression (narratives of "victimization "). And so , though we havewritten some "interesting stuff," we have failed to produce what male critics
call "great" or "universal" works of art , works touched by that elusive sparkof "genius," works that are-to use that forbidding term - "masterpieces ."I do not want to mock Harris , but I do think that the theory of "great "literature which she advocates has always been and will always remain destructive to women . It views literature as a kind of commodity, as a marketableproduct, and awards blue ribbons and prizes to those products which it deems"universal" and "timeless." It never admits, of course , that the products which
are most prized are almost exclusively based on men's experiences. Such an" aesthetic" -if one can call it that-obviously precludes the possibility of having"great" literature derived from the lesbian experience .
I personally have never viewed literature , i.e ., writing, in this way . For me
it is a process, and in the case of lesbian literature, an evolving process, one
which hopefully will grow more complex and rich as more women become
involved in it. I never thought its aim was to win the Nobel Prize in Literature ;rather I assumed its aim was to form new means of expression for various
kinds of experiences, perceptions, and points of view that until recently havebeen either ignored or suppressed.
But process always implies steps , development, growth . As a poet , I knowthat I will probably work as hard on my "failures" as on my "successes,"
and that I can 't even begin to write my "successes ," can't develop any skill
and understanding for them , without writing through the "failures." In otherwords, there are no shortcuts, no ways to skip the things you need to write .
In that context, the terms "success" and "failure ," "major" and "minor"
lose all meaning.
And I believe this is also true for the evolving process we call "lesbian
literature ." We cannot skip over into full maturity by remaining silent until28

a "genius" comes along to speak for us; if we do, we will end up waiting
forever and produce nothing. Instead, I think we have to recognize what weare experiencing as a literary movement, try to understand it , try to control
it, try to be reflective about it. Above all, we must make sure - and I thinkcriticism is the only way of doing this- that it is meeting our needs and ourstandards as lesbian/feminist writers, not the needs and standards of malecritics.
Furthermore, I believe it is a complete misreading of the current literature
to conclude that we are too focused on certain subjects, that we have writtenthem to death. On the contrary, I think lesbian writers have just begun their
explorations, have just begun their experiments with language and narrative ,with new ways of writing about our bodies, our sexuality , our lovers, ourmothers, our children; they have just begun to address their writing to basic
issues involving economics, race, survival , oppression. Frequently , these beginnings are not satisfactory; and when they are not , they must be criticized.
But it would be destructive to both our movement and to our literature if
we followed Bertha Harris's advice and simply stopped and turned elsewhere .
III

In her opening statement, Harris remarked that our criticism is "so muchbetter" than our literature. She was , however, referring to a specific type of
criticism, the kind directed at the society in which we live, at the literature
supported by that society , etc.; in other words, a feminist criticism directed
outward.

Feminist self-criticism, i.e. , feminist criticism directed inward, directed atourselves and what we write , however , has been almost nonexistent. And
with good reason. The feminist and lesbian/feminist literary movement has
been too busy simply surviving and existing. Either viciously attacked orcompletely ignored, lesbian /feminist writers and critics have put almost all
their energy into supporting feminist projects , publicizing feminist presses,
strengthening and expanding the network that has been building up in thelast seven or eight years.
Without this kind of major effort, much of what has been produced would
have never reached any lesbian audience (and much has been produced, andyes lesbians do read). But one of the serious side effects of focusing entirely
on our survival has been that support and critical evaluation have grown tobe considered mutually exclusive . In our desire to show solidarity, to encourage and applaud efforts of fellow writers, to establish the kind of atmosphereconducive to creativity, we have frequently been totally uncritical , as if criticism were equated with lack of support, lack of appreciation, or worse yet,with divisiveness.
As always, practical consideration also fostered this- situation. The uncritical ,sometimes self-congratulatory atmosphere has , I think , been the direct resultof the limited space we can offer for careful , thoughtful evaluation . In viewof these limitations, it has made far more sense to dwell on our achievements
than on our shortcomings, especially when we've been so conscious of theeffort behind every work that is published. Thus, many editors have frequently
chosen to review only what they consider "the best," or "t he most attacked,"
thereby ignoring the bulk of literature coming out of the feminist presses.
One of the sad results of t his is that the full scope of what is being published29

by presses and self-published by individuals has never been really surveyed.
Works that were perhaps experimental and not completely "successful" intheir experiments, works that ventured awkwardly into new areas, have received little recognition, evaluation, or credit for their existence. As always,
limited circumstances and opportunities have created unnatural priorities.
But this kind of situation is both unproductive and self-defeating. Without
being melodramatic, I believe that criticism must begin to playas importanta function in our movement as fiction, poetry, and other literary forms; for
it is one of the most vital means of opening up discussion and debate, of
exchanging and examining ideas, of pinpointing weaknesses, of demanding
excellence, of making conscious and deliberate what is frequently accidental
and haphazard. It is also a way of making editors, publishers, and writers
accountable to the community that they represent and from which they expect support. And I really believe that if we do not give criticism this kindof function, we are in great danger of allowing our literature to grow stagnant
and smug, and ultimately of undoing, through self-satisfaction, all of ourrecent achievements.
IV

At the convention, Bertha Harris presented us with the kind of criticism
I hope lesbian/feminists will reject. It followed quite strictly the male model:
it was patronizing in its material, flippant and belittling, intent on drawing
attention to the critic by exhibiting how clever/nasty she (or he) could be ;it preached broad, vague generalities as self-evident truths in a tone that wassuperior and arrogant; its few specifics were deliberately so outrageous (e.g.,"The Great Gatsby is a model lesbian novel.") as to render the criticism
useless .
I hope that as lesbian/feminist writers, we can evolve a more constructive
form of criticism, one that is sharp and to the point, one that will help us
fmd new directions and standards for our writing, and one that, at the sametime, reflects what George Eliot called our "best-self." I would like to see
open, specific discussions and evaluations of the kinds of works being published by commercial presses, our presses, newspapers , journals, and by individuals. I would like to see criticism address itself to some of the issues
which are vital to our literature: the struggle between non-elitism and intellectualism, between politics and art, between experimentation and aesthetic
standards, between individual artistic integrity and accountability to the community, between support and criticism, etc. Each reader can fill in the issues
on which she has been silent. And I would like to see in these discussions
references to specific names of writers, titles of books, and quotations of
relevant passages.
None of us are particularly at ease in giving criticism directly or publicly;
none of us are particularly at ease in receiving it. But I think that we must
learn to do both, must learn to be honest if we as individual writers and as
a collective movement are to continue developing. Recently two journals began publishing feminist criticism of women's works. The Feminist Review
and Motheroot Journal, though not lesbian publications, are devote exclusively
to reviewing books by women. Perhaps their appearance at this time is anindication that we have grown strong enough and self-sufficient enough toenter a more reflective stage in our evolution.
30

LESBIAN LIVESFICTION

POETRYPHOTOGRAPHS

photo by Barbara H. Bradford

31

Jan Clausen

TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE

Th e following is the final section of a five-part story which concerns a
day in the life of Alice, a lesbian living in Brookly n, New York with Jackie,
her nine-year-old daughter. Th e story s title comes from the slogan on a poster which Jackie, despite complaints from her mother, has declin ed to remove
from th e door of her room. Th e woman named Morgan , ref erred to several
times, is a political activist friend of A lice's with whom A lice has lately
found herself in disagreement. As Section V begins, A lice and Jackie arerath er nervously anticipating the arrival of Leah, Alice's ex-lover, who iscoming to dinner.
V. 7 :20 P.M.

If only Billie Holiday had been a dy ke she'd have been really together.
Alice can no longer remember which of her acquain tances once uttered thisridiculous statement , but neither can she play her Billie Holiday records
without thinking of it. They are stacked on the machine now , along withher Bessie Smith reco rds. Bessie Smith , who was, sort of, and bled to death

any way , folks.
Content , her house clean around her , Alice walks from room to roomsipping wine. She is wearing a long cotton skirt which half con t radicts thestatement made by her cropped hair. Th eir pain on viny l. Do I use their pain ?
Do I have the right? But the doubt is only incidental ; she can 't help that
she 's happy, hearing their voices.

And how long since I've felt so relaxed before L eah ? So I must be free
now. Freer.
Reckless with wine , she decides to use the Tarot to confirm this . If only
Morgan the materialist could see me now. The cards are in their traditional
place in the drawer of the small night table by her bed . Seeing them smudged
in places , some of the corners bent back , she wonders whether she ought totreat them more carefully , keep them wrapped in velvet as the books advise.
But she is a busy woman , can 't really afford the luxury of the occult. The
powers that be, it seems to her , will just have to accept that fact.
At one time Alice believed she had a good intuitive grasp of the cards
but , dilettante , she never studied them properly . Now she uses them so seldom that even her intuitions are blunted , rusty . Like a child who can 't yet
read the text, she's free to place her own interpretations on the pictures.
And they do please her , the images of beautiful women she turns up ,Strength, the Queen of Swords , the Nine of Pentacles. Picking the significator , she feels no suspense ; it is almost an afterthought. Except that the cardshe turns over is the Devil, that hideous , mocking image , the hateful , naked
32

copyright Jan Clausen, 1979

little heterosexual pair chained at the foot of the throne . Bondage. Bondage
to false ideas. Well, you were fishing for compliments. See what you get?
"What's that, Mom?"
Alice jumps. "For christ's sake, Jackie, knock." One of the drawbacks ofliving in a railroad apartment is that there is always an excuse for a child tocome barging through one's bedroom on the way to the front of the house.
"Sorry. What're you doing?""Haven't you ever seen my Tarot cards before?" Better for Jackie to havecaught her smoking. "They're fortune-telling cards. I use them for fun some·times.""Oh, we studied that in school. It's a superstition."
Alice is offended . "Well , not quite . A superstition is like when you think
it's bad luck if a black cat crosses your path, or Friday the 13th . . .. ""It is so . Miss Gordon said fortune telling's a superstition.""All right then , it's a superstition ." You're lucky I don't trundle you off
to L.A. and sign us up for some wigged-out wicce cult.
"Ooh, gross, that man and lady are naked." And Jackie skips off to her
own room , whence the TV blasting at unacceptable levels announces she's
trying to tune out Leah's arrival. Yet she dashes for the door the minute thebuzzer rings.
"Did you know my Mom is superstitious? She does fortune-telling .""Why hello, Jackie . Is your Mommy at it again?" Leah stands panting at
the door , half a pound of camembert in hand. Her exaggeratedly playful tone
could perhaps have been suitably addressed to a six- or seven-year-old . Why
can 't she see it's an insult to the contemporary Jackie, with her tight jeans,
her hands-an-hips stance , her studied pre-adolescent flippancy? Alice, watching, is irritated, so she goes right back to the kitchen . But Leah follows almost immediately .
"Are you two speaking?"
Leah doesn't answer. She's looking good in jeans , a dark green corduroy
jacket, a bright scarf knotted at her throat. She is about to be a success
Alice thinks half-contemptuously , and not for the first time. Five years at
the outside. She can already see the articles , the photographs of paintings:
first Ms. and then the Village Voice, or maybe the other way around . Thena small piece in the Times.
''Would you like some cheap white wine? I'm afraid that's all I have ."Despite chronic cash-flow problems , Leah usually manages to keep on handa decent brand of whiskey . Style : that is the quality which, in Leah, covers
a multitude of failings. Whereas all I have is a certain tenacity.
For example, Leah never cleans . When she and Alice lived together thiswas a disaster, the apartment a shambles, Alice critical, nagging. But now in
Leah's cavernous loft the mess somehow disappears, everything seems as itshould be : jungle of plants, odd sticks of furniture retrieved from otherpeople's garbage , dust, clutter, paintings .
"I'd love a glass of wine. I've gone off the hard stuff for a while."" Don't tell me you've reformed ,""Not voluntarily . Doctor's orders.""Leah, why?""My stomach." She shrugs , embarrassed, half-pleased , maybe . "Nothing
too significant , really . A precaution.""Is success getting to you?""Alice , one lousy grant. It would keep a successful painter in the Hamptons for two months ."" All the same , I was jealous when I heard . In addition to being pleased
for you , of course." Jealous , yes, as one might be to hear that one's ex-lover
had finally moved in with someone. For all the time they had lived together
Leah's painting had been at the bitter heart of their quarrels. I am an artist.

I belong tragically alolle, making my art. Free of you and your snivellingbrat I'd show what I could do was not quite what Leah had ever said , but it
was what she had felt , had ultimately acted on.
" Don 't forget, I'm going to be forty in the spring. A grant , a show- it's
not a hell of a lot , not at my age.""Never mind that, how is your work going?" Alice the purist , the nonartist , means that this is what counts; money and fame shouldn't matter.
"Oddly enough, quite well .""Fantastic.""I'm actually a little afraid to talk about it , for fear of something goingwrong. But it 's as if I finally had the courage for all these things I've only
imagined before ."" I'm glad."But really Alice is , this moment , aghast at the stupidity, the sheer wasteof their breakup . Of course Leah had needed a loft , but that had been atechnicality. She could have had everything she has now; they could still be
together .
Naturally they 'd had a few other problems ; what they jokingly called their"interfaith relationship ," for example. They made light of it ("my goyische
girlfriend," said Leah) and held feminist seders for which Alice , the bettercook , made matzoh ball soup; but then they would get into terrible fights
because Alice happened to make the wrong remark about Israeli foreign
policy. It was not that Leah approved of Israeli foreign policy either, butthat Alice was somehow not authorized to express an opinion about it.
There was also Jackie .
" And you, how do you like being on the dole ? Better than working atthat gruesome place , I'll bet.""I don 't know yet. ['m still too worn out to tell.""Poor Alice. But I'm sure you 'll bounce back within a couple of weeks;
you have so much energy." Yes , Alice , the workhorse , the one with all theenergy, the one who can stand shit jobs and motherhood. "Which reminds
me , I was going to ask you whether you'd like to meet me in town tomorrow .
I was planning on going to the Nevelson exhibit at the Modern."" I wish [ could. I've already promised Morgan to go to a demo tomorrow
in New Jersey ," Alice replies pointedly . She is tired of hearing about Art.
"Morgan the Commissar? You still see her?""Leah, please , spare me your animosities. Actually , I don't see much ofher right now, but the demonstration is important and I'm going anyway.
I'd like to go to a show with you sometime ."All of this, Alice notes with relief, is just comfortable sparring, nothing
like the confrontations and acute pain of even six months ago . Stir-frying,she enjoys a vague anticipation of something pleasant. What is it , the wine,the prospect of a good dinner not eaten alone? The ritual examination of
motives commences. Am I safe, now, here, in this pocket of time? With food,with a friend I know well enough not to have fear surprises? Is it true I don't
have to worry right now, I'm okay, death doesn't matter even, or politics?
She doesn't know. She is just drunk enough to want to stand there forever
over the wok, stirring, so that she makes the mistake of asking Leah to gotell Jackie it's time to say goodnight.
Leah reports back cold-eyed, furious.
" Her Highness desires me to inform you that she's planning to stay up
and watch Starsky and Hutch ."Alice sees she has blown it with both of them. Her first impul se is to go
and slug it out with Jackie , who knows she is not allowed to stay up andwatch Starsky and Hutch , not even on a non-school night , not in this house .
But then the food will get cold and there will be a knot in Alice's stomach
so she can't enjoy it, and Leah will only frown harder , withdraw further.
"I 'm sorry, it was my mistake. I shou ldn 't have sent yo u in there.""No, you shouldn't."
Leahand Jackie always had such a strange involvement - an intricate danceof avoidance it was , really. Leah thought she had the worst of it. Always
being the one left over, not the real mother, she said. Not seeing how torn
Alice felt, how in the middle. But do you really want a child? Alice said. Of
co urse it was the wrong question .
"Jackie still thinks about you a lot, you know. Every so often she'll mention you out of a clear blue sky, like the other day she said , 'Leah likes
moussaka, doesn't she?' Then when I try to talk abo ut you she changes the
subject.""I can understand that. "''I'm sorry, let's forget it, let's eat." Time enough to have it out with
Jackie tomorrow .
Candles, a real tablecloth, the rice done just right. How pleasant to cookfor someone, to eat with someone , to use chopsticks. And perhaps I reallywill change, learn all about protein complementarity and cook for myfriends on food stamps. Rice, beans, whole wheat bread. She imagines theapartment filled with light , with lives in motion, she the facilitator.
"Leah, do you ever feel like you'd like to change your life?""In what way?""In any way. Don ' t you ever think about going someplace else and starting over?"
Leah considers, chopsticks poised in her elegant fingers. Leah always eats
slowly, delicately , as though thoroughly considering each bite. Alice gobbles.
"Sometimes I get sick of New York, like everybody else . But since I need
to be here for my work I don't think about it that much. I just steer aroundthe garbage cans, look the other way when I come down in the morning andfind some old guy crashed out on my doorstep."
The wine is getting to Alice. "Sometimes, on a bus or something, I amuse
myself making lists of all the things I still have time to do. You still havetime to become an ultra-left adventurist, rub banks, kill politicialls, get life
plus thirty . You still have time to learn to speak 11uellt Russian, Ch ill ese,

