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| Mina Loy |
At stake is space, essential
umber-coloured
What is it? A dusky lair of deep
deep sleep And
who is it?
Mina,
her lips curved to storefronts
of NY,
closing softer over Parnasse,
cooing, too
for soft white arms
Mina,
owl-huntress
or the more sensuously lipped
Luna herself,
poet lover of panting Djuna
and Gertie
who enter her as light
At centre
is Mina quirky,
each eye a closed dark wisdom
& a bit lubricious—
lover of soft-petalled Djuna
& pretty arms
2 comments:
You've "inhaled" Mina Loy!
here is my Loy "stash":
-Becoming Modern (Carolyn Burke)
-The Lost Lunar Baedeker Poems
-INSEL
-Mina Loy Woman and Poet
Ova is standing
alone in the garden
The high skies
have come gently upon her
and all their
steadfast light is shining out of her
She is conscious
not through her body but through space
This saint's prize
this indissoluble bliss
to be carried like forgetfulness
into the long nightmare
Thanks, Ed
You and I have talked about Mina Loy before. My kind of poet, person
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