book excerptise:   a book unexamined is wasted paper

Making love: the Picador book of erotic verse

Alan Norman Bold (ed)

Bold, Alan Norman (ed);

Making love: the Picador book of erotic verse

Pan Books, 1978, 252 pages

ISBN 0330255851, 9780330255851

topics: |  poetry | erotica | gender

Amaru : 'When his mouth' p.64


When his mouth faced my mouth, I turned aside
And steadfastly gazed only at the ground;    
I stopped my ears, when at each coaxing word 
They tingled more; I used both hands to hide 
My blushing, sweating cheeks. Indeed I tried.
But oh, what could I do, then, when I found  
My bodice splitting of its own accord?       
			(tr. John Brough)

Guillaume Apollinaire 1880-1918 : The Skirt 196


Hallo Germaine that's a fine skirt you have
A fine skirt for a queen A cruel queen
Let's feel the silk of it Silk from Japan
And trimmed with wide lace made on no machine

Your skirt's a silken bell whose double clapper
Your legs have struck the passing of my fancies
O Germaine now I ring it my breast heaving
My hands press down upon your willing haunches

Your bedroom O my bell is a fine belfry
My hands touch silk and seem to tear my ears
Those pegs are gallows on which skirts are hanging
Those hanging men are dazzling my eyes

Motionless as an owl the oil lamp watches

e.e. cummings 1894-1962 : 'she being Brand' p.200

 
she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg.  ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue i touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

			      (it

was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on

the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and

brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.

stand-



Anonymous 20th c. : That Portion of a Woman p.204


That portion of a woman which appeals to man’s depravity 
Is constructed with extraordinary care, 
And what at first appears to be a simple cavity 
Is really an elaborate affair. 

Now doctors of distinction have examined these phenomena 
On numbers of experimental dames, 
And classified the organs of the feminine abdomina 
And given them delightful names. 

There’s the vulva, the vagina, and the jolly old perineum, 
And the hymen in the case of many brides; 
There are many other gadgets you would love if you could see them, 
The clitoris and lots of things besides. 

So isn’t it a pity when we common people chatter 
Of the mysteries to which I have referred, 
We should use for such a delicate and complicated matter 
Such a short and unattractive little word. 

Anonymous 20th c. : ABC intercourse (ABC of love) p.207


A is the Artfulness in the words he uses 
B is the Blush as she gently refuses 
C is the Creep of his hand on her legs 
D is the Don't she tearfully begs 
E is the Excitement his hand getting higher 
F is the Feeling of a intense desire 
G is the Gasp as her garter he touches          [do-da]
H is the Helplessness she feels in his clutches 
I is the Itching that makes her feel hot
J is the Jump as he reaches the spot
K is the Kiss with which she rewards him 
L is the Love she now feels towards him 
M is the Movement they make to the bed 
N is the Neat way she opens her legs
O is the Opening now fully revealed 
P is the Penis already peeled 
Q is the Queer way she feels when it's in 
R is the Rapture when sweet pains begin 
S is the Stroke getting longer and longer 
T is the Throb getting stronger and stronger 
U is the Unction that now freely flows 
V is the Vim he puts in his blows
W is the Wish for it over again 
X is the Xtent of both pleasure and pain 
Y is the Yearning that makes her heart throb
Z is the Zambuk he rubs on his prick 
			zambuk : s african ointment for sores


Pablo Neruda (1904-73) : Lone Gentleman


Young homosexuals and girls in love,
and widows gone to seed, sleepless, delirious,
and novice housewives pregnant some thirty hours,
the hoarse cats cruising across my garden’s shadows
like a necklace of throbbing, sexual oysters
surround my solitary home
like enemies entrenched against my soul,
like conspirators in pyjamas
exchanging long, thick kisses on the sly.

The radiant summer entices lovers here
in melancholic regiments
made up of fat and flabby, gray and mournful couples;
under the graceful palm trees, along the moonlit beach,
there is a continental excitement of trousers and petticoats,
the crisp sound of stockings caressed,
women’s breast shining like eyes.

It’s quite clear that the local clerk, bored to the hilt,
after his weekday tedium, cheap paperbacks in bed,
has managed to make his neighbor
and he takes her to the miserable flea-pits
where the heroes are young stallions or passionate princes:
he caresses her legs downy with soft hair
with his wet, hot hands smelling of cigarillos.