Swahili. You still have time to get a joh ill SOllie god.f{m·ak('// Midwesterll
35

town, wait tables, marry a truck driver. Why is the idea that I could do
those things important to me? I couldn't really. They're not in character.""Still, if you did , they'd be in character because you did them. Feminist
art is art done by a feminist ; what is in character for Alice is whatever Alice
does .""Really? I'm not sure. Remember how you used to talk about not having
a child? You gave that reason: that having a child wasn't the sort of thing
you would do.""But of course I said that to make it easier on myself." Leah's matter-offactness about this surprises Alice . "It was a choice, but at the time it was
too painful for me to see it that way.""Really? So you're past it. Good for you." Alice hesitates, then plunges.
"To tell the truth, I've been thinking a lot lately about having another kid.""Seriously?""Semi.""Have you thought about how you'd handle it with Jackie?""Christ, Leah, how should I know?" But it is, of course , precisely the proper question. "Jackie's hardly a kid anymore, we seem more like a pair ofroommates every day. How long am I supposed to keep making major life
decisions on the basis of Jackie 's needs?" This is an exaggeration; Alice has
made few major decisions on the basis of Jackie's needs. It's all the minor
ones made daily over the years that have worn her out, that constitute thereal sacrifice. "The only thing you pledge yourself to when you have children is that you won't abandon them. It's not a monogamous relationship.""But Alice, why? I'm not saying you shouldn't; I just don't understand."Leah seems to be speaking out of simple friendly concern, and Alice istouched. Two years ago she'd have been too absorbed in her own ambivalences to consider the subject so disinterestedly .
"I've thought about it a lot, and I just don't know why. I've tried to forget about it, too, because it certainly would be a hell of a lot simpler.
Jesus, I'd be fifty-five before I was through.""Indeed. I think about that every time I go someplace and see all thesegrey-haired feminists with their last-chance babies.""But all the same, I can't quite talk myself out of it. There's this imageof me with the baby that keeps coming back. Thinking about it makes me
feel free. Then I think maybe it's just a power trip , the idea of willing alife . Is that legitimate? I don't know, and I don't know how to find out,
short of actually doing it.""How would you do it, by the way?""You mean fmancially? Welfare , probably. I could always work off thebooks.""No, ( mean how would you get pregnant?""( have no idea. I mean, I have lots of ideas, ranging from medicallysupervised artificial insemination to sleazy one-night stands at periods ofpeak fertility. I'm sure if I want a baby 1 can manage it."
"What if it's a boy?"
Alice grimaces. "What a wet blanket you are . What if it has Down's
syndrome, what if it has flippers instead of feet?""Oh Alice , I'm sorry. ( don't mean to be obnoxious. I just want to say
be careful. Funny things can happen with these decisions . At our age - "36"At our age what?" At thirty-three, Alice has never considered herself
to be of an age with Leah.
"It's hard to get older and not have what you want. It's too easy tosettle for the wrong thing. That's all I meant. I wish you the best, you know
that.""Leah, you understand I'm just telling you about this fantasy I have . I
mean I haven't decided." Alice is frightened , like five-year-old Jackie , willful
on a street corner, terrified suddenly when her mother would walk away .
"I understand .""You're lucky, you know . You make something permanent. You can lookat a room full of paintings and say : there 's my life . That's what I did . You
get twice as much that way , your life doubled.""Do I? I'm never quite clear about that.""Don't you?""I think not. I always want it to be that way, but then there 's the oldanxiety. It doesn't matter what I painted yesterday. Am I still alive? Can I
still paint? I never shake it. Do you know , it 's given me this fucking ulcer ,I'm sure it's not anything about 'success,' it's just that. Can I still see? Can
I still paint?""Well, I'm getting an ulcer too , Leah, and I don't paint." Alice is sorry
now she mentioned the baby; she feels let-down , depressed.
"That's just my point. Maybe the same thing that's giving you your ulcer
is giving me mine. Painting is a way of being alive , it involves all the sameproblems. You don't just do it once and for all. In fact I think the idea of
the artist producing these great final objects is a very male thing .""Leah, you know how skeptical I am about certain ideas being male andothers female.""Well, it makes sense . The first art was probably made by women , and it
was made to be used . Can you imagine someone saying, 'Look , I made thispiece of pottery, now I'll retire , I can live forever? ' Of course not. It's men
who spend their lives building pyramids , tombstones , monuments. In the end ,of course , it 's pure chance that anything survives . Some pots do , some cavepaintings, some pyramids. We certainly don't."
Alice, socialist-feminist, doesn 't like to admit she 's a bit intrigued by atheory which smacks of matriarchist tendencies . "And where does recognition fit in? Doesn't getting a grant help you feel you 've done somethingworthwhile?""Of course it helps. A necessary illusion , a curtain against the outer darkness. It's pleasant to be told you 've done well , but it doesn 't really change
anything .""Are you saying there's no hope , then?" Alice smiles.
"Maybe. This will probably seem pretty silly in the morning.""Yes. Let's finish the wine. "Late, Alice embraces Leah at the door , then stands behind it listening to
her descending footsteps. How odd there's nothing in the least sexual left.
For if there were , surely it would have surfaced this evening, with all thewine and speculative talk . No ; that thinness, those elegant bones, are goodfor nothing now except to look at. What Alice wants is superabundance of
flesh .

37

What were we doing together at all, for that matter? Such an unlikely
pair. The realization that she really can't remember just brings back all theold pain of loss , the ache in the vanished limb . Leah, Morgan. Do we become
purer, harder as we grow older, more different from each other, more fixedin our separate personalities? It is a grand idea , but it chills her. I'll call Leahsoon, she promises herself, maybe there s something coming up next monthat the Whitney.
Turning, her eye is arrested by the absence of a familiar irritation; "Today
Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life" is missing from Jackie's door.
It takes her a minute to notice the small square of paper, folded many times,
taped in its place. On the face of this is printed , in letters so tiny they seemto challenge her to locate the message, not ''Mom,'' but her name .
The text is in Jackie's new, laborious script. "I'm sorry I said I was goingto stay up and watch Starsky and Huch and I didnt. I cleaned my room too .
Will you give me a kiss. I hope you had a plesent evening with Leah ." Theroom Alice tiptoes into is rather unnaturally neat.
At first inclined to smile at the transparent psychology of children , Aliceremembers the poster. She hunts for it with mounting urgency , as though
it were important , fmally locates it in the obvious place, the wastebasket,
crumpled though not torn. But much too wrinkled to be resurrected .
She did this for me. I'll talk to her tomorrow. 171 get her another, she
can put it up anywhere, on the refrigerator if she wants to. Alice , frightened.
is very nearly angry , as mothers are when children dart out into the street
in the path of cars, put themselves in any danger. Then, seeing how Jackie
lies drawn up on the bed in the defensive posture of foetuses and nursing
home patients, pity and terror claim her. 1 made her. 1 made her. How can
1 betray her?
Alice kisses her daughter, drinks a glass of water, takes a vitamin pill,flosses her teeth to forestall gum disease, lies in bed alone. Hard to sleep,
but she'd better. She'll be hungover ; Jackie will wake her early .
So then there is this person in bed with her. She cannot see the face buthears what the voice says . Obeys directions. And her hand moves down.
Rockabye and good night go to sleepy little baby.
Alice sleeps, enters the first circle of dreams.

3K

portrait by J. Z. Grover40

portrait by J. Z. GroverLinda Marie

UNIT NUMBER 18"We'd better turn the sheet around so the hole is at the bottom.""What if someone sticks their big toe in it?""This is the last clean sheet we'll just have to take a chance."
This was also the last unit we had to clean for the day. I work with Aloraat the Seaweed Motel. It is just off the highway on the outer edges of
San Francisco. Alora and I work pretty well as maids together except she
likes to clean with ammonia and I prefer Pinesol and she likes to tune into
the soap operas on tv and I like going through people's closets and drawers-when they aren't there of course. Alora cleans the rooms while I clean thebathrooms. She runs a dust mop over the floor and after I help her makethe bed she sits on it and watches her favorite soap . I slap a wet towel overthe bathroom. Then to make it seem sparkly clean I slip a strip of paper over
the toilet seat that says something about it being sanitary and then I put
another large square paper on the shower floor so people won't slip when
they shower.
One very foggy morning Alora and I pushed our carts through the courtyard to unit 18 at the far end of the motel. This caused some late sleepers
to curse at us because our carts were so noisy . The people who checked outof 18 had one hell of a time the night before . The bed was in pieces winebottles were in every corner- potato chips crunched under our feet. The
towels were gone except for one dripping wet washcloth left in the shower,nex~ to the square paper. We both moaned. Alora turned the tv on. I
turned it off.
"Gawd Alora you are beginning to sound like those damn soaps .""I am not! What's wrong with you anyway?""You know what you told me the other day about your sister who's
having an affair with that married doctor whose wife is going to kill herself
because she has a crippled dog?""It's true!" Alora shouted.
I said, "Alora you told me you don 't have any sisters.""And what about you telling me you met the queen of Greece when
there's no such person!?""Hey," a voice behind us said, "the tenants are complaining." The manager
stood at the door with egg stuck in his beard. "I don't mind you talking
but keep it down a little." He left and Alora and I didn't speak- for the
rest of the day we only said what we needed to.
I pouted and wished I worked with another lesbian instead of Alora whose
boyfriend could only fix cars and talk about baseball . I never cleaned so
thoroughly. I'd ram my hand into a rubber glove and scrub the living hellout of those bathrooms .
We were near the manager's unit. He was banging pots and pans and talking
loudly to someone on the phone , "-no I said we do not take cats and a41

deposit must be paid for the dog- umm yeah yeah-""Do you wanna do one more unit then break for lunch?" I asked Alora
but looked at the cart I was pushing. "Tsk ok." She mumbled somethingelse I couldn't hear.
I knocked twice on the door, "Maid service!" The door opened slowly .
Two women stood, one on either side of the room. One with her fists pushed
into her hips-hips that a leather belt was wrapped around with a long knife
hanging from it. The other woman stood holding the door, an army jacket
on her thick arms. Our eyes darted back and forth like they were dancing
on strobe lights. A radio on the desk was playing a song called you light up
my life. The strong aroma of fish frying in the manager's unit overwhelmedme. I held the rubbertipped finger of my glove to my mouth and cleared
my throat , ''Would you like us to clean your room?" "It's alright," thewoman in the army jacket said . "We're checking out in a few minutes."
Alora pulled on my arm so we went and sat in the courtyard with ourlunches. Alora babbled on about how she was sorry and she sure hoped I
was too and then she talked about what she was going to feed whatsizname
for dinner while I watched the clouds drift by and the seagulls dipping throughthe air and hummed you light up my life. "Aren't you gonna eat?" Alora
asked. "No you can have it if you want." So she ate my cheese sandwich
and apple. The two women checked out and drove away in a sports carwith Texas license plates . For the next few weeks I not only hummed thesame song over and over I thought incessantly about the two women andwondered what they did in Texas . Maybe they're cattle rustlers or teachers.
Do they live in the middle of nowhere with each other and prairie dogs andcactus? Why did they come to San Francisco? Maybe they found an apartment
and are living here now. So I went to every place I could think of that gay
women would go to . I remembered every feature on their faces and saw agreat number of women who could almost have passed for them.
Alora was really grating on my nerves. She stopped watching the soaps
and watched the game shows instead so every time we'd get our paychecks
she'd screech and throw her arms up like she'd just won a new car.
Then one day the sports car with tlle Texas plates appeared next tounit 18. I rushed Alora up as fast as I could and told her lies to stop herfrom turning the tv on. "The manager is going to fmd someone else if we
don 't straighten up." We were cleaning the unit next to 18 when I heard
their voices-first low and angry then louder and louder , "You can get
twenty fuckin years for possession-You fuckin bitch stay off my ass- "Alora looked disgusted and banged on the door, "Come back later! "an angry voice shouted. "Please keep your voices down," Alora said likeshe was talking to a room full of children , "You're disturbing the othertenants." One of the women stomped out and pounded down the street.
The other woman said to Alora , "Shit then I'm leavin too! " and she tore
off in another direction . "Okay we 'll clean the room now." Alora sanglike nothing happened.
I checked the knife left on the desk . It could have sliced a piece of hair
into four strands. I picked through the open suitcase , four work shirts , twopairs of overa/ls , a carton of Camels , a map of California- " You wanna help
me make this bed ?" I pulled myself away.
42One pillow lay on the floor the other had two dents on it where I wassure both their heads lay before the fight. I wanted to help them. They
weren't cattle rustlers at all but big time dealers probably part of the Texas
connection ; or maybe one of them had a single joint and the other freaked
because they are both elementary school teachers on vacation . I couldn't
bear to leave the motel without letting them know I was after all "concerned"
about them. So when I cleaned their bathroom I wrote on the strip of paper
left around the toilet seat, "Please see note in shower" then on the square
paper left in the shower I wrote- "All types of help given-call Linda themaid." I left not only my phone number but my address then rushed backlater and wrote careful instructions on how to get to my apartment. Laterthat night I waited for a phone call then as I began to tire and the night
slowed down I started feeling ridiculous. I blushed at the thought of everfacing them again . My god they must think I'm nuts. I stared down at thephone- if it rang at that moment r would have passed out from shock.
I took the receiver off the hook. The next morning I called in sick. Everything seemed as usual .
Alora was back to watching the soap opera . I played hopscotch with
two kids from one of the units and they thought it was very funny watchingan overweight middle-aged woman hopscotching. Alora and I refused toclean a room that had a large growly german shepherd guarding the door.
Alora told me at some point she was leaving . She and her boyfriend were
getting married and going to move to god knows where. When we got tounit 18 I went right to the bathroom and cleaned it quickly. The two women
had moved out and a new tenant was sitting on the bed watching us clean .
After lunch the manager brought the maid that would take Alora's place.
"This is Sarah." "Didn't I meet you in that little bar on mission street?" I
asked her excitedly. "Yeah I thought you looked familiar." Sarah wore two
earrings in one ear and none in the other. She was my size and had very
short hair that curled tightly on her head . We checked each other out
completely while we spoke.
Alora decided to leave early. Before she left she said "Oh by the way you
know those people in unit 18? They left a note for you." "WHAT!" I wasnearly on top of her. "Where is it'!""Oh I didn't keep it I threw it away ."''Well shit what did it say?""Tsk oh I don't know somethin like thank you and ah we got our shit
together and what looked like a phone number or address or something."''Why didn't you save it for me?!" She looked at me like I was crazyand left.
Sarah and I have been working together for some time now. She hates
tv and loves snooping through people's things as much as I do furthermore weare both waiting for the two women from Texas to come back.

43

A PECK FROM A PECK
your thin lips grazed my full cheekthe matriarchy is a racist structure
ever present in the gleam of straightened hairsome like the nap
greased and burning flesh
under curling irons and bleaching creams
thin lips and flowing tresses
toss insults anew
let us playcolors come and go in lightfire burning crosses
lawns alight.
you've come nearer to the fire

SHAM - NOVEMBER 7, 1976
bloody racist whore!
maddened by your people
I want a girl with a peaches and cream complexion
and a full time job
such attention is uncommon to me , so I screamwhen you touch me
healthy hair and bad teeth
ain 't nothin to me 'cause
I will find youa dentista poem for a feather
with hollow neck bones and pertruding hips
I remember your lips so well

- poems by Stephanie Byrd

44

Becky Birtha

LEFTOVERS

From the second-hand shops, they had brought home bags full of blue :denim jackets, jeans, overalls and work shirts. After supper, everything had
been tried on before the full length mirror , and now lay spread in a dark andpale patchwork across the double bed. Sitting crosslegged in the center,
Julia held a measuring tape against the hem of the first pair of jeans. In thecorner closet , the one that was seldom opened, Gina searched for hangers.
But she emerged with her arms full of brightly colored garments-a tumbledload, marked by a band of rick-rack, an embroidered ribbon, an exotic eastern
design trailing in a long sweep to the floor , a shimmer of acetate-dresses.
In answer to Julia's questioning look, Gina offered the explanation, "I thoughtwith all the new clothes, I should get rid of some of these ." Then, softly ,"I never wear this stuff anymore."
Julia watched from the middle of the denim patchwork, the marking chalk
momentarily still in her hand . Watched Gina pull from the tumble a brightorange dress with a short full skirt and bands of shirring across the waist andbodice. "You used to wear that?""To dance in." Gina held the full skirt wide. "I loved the way the skirt
danced when I did."Julia shook her bead, bending over to send the shears flying in a swift
arc to their destination. "Nobody wears party dresses to go dancing.""It's not a party dress. Just fun to dance in." Gina's back was turned
now as she held the dress against her , watching herself in the mirror.
''Well , how come you don't?""Don't what?" The orange dress sailed across the room, to land accurately
atop the heap Gina had deposited on the chair.
"Don't wear it anymore? To dance in?"
Gina was back in the closet before she answered . "I guess, you know,
being with you, it would feel strange." Her voice was muffled by the rackof clothes . "I don't think I would feel ... comfortable." She emerged
again and began to be busy removing hangers.
Now Julia's scissors stopped in their course. "Gina-would you like it if
I liked to get dressed up, too?"
What else could she answer? She did not lie, not to Julia. "Yes, I would.
Of course I would. It's fun , sometimes . My friend Sharon and I used to dothat - get dressed up for no reason and maybe go buy ice-cream cones. It wasfun." She and Sharon had worn skirts to the floor and broad-brimmed straw
hats. They had pretended to be Ursula and Gudrun from The Rainbow. They'd
buy ice-cream and sit on a bench on the parkway. Sharon would watch all
the men who passed. Gina would watch Sharon-Sharon wearing ribbons and45

flowers around the crown of her wide-brimmed hat. "But I would never ask
you to do that.""Oh, I would never do it." Julia fingered the frayed edge of a pair ofjeans , picked at the fme threads . "But you could."
And what would everyone think, Julia? With me in a long skirt and asummer straw hat , and you in jeans and a belt and boots? You know what
they'd think. She continued to strip the clothes from their hangers andanswered, "I don't mind not doing those things now. It's the past." Like
wanting a wedding. Like expecting that someday someone else would pay
for her hats and shoes and dresses. Like wanting a baby she could arrayin ribbons and flowers. Another door in her mind swinging shut, the latch
clicking.
Working through the pile, she had reached a turquoise colored skirt witha deep ruffled flounce at the hem. She remembered-she'd worn it the night
she and Sharon had gone to the Town Edge to hear the bouzouki players
and dance the syrtos. Coming home , they had missed the last bus and it
had started to rain. Sharon and Gina had walked four miles in the pouringrain, carrying their sandals slung over their shoulders, and lifting their skirts
for the puddles, laughing and singing. The past.
"It still makes you feel bad , doesn't it·!" Julia asked, her eyes on theneedle she was threading with blue. Without waiting for an answer she wenton, "You don' t have to get rid of anything if it makes you feel so bad . Not
on my account."
Gina paused, studying Julia 's bent over head . The bright skirt alone
remained in her hands. "Of course it makes me feel bad. A lot of things
I remember make me feel bad." She would feel bad, and allow herself that.
Not too bad-she wouldn't cry. She wasn't sorry. Just feel bad enough tomaybe write a poem. "I don't mind feeling bad," she said.
Julia had stopped, too. Now she pushed the jeans she had been alteringswiftly aside. The scissors clattered to the floor. "Gina. Maybe you shouldhave stayed straight. All the things you miss-getting dressed up and goingout and stuff-you'd have been much happier straight. You could have a big
fancy wedding, and then you could have a kid and stay home and indulge
yourself in self-pity all week, waiting for some man to take you out dancing
on weekends-all dressed up."
Gina froze as the words sliced into her, plunged to her soft center, pierced
her most vulnerable place, that ineradicable past when she was still straight.
Julia would know how much that hurt. The tears Gina had transcended only
minutes before now suddenly filled in. She turned abruptly, the blue skirt
still caught in her hands, and left the room. Shut the door behind.
In the small extra room that was next to their bedroom, she held theturquoise cloth to her face, rubbed her fingers in the fabric, feeling the gloss,
crushing the gathers in her hands. Julia, I won't be sorry for the way mylife was before I met you. You have no right to judge that. You don't knowwhat it was like to be straight. Maybe I did care a lot about pretty dresses
and believe a lot of pretty lies. But there was much more to it than that.
The turquoise skirt fell in deep folds across her lap . There used to bebeads-blue beads that matched the skirt. They must be here in this room,in the little chest that was also stuffed full of leftovers. The jewel box. She46

