Cybersexisten: Neuigkeiten aus den USA 16.11.2014
Ich habe den folgenden Text Mitte November 2014 bei einer Lesung mit Luise im Endlich-Salon des Frauencafés endlich im Hamburg vorgetragen. Ich poste ihn leicht verändert hier wieder. -Joey Horsley
Ich habe in der Ankündigung gelesen, dass ich euch heute abend “mit einer gehörigen Portion Ironie über die sprachliche Herrenkultur in den USA” unterhalten werde. Ob mir das gelingt? Jedenfalls werde ich versuchen, über einige Neuigkeiten von drüben zu berichten. Denn, obwohl ich jetzt über einen Monat bei Luise in Hannover bin, habe ich wie…
I walk to raise my heart rate
and my mood. To count my steps
I wear a wireless wellness monitor –
it’s called a Fitbit.
(I didn’t want to go.
Glued to my chair and screen
I’d rather keep on playing,
addicted as I am
to Solitaire and constant
buzz of broadcast news.
of these bad habits.
I should be more productive.)
Success: my shoes are on,
the door is shut behind me
and halfway up the hill
I start to see
the trees and hear
the curving cries of jays
proclaiming autumn’s onset.
I take the path into the woods,
A poem for Susan P. Bachrach (November 1939 – May 2013).
This poem was written soon after Sue Bachrach’s death, by Dorian Brooks, poet and activist for women’s and American Indian rights, and a Radcliffe classmate of mine and Sue’s. Sue was a devoted student of art history and traveled to Germany to research and write about the painter Paula Modersohn-Becker. Her essay of some 20 years ago “Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907): Woman and Artist as Revealed Through Her Depiction of Children” may be found at Fembio: Woman and Artist Through her Depiction of Children. Sue was diagnosed with…
I’ve always been a reluctant cell phone user. For years I had a jumbo-sized Nokia of a generation that still sported an extendable antenna. Since its battery would run down after about an hour I took it with me only on rare occasions and told few people my number. In fact, I had a hard time remembering the number myself. Basically I was happy with my home telephone, or “land line,” which worked reliably and had a number I could recite in my sleep.
However, as my partner, sister, daughters and sons-in-law all gradually acquired up-to-date smart phones and could be reached in the grocery…
oops – another month gone by!
time to change the calendars –
a different view of granddaughters
a different arrangement of fruit –
turn over the page and forget
the penciled appointments and events
that seemed so urgent
at the time
another month gone by
another month gone
another week gone by!
time to put the garbage out –
seven days' accretion to be dispatched,
plastic and paper to the recycling bin,
while orange peel and banana skin
will head for the dump to decay
the pile of newspapers, mostly unread,
will transmigrate and return again,
along with their stories of war…