Few poets' roots go deeper than the Romantics; Jill Alexander Essbaum's reach all the way to the Elizabethans. In her Harlot one hears Herbert and Wyatt and Donne, their parallax view of religion as sex and sex as religion, their delight in sin, their smirking penitence, their penchant for the conceit, their riddles and fables, their fondling and squeezing of language. ButFew poets' roots go deeper than the Romantics; Jill Alexander Essbaum's reach all the way to the Elizabethans. In her Harlot one hears Herbert and Wyatt and Donne, their parallax view of religion as sex and sex as religion, their delight in sin, their smirking penitence, their penchant for the conceit, their riddles and fables, their fondling and squeezing of language. But this "postulant in the Church of the Kiss" is a twenty-first century woman, a "strange woman" less bowed to confession than hell-bent on fairly bragging of threesomes and more complications than were wet-dreamt of in Mr. W. H.'s philosophy. - H. L. Hix...
|Number of Pages||:||88 Pages|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
This is the best book ever.
What a book--it's alive on my tongue.
Harlot by Jill Alexander Essbaum - No Tell Books/ 978-0-6151-6131-0 / 84pps /Harlot... What divine connotations just the sound of it evokes. Evoke - to call forth. And with a rapacious appetite for the illicit and sublime, Essbaum calls forth, “so adamant, so Jezebel” an estrus unyielding. An orgy of verse, glistening with “Covens/of bedroom men” and genital cannibalism. These poems ooze. Giving an almost saintliness to her persona, much in the vein of Elizabeth Cunningham’s “The Passion of Mary Magdalen”, a Holy Whore, she worships the flesh as a Rastafarian would his ganja. The not so subtle references to Biblical verses, the constant religious innuendoes, the perpetual calls of glory, sacrificing all for the holy “O,” she’s a rambunctious frolic of endless experimentation. Giving and taking with zeal “I was invited to your torture and I went” - as if checking into the “Hotel California,” but she doesn’t want to leave.With adept usage of graphic metaphor, she shares “How the cloister/of her thighs wept liturgies” in “The Assignation” and then woes “When I’m pissed on want for lack of wine” in “Lament”A playful juxtaposition of the him & him’s humors us with “The Men We Marry, the Men We Fuck” This one wed me in the chapel, That one ate me like an apple,In the title poem, “Harlot/(a definition)” it is bodaciously explained that “She’s the fiction invented for your arousal,/The serpent you take up and the poison you suckle,/A frivolous income at your disposal” & “The she-wolf with your crotch in her jaw” OW!Her wanton addition is evident in such poems as “The Ellipses We Consist Of” where “The presence of your absence swells the bowls of my hips.” and in “De Profundis” where “I draw closed like the curtain in your absence/I torch the sugar, I swill the absinthe” and then giving in to her own damnation, “for what the devil claims, he rarely abandons.” The loving and the leaving is, of course, bittersweet, as in “Surely Come the Days” as “I sort/our photos into stacks of yes and no, no, no.”The lust is fated and insatiable, honest and adamant. But what else would one expect from a self-proclaimed “Postulant in the Church of the Kiss”... ?
There is no one that turns a phrase, or gets inside your head the way this poet does. You'll feel dirty and elated, guilty and freed after reading Harlot. She explores what it means to be spiritual and human in all its nitty gritty glory, from lust to heartbreak and everything in between. Buy several copies, because you'll want to hand it to everyone you know, but keep your copy because you'll want to revisit it often.
This collection of poems, both formal and free form, will take you on a journey into the romantic and sometimes taboo realm of eroticism written from a christian's viewpoint.When asked if the lover is a mere mortal, or if this is a spiritual symbol, the poet Jill answers "Why do we have to choose?"
Filthy, elegant and provocative. It will make you a more eloquent pervert. And in Essbaum's universe, which I think we all visit, if not live in, that is surely a good thing