got up and began to search through the drawers of the chest. Yes, in thecorner , the jewel box , in the bottom , a fold of yellowed tissue-p aper. She
drew them out.
The blue beads shone in her fingers , clicked softly into a mound against
the matching fabric - deeper blue than the sky after a rainfall. They werereal turquoise, held together by tiny links of silver wire. Sharon had sent
them to her from Mexico . Gina had been shocked when she unwrapped thelittle package-the beads were too valuable, too expensive , too unlikely apurchase for Sharon , trying to last out a year in Mexico on a pauper's budget.
And a month later , Gina had had to wire Sharon the money to get home .
Where was Sharon now? After the Mexico episode , Gina's memories ofher were distant , cloudy. For Sharon there had been a marriage , an alcoholic
husband ; for Gina , heart-rending letters from her , long distance phone calls
at 3 a.m. Could Sharon come and stay with her? Gina always said no . No ,Sharon , it's too late now. It wouldn't be the same anymore . You wanted
to be his wife . I wanted you to be my friend ... After a time, the lettersand calls had stopped .
She folded the skirt and scooped up the handful of turquoise beads .
I won't lie to you , Julia. I'll try to explain it to you - what it was I valued ,and why I can 't let you rob me of my past. . . She left the skirt whereit lay , but carried the beads back with her to the bedroom. She could talkto Julia now .
But the room was dark. The new clothes had been pushed to a crumpled
heap on the floor , and there was a small mound under the quilt on the double
bed . Gina sat down softly beside it and drew back the edge of the quilt. Julia
was asleep- curled into a knot , fast in her familiar escape from hurt, from pain .
Gina sat still for a long time watching her. Julia's eyes were shut, the lashes
still against her cheek, her mouth slightly open. One arm and hand were
exposed , the fingers clenched in a fist shoved deep into the pillow . She lookedso small- so still. I don't want you to go away from me like that, Julia. You
don 't have to hide from me and keep on hurting . Did I hurt you that much?
How much ?
Gina leaned over and brushed a wisp of curl from Juli a's cheek . She let
the blue beads hang from her hand , over the side of the bed , then Jet themgo . She kissed the round curve of Julia's shoulder , her temple , kissed thehollow at her throat.

47

THE WOMAN WHO LIVES WITH OWLS ...

is defiant
refuses to clean
does not invite people inlistens to the mutterings
and fe.athershakings of dark birds
and then writes songs48

she says she is learning their language

she writes notes to people
on the meaning of owl-talk
she says it is deep and intricate
she studies the reason they live on nightas if it were an unresolvable hunger
she puts these notes in the mouths of owls
and they are delivered
dropped in the laps of friends and editorsand strangers
later, no one will look her in the eyethey claim she writes like everyone elseon white paper and sends them through the mailthe woman who lives with owls
is capable of sitting
for years in one place
while the great tree which is her home
divides above her the dust gathers
and the droppings of owls
form themselves into silences
this woman who lives with owls
who lets them sit on her shoulder
who practices owl-talk in the dark
makes a witch's promise to all owl-covens
not to reveal
this owl-woman stands herself
always on the edge of night
whispering long-vowelled secrets
into the wind
the notes she writes to the world
are written in the darksurrounded by creatures which can fly
surrounded by something with a powerfuland sharp hunger
she will tell you her words are written
on bark pulled from the tree she lives in
she will tell you the pen she writes withwas taken from the body of a small owl
who died too young
but look at her in the light
notice the just visible pair of eyesslit and yeUow
which sit on her shoulder
notice the places on her bodyraw of skin and empty
where once a feather might have grown-Martita COI/rtot

Pearl Time'sChild

THE BOX

Note: What follows is actually the translation into writing of an essentiallyspoken/heard work. The music that occurs near the end is an integral part ofthe story ; the piece is Pachelbel's Calion in D-Major.
Sinsemilla ("without seeds") is a form of marijuana . Only the female plants
are allowed to flower ; males are uprooted from the area and for a mile upwind .
The female, unpollinated , sends out longer and longer branches of highly resinous
flowers . (High Times touted it as "sex-starved marijuana," but there are otherways of looking at it.) The sinsemilla flowers thus obtained make a powerful,creative and lucid smoke. Two sources mention a tradition in Mexico that inearlier times sinsemilla was grown by women only .
"Tender Buttons" is the title of a work by Gertrude Stein .

When Trudy visited the West Coast in the spring of 1984 (This is adifferent 1984, I want it understood .) ... When Trudy stepped from thetrain in Eugene, Alice already knew that sometime during her friend's
visit here they would explore together that new women's store .
As it was , they went on Thursday , and, oddly , it was snowing. Alongthe branches, white puffs of late snow balanced between the cherry blooms ,shimm'ring, like the intermixing of tutus ,blossom-colored , and white,
as if two different waltzes were dancing there
at once, and, strangely, melding .
. . . Alice looked fr·om the window to the bottle in her hand. This store
was like a good museum , too much to absorb all at once . .. . The taperecorders, for instance, produced by a women 's collective. And the strange
names of some of the models: "Tape Recorder On The Edge of Time," forone. The woman who sold them once taught math; now she taught theircare , repair , and their creative use . Her shop , with its cameras , tapes , andsuch, filled what had once been the living room of this old house . The house,
once a respectable turn-of-the-century wooden fantasy , was metamorphosing
again , become now a store, a women's place they called TH E LI F E-AS-ART
SUPPL Y STORE .

Across the hall and through another doorway were windchirnes , flowers,
crystals of cut glass , a pile of old lace tablecloths . This, in what had once
been some woman's dining room; you could see , her plate rail was still there .
In the windowed kitchen were the inevitable plants in pots . But these,grown by the nurseries at ELF , were special plants , each with some known
virtue . . .
The knowledge of plants, the knowledge of plants discovered once by
women called midwives , women called witches, women called shamena , the50

knowledge of plants was being recovered now, through study, and throughmeditation. (For this was already in the beginnings of the Remembering.)
The women who tended nurseries at ELF, it seems, ate only fruit andnuts. They rose early, and began their work with meditation. They worked,
mostly, in silence, musing, and listening for what the plants would tell them.
So here, in the kitchen, were the plants they grew, and here, beside them,the ELF series of Plant Meditations: three books, so far, offered as "works
of fantasy." The meditations were, it said, received in the form of stories:
dreams in the greenhouse, sometimes; sometimes there were visions as if
from other lives. Other revelations as to the virtues of a certain plant camewith the appearance of a fairy, or of a being called the "deva" of the plant.
Most rarely there were characterizations of the plant seen as if from inside ,as if one were conscious inside the plant itself, knowing the slow rhythmsof the light.
What was not said, in these books, or anywhere, was that the information
received in these meditation sessions was always carefully tried out until thewomen were sure they had understood it correctly. This was not said, forthen all this could be called "selling patent medicines ." It was not said. They
printed their "fantasies," they nourished their plants, and they repaid theliving this gave them with listening, and with giving thanks unto their plants.
It was not the ELF nurseries, however, who were responsible for Oregon's
camous woman-grown sinsemilla. It was rather in the remote, high places ofthe state that this marijuana, legal, fmally, for three years now, was grown.
In the mountains women slept all summer in the gardens,
breathing in the white dust of the flowers,
slept a sleep not quite like sleeping,knew the changes of the moon,
saw the stars and planets moving
out beyond the resinous flowers.
Days they walked among their plants, always searching out the male ones.
If a woman found a male plant, she would meditate before it, reaching out
unto its spirit, speaking thusly : "Forgive me. I must remove you. It's in theservice of consciousness." And then she would pull it gently, bear it to thedrying shed; from its fibres would be woven the rough, golden rope.
And as the woman walked her rounds, she greeted gladly each female
she saw, called to her by name: There was Olivia, and there beside her taller
Redwood stood, both now enjoying their third year of life, and giving still
their copious boughs of flowers. Redwood and Olivia were matriarchs bynow, legends, and with granddaughters already. The plants themselves weren't
fertilized, of course. But from each, cuttings had been taken, grown besidetheir elder sister, and then carried, with much singing, downwind, down into
the valley. There they bloomed among the others growing there among themale plants for the bearing of the seed. For some male plants there had been ,who, when reached in meditation, had, in aIlswer, spoken thusly : "Do nottake me. By consciousness I conjure, in the name of love I tell you, in theplant that I am being is the seed of the Seed ." So to ridgetops under stars
and nights among the women came the lurriinous new generations.
5I

This woman-grown sinsemilla was very ... yin . With it , one seemed to
notice a still place in oneself, a still place into which the world curved andresonated. "Elsa" (moon in Cancer) was a ca~e in point. An ounceful of her
flowers sold for twenty dollars in the shop upstairs. Or, if you were of adifferent frame of mind , there was "Laughing Grass," two dollars , and"Looking Grass" as well. One basketful of ounces had for a name a haiku .
And one other, sinsemilla again, was the long-remembered "Dona Juana"(moon Aquarius) .
. . . The pipes! Another story for another time.
Yes, it was too much to absorb all at once. Already , Alice could see
Trudy's eyes glazing as she leafed through her sixth bin of women's music.
Good , then she would not explore this corner today .
Trudy regained her seat by the fire, groping for her tea , her eyes on therecord jacket she held. Alice returned into the afternoon light. The bottleof oil was warming in her hands. In its belly , minute bits of lavender drifted
slowly downward through the oil. Around the neck of the bottle
Alice noticed a ribbon , and, fastened there , a label,a drawing of the labial, labyrinthine petalsof a flower. Beneath the flower, she read the words"Sapphoflower Oil."In the end, however , she chose , not that , but
a box, a round, a soft and tufted box. It was a box of,a box full of, of a secret she saved
till that same evening, whenafter going home in the snow to tea , and thento bed to make love; and after talking instead ,voicing fears and doubts, discussing, reassuring ,and after, then, tears
and after , after all , remembering touching
and after English muffins after thatand after a joint, and a cigarette ,smoked, respectively , smoked, reflectively, smoked in bed,
the music changed to something like Bach. [Begin Pachelbel]
Something like Bach, it was. But it was not Bach,it was ... "box," she remembered. Alice kissed
between Trudy's eyebrows. "Close your eyes," she said .
She drew the box from hiding. Soft , it was ,a rounded, pillowed box, covered with a silken stuff.
Alice put aside the embroidered lid,
and lifted out a scant handful of beads ,soft pearls, essence of althea, and heal -all,in opalescent jell. Fairy bubbles,
pearly baubles, warming in her handin the palm of a lover's hand, of a lover's handrocking in the lips of her lover's secret mouth.
Soft jell ball domes bubbling
between the two woman surfaces ,52

reminding some , then, of Danae,
and of the golden rain
and then of golden rivulets
rivulets, themselves, then , melting , now ,melting into healing balm, sweetly smelling,
and in ever such good taste .
But short this melting is,and fleet the tongue must be
to taste its nectar now ,for now the melting, itself, is melting ,and all is gone to scent or air ,or rather , it had seemed, vanished into ether
leaving, then , this startled flesh
this the hand , and thisthe hidden mouth and source
wakened naked cell to cell.
On the floor the candlelightsparkled on the silken lid
and on the name enbroidered there ,"Tender Buttons" it read .

"The box" is from an anthology of short stories which explore lesbiansensuality and eroticism. Look in women's bookstores this spring for A
Woman 's Touch or write Amazon Reality , Box 95 , Eugene , Oregon , 97401.
Also, a tape of "the box" is available ($4) from Time'sChild , Box 364 ,Ashland , Oregon 97520 .

53

Ann Allen Shockley

A MEETING OF THE SAPPHIC DAUGHTERS

Lettie and Patrice almost arrived at their small apartment the same timethat evening as they rushed home from classes. They quickly ate an instantdinner of hot dogs and canned baked beans, bathed , and dressed. By sevenp.m., both were ready to leave for the meeting of the Sapphic Daughters.
Patrice was more excited about the occasion than Lettie mainly because,
initially, it had all been her idea. Lettie had entertained other thoughts forthis Friday night, which did not include being with what she was certain
would be a gathering of all-white Sapphic Sisters. But Patrice, whom Lettie
sometimes affectionately dubbed her Oriole Cookie, had a habit of wanting
to attend events for which she, Lettie, had no heart. Like the Gurdjieff lecture and Bartok concert last week at Jefferson University, where Patrice wasworking on her doctorate in American literature with the aid of a fellowship .
Esoteric lectures and concerts were all a part of Patrice, who was a growth
product of the fifties. She was one of the first to integrate the schools in
Alabama, and later became a recipient of the rush handout scholarships awarded
to black students by one of the private, predominantly white, women's colleges in New England - scholarships awarded to invite Federal monies. Patrice
had been around more whites than blacks. Her whole life's itinerary had beena journey through a nonidentifiable, cultureless milieu. During this time, she
was one of the lucky ones who had few problems, for her physical makeup
of a light complexion, proportioned features, and curly sandy hair did notcause much of a panic among those white students who feared only the colorof blackness.
With Lettie it was different, for she halfway straddled another generation .
Lettie had attended all-black public schools in Washington, D.C., and completed her college work at Howard University, closing her circle of blackness.
Even now the pattern had not been too severed, since she taught politicalscience at a community college in a predominantly black neighborhood. The
college had a smattering of white students and a top-heavy frosting of whiteadministrators. She knew the whites disliked her, for she made them uncomfortable with her candid outspokenness.
Even her appearance seemed a threat to them. She wore her mixed gray
Afro closely cut to the shape of her round head . The deep, rich, ebony darkness of her skin reflected the mystery of her long-lost ancestors in the flowing ancestral heritage of her existence. Her dark flashing eyes could change
from softness to a cutting penetration when adversely confronted. She wascynical; she knew the world, people-especially white people. About them,
she would bitterly warn Patrice : I don't care how friendly some of them are,when push comes to shove, they're white first!
"You've tied that headpiece fifty times," Patrice snapped impatiently,
watching her in front of the bureau mirror .
54

copyright Ann Allen Shockley, 1977

"Mind's someplace else-" Lettie replied shortly, now smoothing the foldsof her long African dress.
"What's there to think about? We're just going to a meeting to hear Trollope
Gaffney. The literature passed out at the college's Women's Center stated that
all lesbians were welcome to attend.""Uh-huh. But I'm just wondering how many black lesbians will be there
besides us?"Patrice garnered part of the mirror to apply lipstick. "It would be nice tofind out, wouldn't it?""How can we when they're in the closets?" Lettie retorted.
"Well-so are we!" Patrice exclaimed in exasperation, turning to face her.
"Have we come out to our colleagues, friends-students?""For what? To become ostracized? It's bad enough being looked upon a~lepers by whites, let alone blacks. You know how blacks feel about-bulldaggers." Lettie spat out the epithet deliberately.
Patrice shuddered. "I hate that word-""So do I. But that's what our people call us," Lettie said softly. Suddenly
a smile broke across her face, like sun obscuring a cloud, as she took in
Patrice's shapely form outlined in a sheer summer dress the color of violets.
"You look beautiful-""And you look beautifully militant!" Patrice laughed admiringly .
"I'm letting them know in front how I stand.""C'mon, Angela Davis," Patrice teased, "let's go. The meeting starts ateight.
II

The meeting place of the Sapphic Daughters was on the second floor
above a curio shop in a shabby brick building near a battery of dilapidated
warehouses. A large, husky woman with a hostile face, dressed in faded denims:
stood guard at the door , blocking their entrance.
Lettie purposely lingered behind Patrice, fighting off her natural inclination
to simply ignore the woman and brush past her. She heard Patrice ask with
her nicest Wellesley demeanor: "Is this where Trollope Gaffney is scheduled
to speak?"
The woman gave Patrice a long hard silent stare. Lettie smirked, thinking
she was probably wondering if she were a nigger , and if so, where did she
get that way of speaking.
"Yeah-" the guard finally grunted .
Deciding that there had been enough time spent on social graces, Lettie
took Patrice's arm and forthrightly guided her past the door block. Immediately upon their entrance , they were washed by a shoal of white faces gazingat them from behind cold masks.
The meeting hall was an elongated , poorly lighted room bordering on
bareness. A makeshift platform was at the front with three straight-backed
chairs, a small table with copies of Trollope Gaffney's latest book, and ascratched-up podium. Decorating the wall behind was a large cardboard signreading SAPPHIC DAUGHTERS with the interlocking Sapphic symbol beneath. Metal folding chairs had been placed in the center of the room . Alongthe right wall were two card tables pushed together, covered with white paper
55

cloths for serving refreshments . A large tin tub housed chunks of ice-sheltered
beer.
Some of the women were seated, while others milled around in clovergroup clusters . "Br-r-r , I can feel the chill already," Lettie murmured , looking around .
"Don't be so negative . You just got here . Let's sit in the back row.""No, indeedy! I've had enough back seat sitting in my lifetime! " Lettie
retorted. "Front and center - "The women seated in the fourth row they entered shifted their legs slightly
to let them in . One attempted a weak smile . "I don 't see one of us here-"
Lettie observed .
"Sh-h-h-" Patrice hushed her. "I think they 're getting ready to start."Three pants-clad women strode stiffly down the aisle to the platform,
feet grinding hard on the wooden floor. " That's Trollope Gaffney- " Patricewhispered excitedly, "in the center."" How could I miss her? " Lettie retorted sarcastically, watching the little
group 's important accession to the stand . "She wears the same kind of clothes
all the time."
Trollope Gaffney was a tall. broomstick-formed woman with a hard brittle
face reflecting her forties. She was dressed in her usual attire as seen in thenewspapers and on the covers of her books: tight sequined brown pants,
braided shirt with a gold women 's pendant embroidered on the breast pocket ,and a beret. The two women flanking her were flushed with pleasure andexcitement. One was young with a cupid face dotted with two splotches ofrouge , and long brown hair . The other was older , tall as Trollope , and had asurly, self-important air about her.
Trollope Gaffney sat down first , cocking one leg halfway over the other,
then the girl followed. The third woman stationed herself behind the podium,scowling darkly at the women who had not broken their cloistered groups
to be seated .
"Please take your seats- " the woman commanded . "We want to start ontime ."The groups obediently broke up as the women scattered to find empty
chairs . Then the mistress of ceremony called the meeting of Sapphic Daughters
to order. Before starting the program, she wanted to remind them about next
Friday's potluck supper at someone named Cynthia's house ; called for morevolunteers to get the Sapphic Daughters' magazine out ; and told them that
dues had to be paid by the end of the month. Then turning to the girl behind
her , she said proudly : "To begin our program , Wendy is going to read us herlatest poem which is dedicated to Trollope Gaffney ."There was a smattering of light applause and a barely audible groan fromthe back. Wendy stood up nervously , taking a sheaf of papers from her bag.
In a young , breathy intonation , she began a rapturous reading of her poem:
She is what I love
She with her soft beauty
who can delight me to ecstasy
Take! me away on a cloud of
Woman -an-Iy lo -o-ve
56

"Sounds like the shit I used to write in junior high school ," Lettie
murmured .
Patrice gave her a warning glance , thankful that the seats directly beside them
them weren 't occupied . Lettie was pragmatic, a realist. Patrice had foundthis out on their first meeting when they had served together on a Black
Feminist panel. They had talked after the discussion , talked into the following months, and talked until they discovered each other and how they felt.
When the girl sat down , there was another polite succession of applause .
The mistress of ceremony told Wendy her poem was beautiful, so tender ,full of love , like only women can have for each other. Afterwards , she began
reading from a stack of publicity releases to introduce the guest speaker forthe evening, Trollope Gaffney.
" . . . one of our foremost lesbian/feminist writers . A leader, fighter-"
When she finally finished , the hall resounded with loud , appreciate handclaps for Trollope Gaffney. When Trollope got up , the room was instilledwith attentive, respectful silence.
Trollope Gaffney had a high-pitched voice that derided her aggressive , bold,mannish appearance . She was self-assured and spoke without notes , having
done this so many times before . Her talk was about the gay liberation movement , where it stood now and projections of how it would be in the future.
She envisioned a world community of lesbians. "We have to assert ourselvesbuild . Identify ourselves to each other- this great army of lesbian women, because we are all sisters-s-s . We are all one in the beauty of Sapphic love-e-e! "Later when she finished, the hall 's walls rocked with cheers as the womenstood up. The Sapphic Sisters began crowding the platform to enclose Trollope
Gaffney in a web of reverence . The young poet Wendy began selling Trollope's
book as the purchasers waited patiently for autographed copies. A record player
was turned on , and the nasal voices of a lesbian group singing sad ballads ofwomen in love with women saturated the hall in a plaintive, hollow sound.
"You want a beer?" Patrice asked , let down by the cynical look naked on
Lettie's face .
"Now , what was all of that speech about?""About love and building a world community of lesbians," Patrice answered ,as they approached the refreshment table .
"Who needs one? If I'm going to build a separate community of any kind ,it 'll be a black one!"" How much is the beer?" Patrice asked the chubby girl with yellow bangs
behind the table.
"Seventy-five cents for a beer, and fifty cents for a sandwich. We got
baloney, cheese , tuna fish -""Wham!" Lettie breathed. "They must be already starting to finance thatlesbian community.""Two beers, please-" Patrice ordered , searching her purse.
The woman on the platform who had taken charge of the program came
toward them in long, swaggering strides. ''I'm J .L., president of the Sapphic
Daughters." Her eyes were a sharp, glittering steel blue like a frosty clear
winter's sky. She stood back on her legs, hands hooked over her belt, faceclosed .
"I'm Patrice and this is Lettie-" Patrice smiled , while Lettie eyed her
57
cautiously .

"You live around here?" J.L. asked.
"Yes-" Lettie said quickly, taking the can of beer Patrice offered to her.
She had played this scene years ago , many times before , going to places
where colored, Negroes, niggers weren't wanted. J.L.'s question was a familiar
conversation piece that dripped with subtle warning. Blacks who "lived aroundhere" knew better than to go to places where they were not wanted.
"Hi!" Now the girl who had read her poetry came up to stand beside
Lettie. "I'm Wendy- ""Yes, we know- the poet ," Patrice said . "This is Lettie and I'm Patrice ."Wendy stuck out an eager hand. ''We've never had any black lesbians here
before-""Oh?" Lettie said icily , raising the beer can to her mouth.
"We meet every other Friday. Sometimes we have rap sessions, consciousness-raising groups, and dances- ""Do you people have any kind of an organization?" J.L. questioned, taking
a cigarette from a crumpled pack in her shirt pocket.
"Frankly, we don't know any black lesbians," Patrice said , frowning.
"Or , if we do, they haven't told us ," Lettie added, smiling venom.
"Do you know any?" Patrice said to J.L. She swallowed her beer hurriedly.
This was a habit with her, to drink beer quickly before it got too warm andtasted like glue.
"Naw-" J.L. squinted over the cigarette smoke.
Suddenly out of a murky past , Patrice was reminded of the red-necked
hill crackers in Alabama. Revulsion shivered her spine. After all the transplanted
years, she was surprised that she could still remember. Painful memories arenever easy to forget, like being hurt in love .
Women began drifting over to the table. A rock group record had replaced
the melancholy singers, and a few couples had started to dance. Beer canswere opened, and sizzling, popping sounds interspersed with laughter.
''What brought you here tonight?" J.L. went on persistently.
"A couple of things. Primarily, we wanted to hear Trollope Gaffney. I
have assigned some of her writings to my students-" Lettie replied, feelinganger warm inside her . Maybe what really brought her here was the devil toknock hell out of the bitch.
"And we wanted to meet others like ourselves-" Patrice added, gently.
Wendy edged closer to Lettie, gazing approvingly at her. "That's a lovely
African dress-""Like yourselves?" The words were thrown like acid by J.L.
You goddamn racist! Lettie thought, as the beer churned sourly in her
stomach. Beer and anger don't mix. White racists and black militants don'tmix, and white lesbians and black lesbians are white and black people first,
instilled with personal backgrounds of distrust and hostilities.
Seeing the smoldering fire in Lettie's eyes, J.L. backed away, putting out
the cigarette in an ashtray on the edge of the table. "Uh-well-you see, thisis a kind of private organization." She conjured up a weak grin which becamea clown's grimace. "We meet at each other's houses sometimes and we are aller-friends .""Here comes Trollope-" Wendy interrupted.
58Trollope joined them, still surrounded by her network of admirers. "I'mthirsty!" she giggled shrilly.
Someone quickly produced a can of beer for her. Over the can , her eyes
glistened at Patrice and Lettie . "And who are you two?"
Patrice repeated the introductions, watching Wendy openly gazing at Lettie
from beneath heavily lidded speculative eyes . For a flashing moment, jealousy
singed her. Yes, white girl, she s good in bed to me. Angrily , she finished herbeer , throwing the can in a wastebasket.
"We have your last book-" Lettie told Trollope.
"How nice . What did you think of it?"Patrice held her breath, waiting for Lettie's reply. She knew from long
ago how Lettie could raise her husky voice and let it all come out like thunder
and lightning in a brass band. Only this time, Lettie was constrained.
"The section on political freedom for women was well-taken, but there
doesn't seem to be anything in any of the lesbian literature on the lesbian
movement addressing itself to helping the black lesbian to become free ofracism-especially inside the lesbian community."
Trollope looked puzzled at first, then flustered.
"Will there be freedom from racism in your lesbian world community?"
Lettie went on pointedly.
"Of course-" Trollope answered stiffly, looking over and beyond them.
"I had a black lover once-" Wendy blurted out.
J.L. shot her a mean look.
"It's easy to be liberal between the sheets-" Lettie said too sweetly.
Trollope let out a squeal. "There's Tommie! I haven't seen her in ages!"
Moving away , she smiled broadly. "Nice meeting you-Patrice and Lettie."
LL. grabbed Wendy's hand. "C'mon-Iet's dance."
Wendy waved back to them as she let J.L. lead her to the dancing circle.
"Co me again!""Got enough?" Lettie asked deliberately putting her half-finished beer
can on the table. She hated beer.
"Uh-huh! ""Then- let's go."
They left and no one said goodbye .
III

In the bed, Lettie asked sleepily : "Now, has your curiosity been satisfied
about the Sapphic Daughters, my little Oriole Cookie?""Umph!" Patrice grunted tiredly. "It was like crashing the D.A.R.-""Maybe someday, we might find that silent legion of black lesbians. But
until then-""We stay in the closet," Patrice mumbled , moving closer to her. "It would
be nice to know - others.""Perhaps we do . And possibly one of these days , they'll let us know ,"Lettie said. "Let's go to sleep. You never know what tomorrow will bring."

59

NUN IN THE LIBRARY BASEMENT

In those days when habits still counted
I sit screaming on the cool tiles.
Around me scatter the bits .
From Literary Criticism: Theory and Practice(Required for doctoral candidates
Unless course work completed by 1958).
A cautious A peeps mischievously out
From the precise parenthesis of a footnote.
My ring-still there-glistens lessThan the Old Dutch-polished pipes.
But a full-length mirror-jealous of any rivalHurls back the naked bulbs in such anger
My image spreads behind the paper disposal.
I am so alone the basin-<lrip is lover.
John-thunder in the adjoining room
Assaults me , and she-coiffed in corpulenceSlides past the unconscious mirror,
Her black absorbing at its peril the pipes .
Her little hands come out of folds so frail
It hurts to have them test the tepid water
And tear at the sandpaper. They pull
At my throat as I whisper help but she
Lets them slip back into anonymity.
Her flat feet ignore my wail.
The hasty skirts, however, catch at Ransom
And toss him gently over against a single quote.
The swish is like an irritable prayer
As the torn corners resettle .
And you, finding me later in the park,
Watching me bathe my ring in the sun-spilled rose,
Cannot understand my never again.
Your moist palm is Romeo's and competent
But your trim shoe crushes a petal
The gravel of your retreat wounds another .

-Maxine Kent Valian

VIOLENCE

ERASURE
6I

Michelle CliffANONYMITY AND THE DENIAL OF THE SELF

In 19 77 I bought a book which described the work of women paintersin an isolated district in India. As I read the book and considered theimages painted by the women, several things began to come clear tome. I had long been troubled by the determination of some women toembrace anonymity as a valid personal/political statement; the bookmade me think about this. The essay which follows is my attempt toarticulate why I find anony mity so distressing.

Because of the natu re of the works of art illustrated in this book I havepreferred not to give the names of the thirty women from six villages
who painted them , so that the beauty and meaning of the paintings andthe fame of the artists shall not be confused . 1
This statement, by the author of a recent book on the women painters ofMithila, is exercising a constraint against women which has been exercisedthroughout western history . By making the painters anonymous , he is removing, or attempting to remove, all expression of their/selves to be found intheir work. By eliminating the names of the artists and any description of
their individual personalities, their lives , the conditions under which theirwork was done, he is divesting the work of several levels of meaning.
The women painters of Mithila have , for approximately three thousand
years , maintained a visual tradition with roots embedded not only in ancient
Hindu religion and custom but in Cretan civilization as well :Faces are most often drawn in profile , and their resemblance to the facesin Cretan frescoes or on Minoan pottery is striking, as is their characteristically elongated profile ... and the wide-open eye . . . Likewise , Mithila
art resembles Cretan not only because of the elongated profiles and immense eyes, but because it appears to be an extension of Mediterranean
art in its use of space and even ornamental details . Cretan art died a longtime ago ; but an art very much like it survives today in India .. 2
By casting his description in the passive voice , the critic further removes thecontact of the artist from the work: i.e ., "faces are ... drawn ." Not only
does this technique remove each individual artist from her work , it also precludes any suggestion that these women consciously select to maintain a
Cretan tradition in their art : Why , for example , does the snake goddess appear
in their work? The possibility of the survival of a tradition from one acknow62

ledgedly gynecentric culture to a group of women who are the keepers of avisual tradition handed from mother to daughter is not stressed by this masculinist critic. Rather he stresses the Hindu tradition , with its phallocentricity ;the enforced passivity of the painters; the " naivete" of their work. The critic
wants the paintings to be a function of the women 's role in the dominantculture; according to this argument , as far as the work is a statement of thewomen's selves it is in underwriting and expressing fidelity to their role. This
to a large part appears to be true-these women have lived within the severely
circumscribed limits of upper-caste Hindu women for centuries-still thequestion must be asked: What of their/selves are in these paintings?
In order to avoid questions like this one , the critic limits the link withCrete to stylistic similarities only. And again some meaning is lost: to saythat the Mithila women follow a given style, which may have a source inCretan civilization , is to say that these women have painted according to acode from which they have not wavered and to imply, therefore, that they
have not the need nor the power to express their personalities in their work.
By limiting the historical link with Crete to matters of style , the critic isalso free to disregard the content of the work with regard to that link : It isamazing that, if style can be retained for millennia, content cannot; but toadmit that the presence of the snake goddess in these late-twentieth-century
paintings might have an affiliation with a tradition thousands of years ago
in which women also painted would be to open up a possibility of female
lineage which masculinist critics have always shunned, even suppressed .
One of the pictures in the book is a moving depiction of two womenwith the customary rings through their noses. One clasps the hand of theother; the hand of one woman is on the shoulder of the other. The caption
reads:
Mithila art is so female-orientated that sometimes the men do not know
the names of the deities drawn or painted by their women. It is also,
however, an entirely religious and symbolic art: every picture of a woman
is of a gopi, one of the beloved of Krishna, or (1f Sita, who remains theexample of a model wife for Mithila's women. 3
Here, in a confused attempt to enforce the paintings of these unnamed womenas part of their role, the critic contradicts himself: If the husbands of thewomen-and in Hindu custom, the husband becomes the household god of
the wife-are unaware of the identity of the figures in the paintings, might
not the women hold some secret of representation? But no, the critic assures
us that even though the men cannot say what "their" women are depicting,there is no secret: all females in the paintings are either gopis, i.e., the women
Krishna played his flute (penis) for ; or Sita, the wife of Rama who chose
death because she had been abducted by Ravana. Although "faithful" toRama during her captivity, i.e. , she had not allowed her/self to be raped by
Ravana, she had dishonored Rama by being captured, so she "prayed to the
Earth to open and take her to its bosom." 4Here again the critic wants to establish that the paintings of the womenof Mithila are only visual representations of their role. But there is no suchthing as a work of art which has absolutely extirpa(ed the personality of theartist: the pressure of the brush, the choices of color, the composing of63

figures-even if the figures are only religious and symbolic-all of these, andmore, are elements which move toward the final work, are expressions onsome level of the artist's own frame of reference, intellect, eyesight, etc. We
might say that the Sistine Chapel is "an entirely religious and symbolic art"
and that every figure represents a biblical presence. However, books havebeen written about the presence of Michelangelo's personality in the work;
it would never be questioned by masculinist critics that the paintings on theceiling of the Sistine Chapel express the psyche of the artist. It would also
never occur to critics to suppress the name of the artist so as not to confuse
his "fame" with the "beauty and meaning" of the work.
What it comes down to is this : by removing the identity of the artist, thecritic is attempting to remove the personality of that artist from her work;
the work of the women of Mithila can thus be seen as maintaining a malecentered religious tradition, in which the artists themselves are objectified
and made passive . To credit a woman with work that is hers is to allow her
a separate existence : to see her work as the expression of a separate personality which may be threatening to the phallocentric dominant culture.
II

The art of pleasing . . . consists in entire self-effacement. 5
The expectation of the dominant culture has always been that women will
be pleasing to men ; that we will efface our/selves- that we will be satisfied
with, in fact long for, anonymity: this is not news. But with this realization ,as with the realizations of many factors in our common past, it is necessary
to investigate the effects of anonymity on our history (matriology) and our
tradition (matriography) and our/selves (matrices), as well as to examine thedetails of the phenomenon more closely, in the past and present, to ensure
our survival into the future . The dictionary defmitions (according to American
Heritage) of matrix include the following: (1) "A situation or surrounding
substance within which something originates, develops, or is contained"; (2)"The womb"; (4) "Geology a. The solid matter in which a fossil or crystal
is embedded . b. The impression left in a rock when an object such as a gemstone is removed." The Latin word matrix originally meant a pregnant animal;
later, womb. And the word derives, of course, from mater, mother. In myuse of matrix as a synonym for my/self I am concentrating on the first dictionary defmition and using the others as illustrations of this primary meaning:i.e., my/self is the "surrounding substance within which [expression, creativity,
separation, etc.] originates, develops, or is contained"; this self is also thewomb in which I nurture and finally bear the "something" of defmition 1;
the matrix is "solid matter" -it must not be elusive , neither must I, by nonnaming or being silent, deny the matrix the nourishment it needs in order tobring forth the "something." Our history is the logos of all our matrices: thesuffix "-ology" derives from the Greek logos , meaning word or reason. Thus,
matriology means the words from which we obtain knowledge of our matrices:
It is the record of our/selves. The word matriography signifies the traditionof our/selves: the suffix "-graphy" meaning the illustration-by word or othermeans-of that to which it is attached; in this case, the illustration of theself. Matriography also means the study of the "gemstone," i.e ., the work
released by the matrix .
64That said, let us focus on anonymity as self-denial, as starvation of thematrix . Anonymity has, in patriarchal tradition, been linked with femininity ,and passivity, and its masculinist obverse, fame, with the nonfeminine:
Thou hast a charmed cup 0 Fame!
A draught which mantles high,And seems to lift this earthly frame
Above mortality.
Away! to me-a woman-bring
Sweet waters from affection's spring.
These lines, from ''Woman and Fame" by Felicia Hemans, were written by
a famous woman. Famous because her verses expressed fidelity to the feminine ideal and did not question the norms of anonymity and other aspectsof constraint on women-other women. She was therefore allowed to nameher/self-albeit as Mrs. Hemans-and to be a successful writer: the poet laureateof the Angel in the House.
But fame is not merely the obverse of anonymity, as the phallocrats
believe . It is far more complicated than that. I will use the word "fame,"
however, in an effort to redefine it from a feminist point of view , and tothereby understand what it has meant for women to have been warned against
it , guarded from it - offered in its stead the "sweet waters" of Mrs. Heman'slines, the reward of the good, and quiet , girl. (By "fame " I do not mean the
People-magazine sort , which I would call "celebrity ," or "passive fame. " )In order to achieve fame, one must stand separate and make some statement about the self, the matrix. The " fear of success" of which women havebeen accused again and again is a crude statement of what we may undergo
when we attempt the separation that comes with fame ; when we claim as ourown the gemstone which the matrix has produced . To make some statement
about the self means-if it is to be positive - that one holds the self in esteem:that there is a feeling of self-worth . That I can say, without hesitation , I am
separate : from husband , children, mother , father , sister, lover. Does Lily
Briscoe have difficulty finishing her painting in To the Lighthouse because
she really believes "women can't write , women can't paint" ? In part , yes; she
has been told this throughout her life - her knowledge of matriography affirms
it. But part of her inability to fmish comes from the fact that to do so would
be to make a statement that she is separate and worthy , and a female. To
finish her work would be to outstrip Mrs. Ramsey and thereby separate herself from the woman , now ghost , who is her mother. To outstrip Mrs. Ramsey
would be to reject the feminine ideal for the female self. It would be to separate her/self from the predominant patriarchal tradition of female anonymity .
When we choose to create , and to name our creations as our own, we areengaging in a radical act of separation from which , historically, we have consistently been discouraged. As women we have been taught , and have internalized the teaching, that we are extensions of others, not our/selves, and wehave been eager to plead for "sweet waters." By choosing anonymity we arechoosing erasure.
Simone Weil , throughout the gradual process of self-denial which was herlife , sought the perfection she discerned in anonymity . In her defense ofanonymity , she uses the example of a child doing a mathematical problem :if the answer is incorrect, then it is endowed with some aspect of the child's
65

personality-with whatever idiosyncrasy caused the error ; if correct, however,
it is not , since the correct answer is perfect and therefore impersonal. In
correctness the child will have attained the anonymity Weil links with perfection . This melding with perfection brings with it the absolute erasure of
the personality who has acted in the first place. The perfect wife , the perfectdaughter- perfectly anonymous.
III

The average housewife . .. washed an acre of dirty dishes , a miles of glassand three miles of clothes and scrubbed five miles of floors yearly. 6
And she washed and scrubbed in anonymity, melded into the feminine role.
She is anonymous by virtue of her role : by her name , taken from her
husband or father; by her expected fidelity to styles of hair or dress or childrearing; by her work, which will be for others-all these contribute to theeffacing of the self, and the erasure of a particular woman 's identity. We
might look to the lives of women artists , whose names are now emerging,for examples of the consequences of anonymity :Mary M . Bonsall:This artist paints portraits, which are in private hands . 7

Because her work is in private hands , Mary M. Bonsall has been removed
from view .
Candida Bozzino :In 1881 this artist entered the Ursuline Convent at Piacenza, where she
continues to paint religious pictures . 8
Because enclosed in a convent , directing her energies toward works which
glorify the religion of the fathers , Candida Bozzino has begun the process of
becoming anonymous. Perhaps the convent does not allow her to sign her
name ; perhaps she joined the convent in order to have the space in which to
devote her/self to her painting. In any case her choice of subject matter will
be limited , and her/self will be effaced in her role as bride of Christ.
Margaretta Van Eyck:
We cannot now point to any pictures as exclusively hers, as she worked
in concert with her brothers. 9
The family commitment which lays claim on the self of all women .
Margaretta Van Eyck was so melded with the demands of her role that
her very existence is today in doubt. 10 She is part of a long tradition of
women artists who came to their art by being the sisters, wives , daughters ofpainters . Those we know of are few compared to those who probably existed.
The reason for this seems to be that if the wife or daughter, less frequently
the sister, outlived the male relative or managed to release her/self from therelationship , she began to sign her name. Some , however , did not outlive theirmale relatives or did not free them/selves , and so they and their work remain
in obscurity. There are , of course , exceptions to this , but I believe this is thegeneral rule . II
66

Constance Mayer:
It is well known that Prud'hon and his pupil painted many pictures incollaboration . This led to an undervaluation of her ability, and both theinferior works of Prud 'hon and bad imitations of him have been attributed
to her. 12
If the work of the master is bad , it may be attributed to the female student;
if the work of the female student is too good, it may be attributed to themaster; if the work of the female student is in the style of the master but
her name is lost, it may be attributed to the "school of' the master , orperhaps to another student.
The ma.ster/female student relationship is not unlike the father/daughter ,brother/sister relationship in art. The female student has little chance to express her/self while under the influence , while living out the feminine rolein the master/pupil dyad .
Jeane Mathilde Herbelin:
Her early ambition was to paint large pictures , but Delacroix persuaded
her to devote herself to miniature painting , in which art she has beencalled "the best in the world." 13
I do not know that Delacroix was Herbelin 's master , but he used the influenceaccorded that role. As a result Herbelin 's work disappeared into minutiae as
did she.
The case of Eva Gonzales is also interesting: Her father was a well-known
novelist, her master was tdouard Manet; when she exhibited her work,
Manet's influence was apparent , troubling critics who were divided
between aversion to Manet and loyalty to Emmanuel Gonzales. 14
Eva Gonzales does not figure at all. And her work unfortunately reveals an
obvious effacing of the self, an anonymity of style and content, as she followed the work of her master. Gonzales also served as Manet's model, so therelationship has the added characteristic of the artist/object- the object (female)which will be revealed by the subject (male).
Berthe Morisot was also involved with Edouard Manet; like Gonzales she
was his model. In addition Morisot was Manet's sister-in-law . In the processof painting a portrait of her mother and sister she asked Manet for advice :He took the brushes and put in a few accents that looked very well;mother was in ecstasies. That is where my misfortunes began. Oncestarted, nothing could stop him ; from the skirt he went to the bust,from the bust to the head , from the head to the background . He cracked
a thousand jokes, laughed like a madman, handed me the palette, took
it back; finally by five o'clock in the afternoon we had made the prettiest
caricature that was ever seen . . . My mother thinks this episode funny ,but I find it agonizing. 15
It is not hard to imagine the emotions Morisot must have felt at this extreme
invasion of her/self. The master artist/brother-in-Iaw /the subject-to-her-object
invading her expression of self, trivializing it , taking it over, establishing his
identity in it while erasing hers. Her mother, watching as her daughter's portrait of her was "revived " by the master, enjoying the honor of the master's
67

invasion , finally being amused. Morisot "was filled with doubts about her
work ," went through long periods in which she could not create; it is notdifficult to see why.16 Perhaps , after a time , her matrix, rather than "developing" "something ," only "originated" and then "contained" it.
When Manet diedshe devoted herself to building up an appreciation of his work in the
public mind. So intelligent were her methods that she doubtless hadgreat influence in making the memory of his art enduring. 17
And so , without the support necessary to break the constraints of role , shechose the devotion expected of us all.

IV
I believe that when painting, and especially when conceiving a painting,one should not give too much thought to nature. Make the color sketch
exactly as one feels the colors were in nature at that time . But whatcounts are my personal feelings. IS
To admit the personal counts is a radical act for a woman.
The author of these words was Paula Becker , the author also of a radical
female imagery in art. I have written eisewhere I9 about the importance ofPaula Becker to a woman 's tradition , a female culture- to matriography. She
sought , in her work, to remove the female from all aspects of masculinist
idealization and to seize the images of women , all women, for women andfor her/self.
Artemisia Gentileschi was another female artist who sought to establish
her/self in her work . She stands firm to her experience- a magnificent exampleof the refusal to be anonymous- in most of her paintings. In her self-portrait
she has portrayed her/self as La Pittura , the personification of painting : alarge and powerful woman , she pays only slight homage to the conventional
attributes of the personification. According to Cesare Ripa , author of the
major source for these attributes during the time when Gentileschi painted ,the figure who personifies painting is a female with a gag on her mouth , signifying , we are told , the speechlessness of the visual arts. Whatever the rationale
for the gag , Gentileschi has removed it : her mouth is slightly open , her eyes
are fixed in concentration; she is engrossed , it seems , in transferring her/self
to canvas. She is consistent in her dedication to her/self and women : whether
depicting , clearly and firmly , the beheading of Holofernes by Judith ; theattempted rape of Susanna by the elders; the beauty of Bathsheba contaminated by David's furtive gaze; or the strong and heroic woman she personifies
as Fame .
Gentileschi is extraordinary in the history of women artists. She wasdetermined to survive , as a woman and a painter. Many women have notbeen so determined , and many, artists and nonartists, have not survived ; but
there is one tradition among almost all women artists which would seem tounite them in a refusal to be anonymous , in which the matrix is celebrated
and carefully preserved : self-portraiture. Perhaps some knew that their names
would be erased and lost. They were , after all , artists , and must have wondered"why have there been no great women artists?" Perhaps some realized that68

other women artists had once existed and wished to ensure their own survival.
They knew that their names might be erased, but that their faces with moredifficulty would be covered over. Is that why almost all women painters portrayed them/selves? Or was it a simple personal statement of self, of separation: .
I may be the student of Prud'hon, or Titian, or Reni-but I am also my/self,
and this is how I see my/self.
Not all women artists painted them/selves in an effort to retain andilluminate their/selves: Angelica Kauffmann, for example, perhaps the mostobjectified woman painter we know of, painted many self-portraits for patrons
who insisted on a depiction of the artist as well as the commissioned work.
(I have not looked at all of Kauffmann's self-portraits, but I doubt that we
can dismiss her or others like her so easily.) There are others, though, who
painted them/selves for them/selves quite clearly and intentionally.
There is Romaine Brooks, for example : a lesbian-identified artist of thiscentury . Brooks's self-portrait is a depiction of her/self in the top hat she
often wore. Her extreme and beautiful face stares out of the canvas; she isdressed in black, with grey gloves-if you look very closely at the painting,moving into Brooks's gaze, you will detect another pair of eyes under thebrim of the hat. 20
And there is Maria van Oosterwyck : the Dutch painter of the seventeenth
century, who "shocked" the dominant culture by teaching her women servants to paint. In her Vanitas, amid the standard objects of this particulargenre of still life, is her face, reflected in a flask of aqua vitae : a female facestaring from the water of life.
Some women painters depicted them/selves according to the classical or
current rules of beauty prescribed by the dominant culture during the timein which they did their work; such is the case with many of Kauffmann's
self-portraits. Many more, however , seemed intent on making a statement
about them/selves as artists, and as women who were artists; many painted
their bodies and faces as they were: in old age, in spinsterhood, in work
clothes with the instruments of labor. Sofonisba Anguissola, Rosalba Carriera,
and Berthe Morisot were three artists who depicted them/selves toward theends of their lives. Of Morisot's self-portrait, the caption in J.J. Wilson andKaren Petersen's survey of women artists reads : "She seems to be looking
into the vanishing point"- perhaps in more ways than one.
Kathe Kollwitz, Suzanne Valadon , and other women artists gave us andthem/selves records of their faces and bodies and the changes therein throughout their lives: Kollwitz's lined face and rugged hands , dedicated to selfhonesty; Valadon's face and breasts, the strong beauty of each, not objectified,rather subjectified.
Anna Bilinska, Mary Newton, Therese Schwartze all painted them/selvesin work clothes, holding their painting tools. Gwen John , sister of Augustus ,stares from her self-portraits in defiance; celebrated as an "old maid," "eccentric," with cats- less celebrated as an artist. Adelaide Labille-Guiard has
painted her/self with two women students- a clear and intentional statement
about her commitment to instructing women. When she hung the painting
in the Salon of 1785 it was considered "radical," "sensational," with regard
to its message of female education .
69

I could go on. I could talk about the work of Frida Kahlo, for example.
I could go on and describe hundreds more; for almost every woman painterpainted her/self. I do not think that this came solely from constraint of subject, or from lack of money for models. I think these women wanted theirpresences visible in their work; in the most obvious and indelible way .

v
The refusal to be anonymous, the decision to separate the self from theexpectations and demands of roles, is the choice women must make if weare to survive; if a women's culture is to survive . To me this is what it means
to be a feminist : not to be anonymous, not to deny the self. To be a feminist
is to attempt the rescue of other women from the various constraints which
culminate in anonymity ; but the first responsibility is to defme the self: To
stand separate , alone, saying my woman's self, my matrix, is the source of
my identity.

NOTES
Sources: The major sources of women's work in art which I have used in the
preparation of this paper, are two recent surveys of women artists: J.J. Wilson
and Karen Petersen, Women Artists (New York : Harper & Row, (976); andLinda Nochlin and Ann Sutherland Harris, Women Artists: 1550-1950 (New York:
Knopf & Los Angeles County Museum, 1976). I also visited the show of women's
art of which the latter title is a catalogue, to see the work first-hand. My othermajor source of women's work in art and details of their lives is the work ofClara Clement, Women in the Fine Arts, first published in 1904 . (I have used
the facsimile edition, New York: Hacker , 1974 .)1. Yves Vequaud, The Women Painters of Mithila (London: Thames & Hudson, 1977) ,p . 31.
2. Ibid., pp. 28-29.
3. Ibid ., p. 81.
4. Ibid ., p. 22.
5. Virginia Woolf, The Pargiters , edited by Mitchell Leaska (New York: NYPL &Readex Books, 1977); Woolf is quoting a judgment attributed to Mark Pattison by his
biographer , see p. 123.
6. Virginia Woolf, Three Guineas (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1938), p. 177, note
13 ; Woolf is quoting Mrs. Murphy, Home Service Director of the British Commercia l
Gas Association, as she was quoted in the Daily Telegraph, 9/29/37.
7. Clement, p. 54.
8. Ibid ., p. 59 .
9. Ibid., p. 120.
10. See Wilson and Petersen, p. 35 .
11. This general rule is supported by various sources. See, for example, Dorothy Miner,"Anastaise and Her Sisters" (Baltimore: Walters Art Gallery, 1974), p. 22: "What the
tax records bring out is that usually the woman artist had been active as the wife or
daughter of a masculine professional. When he died they carried on and assumed full
responsibility ." Miner is talking about the results of the research of a French scholar,
Franpoise Baron, who investigated tax records for parts of Paris during the last ten yearsof the thirteenth century and a few years into the fourteenth .

70

12. Clement, p. 385.
13. Ibid., p. 379.
14. Nochlin and Sutherland Harris, p. 247 .
15. Wilson and Petersen, p. 92 ; quoting Morisot's Correspondance , ed. D. Rouart, trans.
B. Hubbard.
16. Ibid., p. 92 .
17. Clement, p. 389 .
18. Wilson and Petersen, p. 109 ; quoting diary entry dated October 1902, from Briere
und Tagebuchbliitter, ed . S.D . Gallwitz, trans. Liselotte Erlanger Glozer.
19. Unpublished paper, "Complex and Mysterious Influences: Some Thoughts on theLives of Women Artists."
20. I am indebted to Susan Griffin for pointing this out to me.

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graphic by Cheryl Swannack72

Arlene Raven

The following piece is a fragment about the Gjgoddess and Her relationshipto Lesbianism . It was originally part of a dialogue among six feminists about
issues of women's spirituality and art to be published as part of a bookabout the work of a well-known (heterosexual) feminist artist with whom
I have a personal and professional relationship of thirteen years. When thematerial for this dialogue was assembled by her for final draft , this section
about Lesbianism was omitted. When it became clear to me that dialogue
and negotiation were not to alter this situation, I withdrew my work withsadness and anger .

The power of the Image of the Goddess is Body, is Spirit, isWork(s);it is direct knowledge, is personal power in the world andcollective power in the universe.
The psychic and physical communication which opens through ourrituals is, in tum, based on a knowledge of the Nature of theuniverse and our Natural place in it.
I call this communication Lesbian.
But why? since women who do not name themselves Lesbian
are aware of Her reality.
But the physical and psychic communication which women experience
with one another day to day, and intensively in feminist ritual,is Lesbian-is woman-to-woman, and is an aspect of our participationin the body and spirit of the goddess; through which we know that
we are not only separate (alike but different)
but one, the same.
Spiritual Lesbianism may transcend but does not exclude
the sexual connections which exist between women.
And Lesbian women participate in psychic/spirit knowledge throughlove-making, even if not held in conscious awareness or acted upon.
The Lesbian - who may never interact with men, or bear biologicalchildren, is yet the transcendent lover and mother of womanand man-kind; and as an essential Virgin-by-choice-ofnot-choosing
patriarchial family/system, is Priestess in drawing nearer
to the female creative principle.
And, often when I have taken a closer look at the actual relationships
which heterosexual Goddess-centered feminists have with their men,
I have found that their relationship to heterosexuality
is Lesbian.
(the major focus in their lives being female-female and female-73

Female}: their relationships with men function, as before
patriarchy, specifically for sexual gratification, economic
viability, procreation. And their world view clearly posits
a wholly female creative force, not the yin/yang principle ofmale/female balance.
Or in reality these feminists are not heterosexual at all but
are celibate or Lesbian (in that they h(Ille sexual but not genitalcommunication exclusively with women).
And they do not name themselves Lesbian.
Perhaps to be able to speak in the language and voice ofmost people in the world as it is presently,
to avoid hostility,
or to confront "difference" and the pain of being human inother areas of their lives.
But it is important for me to use the term "Lesbian"
to enlarge the space for me and every other sister in feminist struggle,
and to thus make way for the New Creations of our Collective
Imagination (and these will also be
Great Art).
And naming Lesbiana Lesbian is also my personal contribution
to hastening the end of the suppression of the Female Principle.
Ritualized Lesbian connection is a cloak of power
which can lead us from individual (powerless) isolation toindividual (divine) and collective (divine) strength.
Witches and Lesbians were and are burned for the same basic reason because we claim possession of the feminine life force over the
masculine death-centered culture.
But the fire is powerful in every direction, andwe may also burn ourselves (up, out, in) by isolating parts ofourselves and disconnecting ourselves from ourselves (homophobia).
The Goddess is Woman/We are Women.
Every woman alive experiences the Lesbian connection to theGoddess through having been completely connected to a Goddess our own biological mothers; a woman who created us out of her
own substance, who then banished us from the garden of eden ofher body to engage in the human struggle.
The repugnance of Lesbiansim is the fear of the power ofthis force and connection ultimately symbolized in the Goddess.
Lesbianism makes clear, illustrates through practice, that thefemale principle operates in the universe - not dialecticallyas we might assume, but instead creates a complete context
for a life-supporting cycle of birth, death and regeneration.
The revolution that our feminist movement visualizes
is a revolution of more than changes in government or economic systems.
It is the broadest kind of revolutionlife against death.

74

Melanie KayeSCRAMBLED EGGS 3:

WOMEN AND VIOLENCE

men don't take us seriously because they're not physically afraid of us.

Ellen Willis, 1968.

**

the upstairs neighbor. if i keep typing, i can't hear his sneering voice, i cancheck the anxiety rising: will i have to deal with him again - or swallow myself, absorb his blaring stereo, his endlessly stupid thrumming the same outof-whack chords on the electric guitar. practicing, no doubt, to be the next
dylan (dylan, who beat his wife).
last time i asked him to turn down the volume, he snarled , "why don't you& your friend move out?" "why don't you shut your mouth, " i shout back,and he screams , "why don't you make me? you're supposed to be the manin this relationship. " later i hear him bellowing from upstairs , "ill fuck her
ass. "
in the morning my car's windshield is gooey with spit; pinned to my door isa picture of fancy condoms; a poster with my name on it, taped up in thehall , is crumpled, destroyed.
i got off easy.
(from my journal, october 30)
i was just doing dishes, afraid i'd miss some informative sound. had tokeep turning off the water to listen. the man upstairs hates me because
i'm queer, is threatening me.
so i do dishes, checking for sounds . at the same time, the familiar ordering act, washing dishes, hands in hot water, calms me. is this why weclean so furiously-to have one place where we are in control? i do dishes,rocking between contradictory voices:-you exaggerate the danger, he's a cowardly wimp-you underestimate the danger, you got him mad, you don't knowwhat you're playing with
3 weeks ago i shouted "shut your fucking mouth" to a drunk man cursing
me , my mother-there were 5 of us- and suddenly a second man materializes
beside the car, he smashes the car window, grabbing my hair as i drive away.

7Sto be prepared-in any instance of confronting a man- for violence. to beprepared to defend myself-or to keep my mouth shut : adjust to his noise ,stomach his insults, accept his power .
these are our choices .

**last night i dreamed i was walking to get the car , up stark to 20th, but thestreet was not a street , stark was a wind-tunnel, with machines for food , halfopen doors printing shadows along the walls. i am trying to run against thewind, and think, suddenly: this is dangerous
my body is the criminal
the fault my body:SO spirit
i offer these words to explain the danger , though i don 't believe them. but
the danger persists, as if they were true.

**

today's paper (november 2): in portland , a 32 year old woman getting off
work in a department store , going for her car in the city center parking structure , got grabbed in the elevator and raped yesterday .
one story. according to statistics , yesterday in portland between 2-20 women
got raped. between 6-60 women got beaten . the same thing will happen today .
of course these are only average counts.
every day in this country a woman gets raped every minute. 3 women get
beaten every minute . these are also average counts .
what am i counting if not casualties of battle?
why then don't we admit we are at war?
every man: has probably raped or beaten a woman ; or enjoyed rape
fantasies; or threatened a woman with physical force, explicitly or withgestures- stepping closer , raising his voice ; at least a man he works withor socializes with, who he thinks is an ok type , has raped or beaten awoman.
every woman: fears rape , or lives inside limits imposed by that fe ar: nolate night walks , no living alone , no hours of solitude by the river. if she
relates intimately to men , the threat of violence has probably sufficed tokeep her in line. if she is a lesbian, her comfort is that the threat probably
comes from men she is not intimate with .
since i began writing this, L - , a close friend, has been raped. she carries aknife, has fought men, though she's small- and he was big, quick. she wasafraid to use her knife. now she has an infection and might be pregnant.
in sum : if you are a woman, you have probably been raped or beaten or
will be; at least a woman you love has been raped or beaten or will be.
it's easy after saying this to think of men and women as separate species, one
preying on the other.
the state of war waged on all women by men who are overtly violent gives allmen power. rapists and batterers are the military arm of patriarchy.
76

*

*

to stop violence against women we have to change schools , laws , a system wherea few white men make a profit off our labor ; almost all films , records , record
jackets, tv, toys , advertising, the junk we get sold in paper cartons at the supermarket , isolated living situations and overcrowded living situations: every difficult edge of this culture contributes directly or indirectly to violence against
women .
meanwhile there's another simpler fact:
men rape women because they can.
men beat women because they can.
the only place where rape is considered a contemptible act is in prison - byother prisoners- not because it 's cruel , hateful and vicious, but because everyone knows rape is a chicken-shit crime , a crime any fool can get away with.
in fact, few rapists land in prison. white skin, professional status, money :these are buffers, protecting rapists as they protect other criminals.
as for how batterers are treated in prison - who knows? they are arrested ,prosecuted and convicted even less than rapists.
cops, judges, district attorneys, and legislators are (mostly) men who don 't
take women seriously.
men abuse us because they can get away with it.
our task then is to make abuse of women more and more risky , something
men can 't get away with.

**

Inez Garcia Joan Little Yvonne Wanrow Jennifer Patri Claudia Thacker
Sharon McNearney Evelyn Ware Janice Hornbuckle Hazel Kontos Lenore
Coons Carolyn McKendrick Margaret Pratt Wanda Carr Francine Hughes
Diane Davis Agnes Scott Marlene Roan Eagle Miriam Grieg Gloria Maldonado
Julia Parker Price Bernestine Taylor Darlene Lis Virginia Tierce Elizabeth
Mae Fulmer Gloria Timmons Evelyn Graham Jenna Kelsie Roxanne Gay
Dessie Woods Shirley Martin Alta Bryan Patricia Evans Cathy Thomas
Barbara Jean Gilbert Janice Painter Donna Ferth Nancy Stilson Barbara
Carpenter Judy Wagner Georgia Wondel Nada Alayoubi Christina Pratt
Sharon Crigler Lorilyn Allan Janet Billey Barbara Eacret Idalia Mejia
Sandra Lowe Janet Hartwell Eva Mae Heygood Betty Jean Carter Lea
Murphy Beverly Ibn-Thomas Mary Melerine Maxine Waltman Eva Diamondthese are the names of resistance fighters . the names of women whose attackers
did not get away with it. the men who abused them are dead . the list continues
to grow .
some of these women are in prison, along with hundreds of others whose names
i don't know. their history is our history of resistance . each of them has helped
enlarge the possibility of resistance .
only as women choose to resist men 's violence will men's consciousness change.
when men are afraid of us, there will be a material base for changing their consciousness.
77

or at least we will be on terms of equality of fear.
when women are as ready to stand up to men as men are ready to knock down
women we can begin to talk about our common humanity.
not before .

**i am talking about women and violence . most often we experience violence
as something done to us. we know it 's horrible ; we have learned/are learning
it's not our fault. so we suffer innocently . christian or jew , christ has notbeen a healthy model for oppressed people .
one step up from martyrdom, we support our right to defend ourselves. weorganize, attend , and try to extend to other women classes in self-defense.
we focus on dislocating knees. we try not to think about differences in size,
weight, fighting skills, between an average one of us and an average one ofthem. we are anxious not to escalate violence, so we rarely carry weapons or
know how to use them.
we gloss over the fact that most successful resistance involves some kind of
equalizer: a weapon.
we recognize that women who fight back fight back for aU of us . but in contradiction to the service performed for all women by those who resist is thefact that each resister has suffered for performing this service : at best, a painful and exhausting struggle in the courts; at worst, prison or death. as thedeath penalty is reinstated or its use is extended , we need to think about this.
the question arises inevitably:
if we need men to know that committing violence against us is dangerousif the use of violence is acceptable in an emergency, as a desperate choicewhy wait for the next emergency, for the next wo.man in danger to choose
self-defense at great cost to herself?
why not create our own emergencies???

imagine: every day in the paper, instead of a story about a woman who
was attacked, raped, beaten, tortured and/or murdered-information which
certainly has its effects on us-there were a story about a rapist or batterer
who was beaten, shot, stabbed-even public humiliation would be better
than nothing.
how long would it take woman-haters to get scared?
this subject-of women organizing to do violence to men-makes us uncomfortable . we are the life-support system of the universe. we birth, nourish, andrepair. how should we not shrink from committing violence?

- are we more comfortable as victims?
- is fighting for our own people a guilty act?
when we try to envision ourselves using violence, we crash against the unthinkable , a taboo.

78

when .we feel ourselves up against a taboo, we should ask ourselves: why isthis horrible? why do we want to reject this? if we find no reason, only vague
feelings of awfulness, we want then to think about this awfulness.
as long as a rule , commandment, behavior cowers in the unthinkable cornerof our brain, we have no way of knowing whether the rule is ours or theirs,
in our interest or theirs.
if using violence against men in an organized fashion is in our interest, and if
we have reactions of discomfort, repulsion to the idea of fighting for our own
peoplethen maybe we need to struggle with our discomfort.
men don't take us seriously because they're not physically afraid of us.

**

one thing is clear :whatever any of us chooses to feel , think, or do about women fighting abusivemen, women continue to fight. increasingly. the question then is not, should
this happen? - it is happening . the question is, how do i choose to relate tothis fact of women's resistance?
and if this resistance heartens us with each new appearance, inspires andempowers us, the question shifts again:
how can i take part in this resistance?

the implications of what i'm saying do not escape me.
i am frightened to write about them openly:
there is danger in fighting.
there is also danger in not fighting.

The thought and spirit of Paula King informs these words.

"Scrambled Eggs" will appear regularly in Sinister Wisdom. I welcomecomments and suggestions from readers, and would be happiest to open
this space to dialogue.

79

SUTTEE
Still in her everyday
finery, the young widow in the pit
standing: she could not have been more than sixteen,
the face.
illiterate, unreadable,
the forefinger pointing upwards toward grass,toward sky, like a circling pole.
She did not stop twirling her finger.
The dry faces huddled above hershe watched them confidentlysister, mother, sister.
Clods fell inagainst feet , against thighs, against hips;
they watched her confidently
as if watching a saplingtransplanted. No one had everwatched the dead husband with such silence.
Earth overbelly , over childlessbreasts, over the long dress
trimmed in gold :she did not stop twirling her finger ;she did not stop to give one final instruction
before earth fell in against lips .
Open-eyed she watchedsight covered by soil .
It fell upon her headas upon a little hill.
She did not stop twirling her fmger.
Here in the riotous citywhere young children play at murderand older children wait by the drugstore
in springtime, descended
from slaves, the young widow's story
seems a footnote in one bookon the long mythology
shelf in the public library.
Here where our steps are borderedby daffodils and corpsesof animals,
the twirling fmger in the sidewalk
trips us,and we can't say why we fell.

-Mary Ann Daly80

M. Kathryn Missett

BLESSED BE

The transition to patriarchal religion cost the lives of nine million
women in Europe. Many of them were Wicca, knowledgeable
herbalists, and dedicated to healing.
Must they scream, must they always be screaming out there? I wonder
how much these Christians pay them to raise such a constant commotion?
I know the people don't feel such vehement hatred, especially the women,
how could they? We've delivered and cared for their children, treated theirhusbands , relatives , and lovers in addition to ministering to them for many
years. What is this strange thinking that makes me suddenly dangerous andharmful to them? Politics and power , this new order , but where is the sense
in punishing the healers? Are their few healers with their bleeding and hacking
so powerful that they can cure all the ills of this vast land? I've spent mylife traveling , teaching , healing , and haven't reached thousands that needed
me . Surely there is more than room for all of us. But they don't really seemto care about the healing- rather that the people accept their beliefs, a malegod, male priests. They must make the people swear allegiance to this neworder , re fute all the old ways . My beliefs , all our ancient teachings , are in
direct conflict with their desire for power ; the people cling so tenuously tothe old beliefs that they have become inflammatory . So we must all be des·troyed , as examples to the people.
Where can Iris be, in another cell like this perhaps , watching the bugs
scurry through the straw and mud , leaning hopelessly against a cold stone
wall. Perhaps when r sleep I can reach her , if only a quick touch throughthis cruel rock . Strange how walls can look so different from one another.
This very prison is made of the same substance as my castle, at least it is safe
now , quiet , eternal at last. After three lifetimes there, thank the Goddess , I
was able to learn the spell , now it will be at peace forever.
That was surely worth the chance of arrest , my last spell to ensure myhome 's security. It has served me well , from the beginning this time the castle
held no strangeness for me . I clambered over the ancient balustrades, up anddown tapestries , over the wrought iron balconies as soon as I could toddle.
Sweet voices from the stones lulled me to sleep in my crib . Flowers smiledat my touch , the well water showed me past and future clearly. How is itthat [ never quite believed that it would end this way? But then the water
never showed a stake with its flaming logs, only this cell. so acclirately mir·rored in those clear waters on warm summer afternoons . It never shllwed Iri sburning either, perhaps this isn 't tru ly our fate Llr perhaps tht' c:.Jstle \\"\llddn ' lface my ignominious death, preferring to helieve that I will cSl'apc all thismadness to grow old slowly, graciollsly, always loving and healing .

There are those infernal voices again, demanding burnings. Can't they wait,
let me have my few precious days? Do they really believe that I can magicallyweave this straw into a broom and fly through stone walls? The women's
screams are always the loudest. Poor foolish women, they don't realize what
this new order means for them. They aren't even granted souls by this strange
philosophy. They are evil, wanton, carriers of sin, worse than their husband's
lowest cur. What an odd idea it is to categorize life at all, placing one creature
above the next. "Lowest cur" indeed, the black-robed man that spoke thatphrase to me was so vehement, so full of hatred. How I hope Iris is venting
her sarcastic anger on them at every opportunity. I'm sure she is. I don't
suppose this could get any worse, unless they'd beat her. I can't bear to thinkof that kind of pointless cruelty.
For how many nights , lying in our huge oaken bed, safe in the castle ,have we discussed this fate of ours. It seems that we've known for at least
half a lifetime, but it couldn't be that long. About three years ago we heardof the first burnings, the ridiculous accusations, the hatred. Then that picture
we had been seeing for so many years in the well's water began to take onsome comprehensible reality. We started to understand what that reflection
might mean. We had never been able to understand it before- I couldn't imagine committing any crime, especially one severe enough to put me here.
The first time I saw that image in the water I was three years old. I had justfound Iris in the forest and brought her home with me. She already knew
how to ask the waters about her future . She had been looking at the reflectionof this cold stone cell since her infancy.
Yet, somehow it never had any relevance; certainly not through the travelingyears when the people seemed so grateful for our slight knowledge, our herbal
cures. There were incidents of unpleasantness then, like that man who tried
to rob me, but they were only the typical hazards of traveling, no hatred.
In the later years when the five of us were working together in the castle
teaching medical skills, there was nothing but respect, gratitude, and affection.
Patients would exclaim over our energies, our happiness while we were working so hard teaching, healing, growing and processing herbs. It seems that wehave loved so much, worked so hard and never felt anything but gratitude
and love in return. Where then are they finding these people to howl cruelly
outside my prison cell, accusing me of the most repulsive deeds? Surely theyknow what liars they are; would so many have come to me for treatment if
they believed me a murderess? Indeed, what are these Christians offering?
Position and wealth in their "new church," for the men only, no doubt. Are
these offerings worth enough to justify murder, and of how many I wonder?
Are the other women somewhere in this foul prison also, or have they managed
to escape? Those men might have been more clever and arrested us when wewere all together at the castle. But perhaps they couldn't arrest us for dispensing medicines and cleaning wounds, they had to catch one of us doing aspell. Maybe I shouldn't have been so blatant , waving my wand at the castle
from the front yard, but by then I didn't care. Iris had been gone for threedays-do they really have her or, please Goddess, let her have escaped.
I was tired of always being on the defensive, living in fear , and I wasdetermined to ensure my castle's tranquillity. For the past few months asnews of the persecutions coming closer reached us, Iris and I have hardly82dared to sleep at night. We lay awake watching the shadows stretching acrossthe ceiling, wondering how many more days we have . How many more daysof work and growth before it is our turn to be sacrificed as the enemies of
their religion.
We've scarcely been able to comprehend the horrors that are being committed
in Christ's name when his ideas are so gentle and kind . Perhaps this lack ofcomprehension was one factor that kept us from fleeing. On some level I
couldn 't accept that people who professed to believe in such good teachings
could be persecuting others, yet I didn't take into account the desire forpower and wealth . That is what really motivates these supposedly holy men.
Besides how was I to know they were having me watched , I waited til thedead of night to do my spell.
None of us wanted to leave the people that needed us , friends that wehave spent our lives treating . Certainly not to plunge helplessly, aimlessly,
through the woods , dependent on others to help and shelter us, never knowing who the enemy is , where to find friends, we didn't want to flee underthose conditions. Yet the thought was always in my mind, in Iris's too , thatas soon as the danger was really close we would leave.
They took us by surprise, though , we thought that they were still many
villages away. When Iris disappeared I was worried but I thought perhaps
she had been suddenly called to treat someone and didn't have time to letme know. Perhaps she wasn 't captured after all and is now making plans to
set me free .
At least they can 't touch the house now , can 't destroy or ravage it. It is
eternally safe. The soft, dewy green hues will always melt into the ancientstone walls. The carved mahogany doors, the fragile stairwell, even the oldrope and wooden bucket on our magic well will always be preserved. In my
next incarnation the wooden fences and delicate iron filigree draped withflowers will be as lovely as they are now. The tapestries , the oaken bed, thewalls and ceilings have all drawn in a breath and wait out of time, in perfection and peace for us to return. These raving people shall not go there
and destroy my home - "to keep their souls from returning," their holy men
say. How little they understand of our ways and with what hatred they
pursue us.

83FOR KATE- VIOLENCE REVIEWED
lavender kate , and silver
your colors do not mask words
as you teach silver scorches guilty ones
shifting restless feet but silver ignites my opiated anger i know their guilt
as i remember
my ribs crushed to walls
hands tight squeezing breath from my neckas one crushes a plum in palm
knives (honed to skin a warrior)pressed to my breast by
a man who could not bear to see me free
thrown on the groundbitch lesbian bitchhe could not bearto see her laugh with me
no work no foodselling my body for room and meals
too full of stitches pain & morphine
to do else beneath businessman bellies
cant about cold wives
i suffocated screams
the rape of my will all for moldy picturesof the father of our countryour father , who art in hell ...
i turned the razor back on myself with bound arms
they had soldered my lips with liquid shamei spoke thru gauze veils
hidden in a separate hut
when my words trickled blood
but i bit through the veil to expose my teeth like tequila without salt
now i bite
now i take up my anthame and gut shame
to read his entrail s of can cered plasterchant :
Hecate , turn my blad e thricefold deep to themfor the slashes they made in me~4mary helh will

WAR
Dab lines of ochre and black
across my cheekbones
down my throat;
circle my eyeswith mystic blue.
Tie tail-feathers of pheasantin the braids of my hair ,and I will in yours.
Where is my circlet of bear-claws
to guard my throat?
Your necklace shines hard and brightabove the soft globesof your breasts .
Where are my axe and bow?
We must gowith the white-moon trance
in our eyes. I have sworn a vow :It is war.
"She 's only a ten dollar broad." The whole table laughs
as I walk quickly past them, carrying five plates of eggs .
Sing with me , as we go .
I am afraid , for you
and for me ; yet my arm
feels the thrust of clean anger.
and my mouth thirsts
for their blood. I will dip
my breasts in red paintto make them fear me .
"Hey honey , more coffee! That's a good girl. Say , did you
see that bitch . .. "My anger is a whirling cyclone ,she is a dervish
striking
again and again.
I laugh in my anger.
"Hey, where's my food? " " I'm not your waitress." "Oh yeall , I
guess you' re not - you both look the same from here down."

85

I would rather
dance with you in the circleof high pines beneath the moon,or walk. the afternoon hills
sun slanting on our heads ,but look : light strikes
their spear-tips ,the stench of their coming
taints the wind . Another time
we can lie by the fire
and tell long stories . ..

- Linda McDonnelll.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God,deliver us now
and at the moment of our death."

My name is woman ;I live in an impregnable cage ,its limits set
by the vulnerable bruised edges of my body .
See this purple thigh?
See my crimson smile?
I sing as any creature singsin a forest fire,the high notes rise more intense
because the fire is invisible;
it's hidden cleverly,
tucked away in stray corners of my brain-cells .
Timers, set ticking before memory,cause tiny flames of pain
to begin to lick me.
My name is woman ;I am so used to pain
I find myself uncomfortablein any other element.

2.
"Be quiet. Go to sleep now.
Mommy and Daddy are here ."Three-year-old girl chudlay in her bed,
drowsy and safe
awake not asleep.
86She saw a pink and purple
worm-like thing above her body.
It did not touch her, no,it pulsed in the air.
It was going to touch her.
Her screaming woke the house.
Woke her mommy who listenedand said, "It's not real,
It's not real ; go back to sleep,
it's not real ; it didn't happen."
3.
"You were such a good baby , so quiet ,you could just sit still for hours!
You never cried ."She lay in her crib,
infant eyes open, unfocused only things very close really seen.
Like the crib bars,
long and square and golden .
Her breathing sucks in and out
like curling ocean waves,rolling up in swirls of pleasurefrom belly to lips and back down again.
The space about her body seems infinite;full of huge beings, strange smells,
and feelings vibrate as the dust-motes
in the air, that catch her eyes
and tum golden.
A being she knows comes close.
He touches her
and she is enveloped in safety.
He takes off her clothes
and she kicks her feet in the air laughing.
He laughs and tickles her.
Then he places upon her
the long purple-pink globe of flesh
that has a life of its own .
It covers her bodyfrom chest down to between her legs
which are now forced backand up into the air.
Her flesh curls inside heraway from both him and herself.
She does not cry out.
She does not let herself know
any of the feelings
the vast air now swirls with.

4.
Blank it out.
Don't let yourself know it's real.
If it's real , you're crazy; blank it out.
Knowledge is powerlessness.
Blank it out.
Knowledge is pain.
Blank it out.
Mother to daughter;
Blank it out.
Teach us to numb ourselves,teach us not to feel.
The memory does not come easy;
it comes with screams that will not stop,
it comes with tears and terror,
it comes with shame that I felt this,shame that I feel this.
The memory does not come easy;
I tell you because I know,
I tell you because I will not be silent,
I tell you because I will not be silenced.

-Linda McDonnell

N[GHT LOVER
Please mama , let me go to sleep tonight before they come, before
He comes mama, he comes , and he doesn't turn on the light, heTurn it on mama, please turn it on, turnThe blanket isn't long enough, it isn't
The toes , the toes show, they show, and he
He comes mama , he comes , and he tucks me in , and[t on! mama please turn it on , turnTell him I'm sleeping, okay? tell him to go away , tell him
The blanket's okay , it's okay , it 's
The lips , mama they're wet , and he licks them , andMama , stop clattering your coffee cups , he comes! he
The fingers pinching , and it was clay , it was
Mama , stop playing cards , he comes! he[t was clay sweating , it was like clay , it was
Just tell him I'm sleeping , just tell him
The blanket's okay , it's okay , it's
Prodding mama , and his nails , they hurt , mam a they
I don't say a word, I know , [ don 't say a word.

It's okay mama, it's okay.
It's just the cold mama.
Just close the window .
Close the window.
I'll be okay .

- Janice Maiman

REVIEW

Harriet Desmoines

A CHILD'S-EYE VIEW OF VIOLENCE

A review of Give Me Your Good Ear by Maureen Brady , Spinsters Ink, RD
1, Argyle, N.Y . 12809, 141 pp. , $4.50.
The first time I read Give Me Your Good Ear it was in manuscript form,
and I didn't crawl out of bed that Saturday morning until the blankets werestrewn with typewritten pages and I had found out every last thing there
was to know about Frances Catherine Kelly and her mother who killed herfather, and her grandmother who used to be a singer, and her fifteen-yearold friend Kirsten who had a brain tumor, and ... The second time around,
Give Me Your Good Ear was typeset, bound, and a lot easier to hold onto,and I was riding a trailways bus across western Iowa, reading until the lightgave out. Both times I was particularly grateful to Maureen Brady for having
written a double-duty novel: that is, the narrative moved swiftly enough andthe style was unintrusive enough that the dyke reader could cheerfully settle
down to losing herself in somebody else's life - while at the same time having
her feminist brain fed with something of genuine substance. How unlikely acombination this is, I realizt:d only later-most easy-to-read novels are so
because they're a long bath in familiar poisons.
Another odd and happy thing about Give Me Your Good Ear is that it'sa realistic novel about the lives of "ordinary" women, written from the inside. It doesn't exploit its characters, it doesn't exploit the women's movement , it doesn't exploit Lesbians-and it doesn't even leave you with a sour
taste in your mouth and recurring depressions. (Any of the above being
sufficient reason to account for the two years Maureen spent trying to getit accepted before she and Judith McDaniel decided to publish it themselves.)
What Give Me Your Good Ear does do is tell how one woman empowers
herself, breaks free of the chain of mother-crippling-daughter-crippling-granddaughter, and becomes finally "mother" to her own biological mother, in a
new alliance based on the telling of the old "shameful" secrets. This sounds
like a classic feminist vision-even a classic coming-out vision-and it is. But
it is also believable , probably because Maureen fills in every gritty detailwith the assured and economical hand of she-who-knows-what-she's-talkingabout.
As the novel opens, Francie is trying to figure out how to leave Ben , a
six-foot hypochondriacal leech . (Francie is a physical therapist.) In theprocess of extricating herself, she begins remembering her past , the specifics
of growing up in a family of near-poor-but-not-destitute chicken farmers.
She remembers her mother 's acutely dismal wisdom : '''You might as wellmake the best of it ,' Mother always said, it being whatever life circumstances
you found yourself stuck with." She remembers her father's small continuingtyrannies : " Dad was very much like Ben in the way he could turn a good
day into a bad day on the basis of just about nothing ." Most importantl y
for Francie, she begin s also to rcmcmher what her rather did the night he~l)so humiliated his wife that she stabbed him with a kitchen knife . An~ sheremembers the silences and denial that followed. These scenes of Fran'aie's
small-town girlhood are some of the best writing in the book , recreating achild 's-eye view of restrained , everyday family violence that erupts finally
into overt violence .
In the afterword Jacqueline St. Joan details the trials and tribulations of
one feminist writer- Maureen - who tries to get her first novel published. The
letters she quotes from commercial presses and literary agents , rejecting Give
Me Your Good Ear , are almost predictable: "I would have preferred a more
sympathetic character in Ben and a less self-indulgent Francie," etc . The
conflicting views of two feminist publishers , on the other hand , raised forme some intriguing questions. Lesbians are bound to read Give Me YourGood Ear as "The Making of a Sister Dyke , Part I," so much is Francie acharacter who's headed our way. One feminist publishe r thought that this
implicit movement should be made explicit ; another agreed with Maureenthat adding a coming-out scene to the novel would ruin it. (I don 't know
about ruin it , but an adequately portrayed "coming out" might have doubled
the page count.) One thing at least does seem clear : Maureen writes with aconsciousness that Lesbian feminists can only welcome , adding as she doesto our knowledge of our origins and process . My rather pious-sounding hopefor Lesbian lit is that as we write and publish novels more immediately exploring our Lesbian realities , we make them as solid and complexly truthful
as Give Me Your Good Ear.

HERESIES
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on art and politi"

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ond mental institutions.

Free to women in prisons

CRANK SQUEAK COUGH
Above me I hear a rhythmic
unbroken squeak
tired and dusty as an old
fashioned pump organ.
back and fortha hypnotized blacksmith's hammer callthe windshield wipers on my car
factory work in Des Moines lOW A
It stops.
I hear him cough''Well , that 's that,"emphatically .
Stick it in and crank it out. Will shesigh? Will she say?
will she object
Is this what she was born to know?
The rhythmic creak of the bed , thestrained look on his face ;The concentration of willing the impossible
to happen.
Sometimes 5 inches, sometimes 7
Masters and Johnson say it doesn't
matter. Mama didn't say
anything at all .
It was too unspeakable, too boorish
stick it in and get it over with .
Above me they are moving furniturearound.
Opening drawers andpadding about.

- Kimi Reith

91

Kathryn Wetzel

REVIEWA NEW TWIST ON AN OLD LEMON
THE PATRICIAN AND THE STRIPPER
A Review of the Film Moment by Moment

Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner's latest effort, Moment by Moment, is being
panned in the straight press as a "fizzle," "joyless ," and "about as sexy as apamphlet" (Newsweek, Jan. 8 , 1979). In many ways I agree, though withdifferent intentions. I believe in fact that Jane Wagner 's screenplay is a
comic indictment of heterosexual romance, which sure enough seems to me
to be a fizzle, joyless , and not terribly sexy. The reviewers admit that thestraight world needs "adversity," "explosiveness," and violence (also from
Newsweek) in order to call a movie "romantic."
Interestingly enough , the feminist world criticizes the movie for being
boring, even while deploring the violence of classic romance . Is it possible(a gasp from the crowds) that the message of the film is that heterosexuality
is dismally tedious at its best? It's true that few of us yet exhort this patriarchal blasphemy out loud , but I'm betting that Wagner and Tomlin areoutrageous enough to do it. I fmd Moment by Moment (by moment by
moment . .. ) to be a hilarious hoax on heterosexism if you just relax enoughto get the clues.
Lily Tomlin's portraiture of a white, upper-class, avant-garde, middle-aged,
suburban L.A. , depressed woman in the beginning stages of divorce is just tooclassically stereotypical to not be a spoof. In fact Trisha Rawlings is similar
to other Tomlin caricatures. She is , in Mary Daly's words, "The Totaled
Woman ." The straight press protests that even "The most underdeveloped
Beverly Hills housewife has some personality" (emphasis mine). Develop
comes from a Latin word meaning "to dis-wrap." I picture Trisha as a woman
suffocating in a cloak of saran wrap. Who should be protesting??
The other half of this romance [sic] is John Travolta, representing the"new, sensitive" man, a working-class street kid who's still waiting for his(ourteenth birthday. His "sexiness" supposedly consists of relentlessly posingin blue stretch panties in the two-dimensional genre of Playgirl (playBoy)
Magazine, but it actually rests on the fact , borne out by brilliant camera
direction, that he looks just like Lily. His "vulnerability" consists of begging
and whimpering and cooperatively raising his arms so that the lady can remove
his shirt easily (as she might a four-year-old's). The point here is that the
new Man is the Old Man , in a boy 's body- and still no adu lt capable of having
a relationship with a woman. Furthermore, though his body is less "masculine,"
it is precisely his "maleness" that prevents him from "being able to relate to
the woman.
92

Jane Wagner's clever direction is particularly skillful in the contrasting of
Travolta and Tomlin as "butch" and "femme" aspects of "androgyny ." They
wear the same style of clothes, shirts unbuttoned to the same exposure , with
their class difference showing up in denim and satin . He swishes, she strides ;her breasts peek through her shirt's opening, his hair does. Both have thesame haircut and facial structure , which gives the camera a wonderful chance
to play. The most successful example of cameraplay happens when Strip
spies his arch enemy , Dan Santini, and Trisha spies hers , Stu Rawlings. The
picture lingers first on Travolta's intense gaze, then quickly fades and rests
on Tomlin's. It was this scene that made clear that the soulful comradeshipof the two characters was thwarted not by the difference in class or age , as
the surface indicated, but by the difference in gender.
The dancing around "androgyny" makes for some amusing role " reversals"- which are really role revisions- and displays "androgyny" for what it is ;a partnership of two zombies, walking but only not-dead , soulless. These
reversed revisions, far from suggesting new ways for heterosexual couples tofind peace on earth , show not-so-earthy pieces of heterosexual absurdity.
Travolta - appropriately called Strip-is "sexually objectified," with the camera
coyly sliding down his legs as he slips out of his panties. He asserts (whines)
his love for the uncommitting Trisha and begs her to admit she loves him too.
She replies simply, "Strip," and fmally adds, "I love you in bed." They continue
in this vein for a few hilarious minutes , she telling him to strip, until he getsto the point of blurting, "I hate cheap sex!" Perhaps it is my own feminist
fantasy that Wagner and Tomlin created this entire movie especially to show
John Travolta posing in panties and whining , "I hate cheap sex."
The humor behind the so-called sex role reversals emerges from the realization that there is actually no difference between this "alternative" relationshipand a more typical heterosexual roMANce . The supposedly erotic objectificationof a man exposes itself in public as the same old same old , the old in and out,
a guy playing with himself in the park and fantasizing about his attraction ;it gets off short. The pseudofacts-h.e needs to be loved , she needs sexual
gratification; he's soft (flagellating), she 's hard (bored) - do not indicate analternative relationship. She is still a mirror for his dreams and desires(he 's fascinated with her beach robe inlaid with mirrors ; he's fixated on his
future-"I'm sure I can do anything ... Can you think of something?") ; theirsexuality is still mostly confined to intercourse (who cares which one is ontop?) ; she mothers and he suns himself. These scenes are funny because ofwhat they 're not, and they're not the unique relationships that are shownin the scenes of friendship , same sex.
Strip is portrayed as "emotional," but his only true emotion comes out
when his lifelong friend Gregg gets killed. His relationship with Gregg is infact a marriage , and in telling Trisha of its longevity ("The worst is over.").
he is automatically reminded of Trisha 's marriage ("By the way. how's yourhusband? ") . But Trisha 's close relationship is not with her husband. nor isher friendship with Naomi a marriage. It is only in the scenes with N30mithat we find out anything about who Trisha is, 3nd one thing we le3rt1 is th3t
she has a woman friend who cares about her. Naomi is disguised as a rich .
"sexy broad," but her script unveils her :Arriving unexpectedly at the beach house , "I talked to Stu and hereally wanted to come out, but he couldn 't. I had to come out, though .
I should 've come out sooner but we had to look at panelling. We reallyshould have gotten redwood instead of cedar . Cedar feels like a big empty
closet." (emphasis mine)
Instead of actually coming out, though , the two women go out arm in
arm in search of the "wounded " Strip. The camera follows them step instep , pants and skirt , up and down the decadent Sunset Strip. Finally they
get back into Trisha's snazzy Mercedes and Naomi is gazing intensely at her.
T. says , " I know what you're thinking ," and N. replies , "I doubt it." Shethen "confesses" that she was thinking "how boring shopping in Bonwits
is going to be after today." That is clearly not what she was thinking , unless
it was because T. wouldn't be shopping with her. The qualitative difference
between the women's relationship and T .'s with Strip is demonstrated in thescreenplay itself. The latter is quite literally a moment by moment rundownof a relationship (all that was missing was a bathroom scene) , and the former
has that special quality of literature , dialogue that suggests a whole dynamic.
Lesbians should also try not to miss the sisterly symbols in the decorof Trisha's beach house (as well as her lovely peach and lavender clothes).
The tiles around the fireplace and all the upholstery depict images of thephoenix, ancient bird of freedom and flight. A Georgia O'Keefe type (ifnot original) painting decks the mantel , and a wall sculpture of an eggshapenestled in deep folds decorates the wall outside her bedroom. All these
represent woman-identified energy and expose the "drama" as a hoax .
Some would say that Trish and Strip's romance made them both feel good
and that the ending is left open (implying I guess that the intent is positive).
I think perhaps they "felt good," or better than before , in a sort of stageof recovery , though the final return of Strip's address book marks the endof the stage . But the thread that runs throughout the film , "what a world ,"is really the message here. What a world we live in that wraps women's
Selves in plastic , then protests at the ugliness of our suffocation . What aworld this is that is controlled in all classes by organized violence. What aworld that judges a woman (who in one "moment" is an architect) by her
sexual desirability to a needy, self-centered boy. What a world we live inthat the true alternative to women's oppression , feminist lesbianism , has tobe embedded in an absurd portrayal of heterosexist changed sameness . I
trust the reliably brilliant intentions of Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner to havethis idea behind the scenes of dismal romance . Leave it to the dismallytedious to believe that the drama is really about alternatives. This movie isa laugh-in and I entreat everyone to go and laugh ALOUD .

94

REVIEW

Bonnie Zimmerman

ON WRITING BIOGRAPHIES OF LESBIANS

A review of Miss Marks and Miss Woolley by Anna Mary Wells (Boston:
Houghton Mifflin, 1978).
The study of women's lives in the nineteenth century was radicallyaltered by Carroll Smith-Rosenberg's pioneering analysis of women's
letters and diaries ("The Female World of Love and Ritual," Signs I, I).
She provided us with a framework for comprehending the mutual
passions, needs and expectations of women within the strict sexualapartheid of Victorian society. New biographies of our foremothers
cannot ignore this explosive evidence.
Some biographies do not let you ignore it. Such were the lives ofMary Emma Woolley and Jeanette Marks. The virtue of Anna Mary
Wells's Miss Marks and Miss Woolley is that, much as she may havewanted to, she does not ignore the passion and commitment of theirrelationship.
Mary Emma Woolley was one of the pathbreakers during the comingof-age of women's higher education. As president of Mount Holyoke
College from 1901 to 1937 , she expanded the school from a genteel institution for young ladies, overshadowed by its more intellectually illustrious sisters, Radcliffe and Bryn Mawr, into their respected and prestigious equal. Jeannette Marks was one of her faculty and Miss Woolley's
lifelong companion.
Anna Mary Wells, a student at Mount Holyoke early in the century,
knew the two women well. She intended to write a commemorative
biography of the great president and succeeded, but not before certain curious questions arose along her way. There was, for example ,the great scandal of Woolley's career: her strenuous objection to the
choice of a man to succeed her in 1937, the first male president inMount Holyoke's history. Wells wanted to avoid the issue , but foundthat it led to the even more troublesome one of Jeannette Marks. For
it was generally acknowledged that Marks persuaded the diplomatic
Woolley's tactless and courageous protest. And where did Miss Marks
get her persuasive influence? From a lifelong relationship between thetwo women.
Wells did not want to pursue the relationship, but a boxful of let-"ters persuaded her that she must (as old letters often will): "The firstfew [letters] that [ read were ardent love letters expressed in terms
that both shocked and embarrassed me." Wells unfortunately cannot
quote from these letters for legal reasons , but she does confront her
prejudices and, after doing so, write a quite respectable biography of95

the two women. I found it refreshing to hear a biographer admit that
her biases affected her project :I had supposed myself to be open-minded and tolerant about
sexual deviation, but it now appeared that 1 was not so at allwhen it occurred in women I admired and respected. 1 wasaware and ashamed of a certain amount of prurient curiosity
in my ambivalent desire to continue reading, but I becameaware also that my discovery was altering my concept of thecharacters and careers of both women.
Wells is handicapped by an early twentieth century attitude towardlesbianism that must purge relationships between women of all sexual
content , or admit them to be shameful and embarrassing. To cometo terms with her feelings - and the feelings of the numerous alumnae
who also knew the two women- she offers an interpretation of theirrelationship that I find intriguing:
My own opinion, for what it is worth , is that the relationshipbegan in the childlike ignorance of sexual matters in which
many young women of their generation were kept before marriage , and that when they became more sophisticated they
voluntarily renounced all physical contact. The emotional relationship , once established, continued for the rest of their lives,
altering with the years but steadily deepening until death parted
them.
This analysis seems very likely to me. We'll never know, probably,
just how women of this period handled their sexual feelings for one
another. American and English women seldom wrote about sex. The
relationship between emotional passion and genital sexuality wascertainly quite different one hundred years ago than it is today.
Where younger readers might disagree with Wells is in our estimationof the emotional relationship between women like Woolley andMarks. She does not like to call it lesbian or homosexual . We respond, why not? We are not so narrow , or fearful, on that point :one does not have to experience orgasm with another woman inorder to live a recognizably lesbian life.
I began Miss Marks and Miss Woolley in high excitement. Here ,I thought, was the kind of biography that might help me sort out acrucial period in the history of lesbianism. Around the turn of the
century , a critically different understanding arose as to the meaningof relationships between two women. Before 1900 (I use that datesymbolically, not literally) passion between two women was not
merely accepted but practically expected. After 1900, it becamea shame and disgrace. Lesbianism did not just happen. Lesbianism
is not just a descriptive term for genital sexuality between two
women. Lesbianism, as we know, is a social concept that developed
historically, accumulating meaning like a rolling stone. The
factors surely are many and complex: feminism and anti-feminism,
Freud , changing economic conditions, the war , increased sexualknowledge, a few key literary figures . After reading the introduction
to Miss Marks and Miss Woolley , I thought , here might be a bookthat began to map out the history of that period. However, the bookpromises more than it delivers.
Anna Mary Wells simply was not interested in or capable of developing the implications of her arguments. She never does show us
how the two women developed a more sophisticated sexual understanding, if indeed they did. She does not discuss the generation
gap between the two older women , who lived their overtly lesbian
lives , and her sister students who saw something "vaguely scandalous"
about Miss Woolley . She mentions Smith-Rosenberg's article, but
seems to misinterpret it to mean that passionate language was merely
a social custom of the time . She introduces the concept of sexualsublimation without exploring its influence on emotional attraction.
She does not pursue the connection between the kind of lives thetwo women led and their commitment-particularly Jeannette Marks'sto feminism . She suggests that it was their relationship that led tothe appointment of a male president in 1937 , but doesn't reallyoffer proof (a particularly unfortunate omission because one would
like to know much more about the reactionary climate of the 1930's).
In other words , Wells leaves plenty of room for historians of lesbianism to move in .
What she does do very well is to present the lives of two remarkable women , the daughters of nineteenth century feminism . She also
shows with great sensitivity the toll that professional life could takeon women (I would tend to say of all generations) in a hostile society . While Mary Emma Woolley , the older of the two , did not feelthe conflicts inherent in her position as a self-achieving woman , Jeannette Marks did. I found her the more fascinating of the two-a woman who was never able to focus her talent and intelligence, a woman
seemingly haunted by fears of inadequacy , a woman passionately
committed to and yet jealous and resentful of her partner . I also
admired her as a strong feminist fighter in her ideals , as Woolley
was in her life .
It may be that the most fruitful material for feminist and lesbian historians at the present time is biography . Before deriving
general theories we need a lot more empirical evidence-the evidenceof women's daily lives . If so , we will certainly wield more probing
tools in the dissection of our subjects than did Anna Mary Wells .
But Miss Marks and Miss Woolley points out a useful and positive
direction .

97

A-MAZING WORDSEARCH I: SINISTER WISDOMA0M U T 0Y L B CG T E KR J R EH C F E
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S Y

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Tired of looking for patriarchal words in everything you read?
Here's a wordsearch based on Mary Daly 's book, GYN/ECOLOGY.
Our first wordsearch is a "Tail Tag Wordsearch, " the idea of whichis to form an unbroken chain of circled words in which the lastletter of one word is the first letter of the next word. The number in parentheses tells you the length of each word you're looking for, and dashes are provided for writing down each word as
you find it. Start with the first word, SINISTER WISDOM,
which is circled in the diagram. Continue by looking for a fiveletter word connected to SINISTER WISDOM that begins withthe same "M" that ends SINISTER WISDOM. That word is
MAGIC, which is also circled. The next word begins with "C"and has 13 letters. Continue in this way to solve the diagram.
98

I am using the term Gyn/Ecology very loosely, that Is, freely, todescribe the science, that is the process of know-ing, of "loose"
women who choose to be subjects and not mere objects of enquiry.

Gyn/Ecology is by and about women a·mazing all the

male·authored "sciences of womankind," and weaving world
tapestries of our own kind. That is, it is about dis-covering, developing the complex web of living/loving relationships of ourown kind. It is about women living, loving, creating our Selves,
our cosmos. It is dis·possessing our Selves, ensplriting our Selves,
hearing the call of the wild, naming our wisdom, spinning andweaving world tapestries out of genesis and demise.

(Mary Daly, Gyn /Ecology . pp. 10-11)

YOUR WORD LIST

SINISTER WISDOM
MAGIC

(14)

(8)

(5)
(13)
(10)
(7)
(6)

(4)
(5)
(4)
(5)
(5)
(7)
(7)
(4)

(8)
(8)
(6)
(10)
(5)

(9)

(6)
(6)

(4)
(4)

(7)
(6)
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(4)
(4)
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(3)
(5)

(4)
(4)
(4)
(5)
(5)

(7)

(5)
(3)
(4)

createdby Julia Penelope

99

SINISTER WISDOM POSTER STILL AVAILABLE
In the spring of 1977 , a Tee Corinne solarized photograph of two women
making love appeared on the cover of Sinister Wisdom 3 , followed by adeluge of requests for a poster. The poster was printed in the summer of
1977: a duplicate of that cover, black on gray, 17" x 22". You can haveyour own for a contribution of $3.00 toward the survival of Sinister Wisdom
plus 50 cents to cover mailing costs . (They make nice gifts for friends, too;bulk rates available.)
Send $3.50 per poster to: Sinister Wisdom , Box 30541, Lincoln , Ne. 68503 .

Also available in feminist bookstores.

SINISTER WISDOM ON TAPE

Sinister Wisdom issues 6, 7, and 8 are now on cassette tape. The recordings
are made in the style of Recordings for the Blind, with the donated laborof Susan Wood-Thompson; she reads the text, describes the graphics, etc.,
for women who cannot read the print copies. For information on purchasingthese tapes , please write SW, Box 30541 , Lincoln, Nebraska 68503.

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100

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WOPS!M lalS!IJ!SCONTRIBUTORS' NOTES
Becky Birtha is a writer living in Philadelphia. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in
the third world lesbians' publication A zalea. Also , a short story of hers will be includedin A Woman's Touch, an anthology exploring lesbian sensuality and eroticism to be
published in early summer, 1979, by Amazon Reality .
Barbara H. Bradford has recently moved from North Carolina to Nebraska to takepictures of Debbie in the bathtub . And would like to send hugs to Cris.
Stephanie Byrd is a Black Lesbian poet and the author of Twenty ·five Years of Malcontent (Good Gay Poets Press, 1976).
Susan Cavin is a NYC Lesbian Separatist who writes for Tribad: A Lesbian Separatist
Newsiournal (49-51 Prince St. , NY, NY 10012) and published a book of lesbian poetry
in 1973 called Me and Them Sirens Running All Night Long, which can be ordered
for $2 .50 from Djuna Books, 154 West 10th St., NY , NY 10014.
Jan Clausen , an editor of Conditions magazine, is the author of Waking at the Bottomof the Dark (poems; Long Haul Press, 1979) . A lesbian co-mother, she is active in theCommittee for Abortion Rights and Against Sterilization Abuse.
Michelle Cliff edited a collection of speeches and essays by Lillian Smith, The Winner
Names the Age (Norton, 1978), and has had work published in Conditions.
Tee Corinne lives in San Francisco and is the artist responsible for the famous (orinfamous, depending on your point of view) Sinister Wisdom poster.
Martha Courtot has published two collections of poetry: Tribe and Journey. "My life
has been a struggle against several imposed silences and I continue to maintain thatjoy is a revolutionary ac t. "Mary Ann Daly. "Born & lives in Washington , D.C. Twenty-eight, looks like an aunt
who was killed by her husband in bed. Escaped aunt's fate while retaining her mannerisms. In her sister's dream , flew through space in a horse-<lrawn chariot with The Woman
With The Big Hair. Spends most of the time wondering."
J. Z. Grover is a writer living in Sacramento who photographs her friends as an avocation.
"I see formal portraiture as a nonverbal dialogue between sitter and photographer, theformer presenting a position and the latter attempting to interpret it, to give it permanency . Because I use available light and small apertures, exposures are lengthy and mostpeople rise to this inconvenience by addressing the camera's eye solemnly ."Bertha Harris is the author of three novels, Catching Saradove, Confessions of Cherubino,
and Lover, and a co-author of The Joy Of Lesbian Sex.
Julia Penelope has been known to frequent various obscure haunts in the mountains of
Nebraska and fritters away untold days and weeks by the ocean. She occasionally playswith words and has even written some of them down here and there. When she isn't
mumbling incoherently, she's laughing. (Some know the joke.) Also, there are manyother things to say.
Melanie Kaye lives in Portland , Oregon. A book of her poetry , We Speak ill Code, will
be forthcoming from Motheroot Press.
Irena Klepfisz is the author of periods of stress, a collection of her poetry . She is an
editor of Conditions, a magazine of women's writing with an emphasis on writing bylesbians. A significant part of Conditions is devoted to reviewing feminist and smallpress books .
Jacqueline Lapidus teaches English to non-majors in Paris, where she would have gonebananas long ago if not for other lesbians, feminists, and writers. Her second book,
Starting Over, is still available from Out & Out Books.
Linda Marie. "I am a maid at the Ocean Park Motel in S.F. I have two children and adog. I'm a reformed smoker. I do not belong to a coven and I eat meat plus I haveother short stories that have been published and a novel titled I Must Not Rock , Daughters, 1977."

I0 I

Janice Maiman. "I am a twen ty-one year old Woman, studying English at the Graduate
School of the University of Virginia. I studied creative writing with Joan Larkin at
Brooklyn College . This is my first publication."
Linda McDonnell is studying to be a feminist therapist, staffs a co-op grocery store,
and works on So 's Your Old Lady, Minneapolis's lesbian/feminist journal.
Kathryn Missett is an artist living in the Tropics.
Arlene Raven , Ph.D., is a founder of the Woman's Building and the Feminist StudioWorkshop, editor of Chrysalis magazine, originator and co-director of the Lesbian Art
Project, and has lectured and published widely on women's art and sensibili ty.
Kimi Reith is from San Diego and lives now in San Francisco . A chapbook, Poems for
My Mother and the Women I have Loved, has recently been published by Second Coming.
JR Roberts lives in Cambridge, Mass., and is currently preparing to self-publish apioneering reference work, Black Lesbians: An Annotated Bibliography.
Ann Allen Shockley is the author of the novel Loving Her.
Pearl Time'sChild's alter ego lives in the patriarchy yet, teaching philosophy for a living.
She wrote "the box" during a year spent in the Oregon women's culture ; currently she
writes lists and lecture notes. She wants to grow up to be an au thor.
Maxine Kent Valian. "I am a professor of English at East Los Angeles College. Although
I have written poetry off and on all my life, I did not begin to be published until theliberation movement loosened my spirit and my pen. "Nun" will be my first success ina feminist publication."
Kathryn Wetzel is a singer and songwriter, housecleaner and joke-teller living in New
Haven, Conn. She hopes someday to be doing her writing and living in Maine.
Marybeth Witt. "I'm 26, Aries with moon in Cancer, Leo Ascenden t. Am a Dianic
Witch. Have been very active in wimrnin's rights and gay rights, and am becoming more
and more of a separatist, although that makes teaching men very difficult. Love cats,music, am a scholar, and have been writing poetry since I was 12."
Bonnie Zimmerman teaches women's studies at San Diego State.

Sinister Wisdom
Box 30541
Lincoln, Ne. 68503
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104

SUBMISSIONS
Sinister Wisdom welcomes unsolicited manuscripts and art work. Please type(double-spaced) all written work. Reviews should be no longer than 3500
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BACK ISSUES, WHILE THEY LAST
Issue 1 (Summer 1976): Sold out.
Book Issue 2 (Fall 1976) Lesbian Writing and Publishing , guest editor BethHodges : Susan Griffin on breaking the conspiracy of silence; June Arnold
and Bertha Harris reinventing the world in Lesbian fiction; panel on reading,writing, and teaching Lesbian literature; essays on a woman-identified aesthetic; reviews ; interviews; listing of Lesbian titles (with ordering information) , and twenty-one Lesbian writers on why, when and how we publish
with women. 136 pp. $2.50 .
Issue 3 (Spring 1977): Sold out.
Issue 4 (Fall 1977): stories of mothers and daughters and witches and lovers;
Joanna Russ 's tale for the girlchild in all of us ; Lesbian separatism from theinside; photo-essay; interview ; reviews, letters and poetry . 96 pp. , $2 .25.
Issue 5 (Winter 1978): Susan Leigh Star , "Lesbian Feminism as an Altered
State of Consciousness"; Judith Schwarz, "Researching Lesbian History ";Michelle Cliff on speechlessness ; Lesbian Day speech by Barbara Grier ; fiction ;poetry; photo-essay ; reviews; interview. 104 pp ., $2.25.
Issue 6 (Summer 1978): Julia Stanley, Mary Daly , Audre Lorde , Judith
McDaniel, Adrienne Rich on language and silence ; Marilyn Frye on separatism and power; fiction by Sandy Boucher, Thyme Seag ull ; poetry ; interviews; essays by Sarah Hoagland and Peggy Holland ; drawings and photos.
104 pp. , $2.50.
Issue 7 (Fall 1978) : myths , monsters , teeth, etc. Jane Caputi on patriarchal
fish stories; Judith Schwarz on being physically different: self-portraits inprose and poetry by Alice Bloch and Susan Wood-Thompson: feminist musings by Melanie Kaye ; plus a wealth of fiction, poetry , reviews , drawings, andphotographs . 104 pp ., $2.50
Issue 8 (Winter 1979): "d id you say lu-uv?": story tellin g by Sherry Thomasand Audre Lorde ; ph otographs by Deborah Snow: poetry by Judy Grahn:notes on deafness ; essay on "t hat place where nothing is": int t'rvicw : rcviews:."Scramb led Eggs"; and much more poetry and fiction . 10.+ pp . $~.50 .
(Add 50 cents postage for every 1-2 copies ordered.)number 92.50