Seducer’s afternoons and strictly legal nights
fold together like a pair of sheets, burying me:
the siesta hours when young male and female students
as well as priests retire to masturbate,
and when animals screw outright,
and bees smell of blood and furious flies buzz,
and cousins play kinkily with their girl cousins,
and doctors glare angrily at their young patient husband,
and the professor, almost unconsciously, during the morning hours,
copes with his marital duties and then has breakfast,
and, later on, the adulterers who love each other with real love,
on beds as high and spacious as sea-going ships-
so for sure and for ever this this great forest surrounds me,
breathing through flowers large as mouths chock full of teeth,
black-rooted in the shapes of hoofs and shoes.


Wendy Perriam (b. 1940) : A Silent Movie 230


How dare you make love to me like that, 
In that cold, silent, uncommitted way, 
Using your prick like a mechanical pumping-engine 
And thinking of Playboy 

I’m hot and wet, man 
Opening like a Venus Flytrap, 
Streaming from all orifices 
And screaming with agonizing 
Life-enhancing, mad, entrancing 
Cunt-enchanting 
Joy. 
And there you lie, 
Worrying about the next-door-neighbours 
And wishing the bed springs wouldn’t creak 
And refusing to bloody well SPEAK. 
And when I bite your thighs 
You’re praying that the marks won’t show 
When you have to strip for your daily drip 
In the city gym- 
(must keep fit)- 
You hypocrite! 

Quick! 
I want your rough beard 
To lacerate my breasts, but you turn away 
And you prefer it the back way, 
That’s fatal 
Because it’s so damned good 
I’m shouting more and hotting up the pace, 
But at least that way 
I cannot see the fury on your face. 
You Woman hater! 

Oh, I’m really away now 
(bugger the neighbours!) 
Your piston-engine prick 
Is tearing the living daylights out of me 
And I’m wild with it, 
But why don’t you bloody swell 
SAY SOMETHING? 
Are you enjoying it, damn you, 
Or are you just a machine 
That’s wound up 
And forgotten the words? 
I remember past loves, 
Past beds, 
And the torrent of fire and honey 
From the mouths of the wild 
And wonderful men 
Who knew to love 
With lungs 
As well as loins, 
And the sticky plethora 
Of kisses over an under 
Drowning sounds 
So lewd and beautiful 
That all my heart and cunt 
Were burning equally. 

Oh you cold, stingy 
Uptight, unyielding sod, 
How do I know 
Whether my ecstasy 
Is boring the pants off you 
(forgive the pun), 
Or whether your fastidious 
Distaste is aimed at me 
Specifically, 
Or at the whole race of 
Swallowing, wallowing women 
And wanton cunts, 
Or whether you yearn 
For an ice maiden 
Or a marble goddess, 
Or for that dreadful Mrs Lloyd 
Who wears hats 
And doesn’t like it. 

All right, you’ve come now 
(silently) 
And you’ve shuffled off 
Looking slightly out-of-sorts 
And embarrassed by that 
Ill-bred piston-engine which will 
Take you unawares 
Despite your finer feelings. 
And of course you wouldn’t kiss me 
Or say it was wonderful, 
But hurried off to wash, 
Remembering germs 
That lurk in private places 
And nasty notices 
In public lavatories. 

I’m clean, damn you, 
But I won’t be for long 
If you go on insulting me 
With your cold and disapproving 
Silence. 
I’m still going, still 
Coming, still pounding out 
Gorgeous obscenities 
In our sweaty, unhygienic 
Incorrigibly creaking 
Bed. 
And there you are 
Washing my cunt away 
The taste of me 
With Dettol. 

Look here, old sport, 
I warn you, 
When I’m through here 
I’m going to sleep with every 
Man, boy and tramp 
I can lay my filthy paws on. 
Painters, plumbers 
Unshaven bummers, 
And Irish labourers 
And men who read meters, 
I’m going to drain their last-gsp drop 
(DON’T STOP!) 
And make my life’s work 
Having it away, 
And let’s hope, by God, 
They know their way about a woman 
And what’s a damned sight more mportant, 
They don’t forget 
The words that fit the play. 

		(online at the itch)
--Erica Jong (b. 1942): The Long Tunnel of Wanting You p.234-

This is the long tunnel of wanting you.
Its walls are lined with remembered kisses
wet & red as the inside of your mouth,
full & juicy as your probing tongue,
warm as your belly against mine,
deep as your navel leading home,
soft as your sleeping cock beginning to stir,
tight as your legs wrapped around mine,
straight as your toes pointing toward the bed
as you roll over & thrust your hardness
into the long tunnel of my wanting,
seeding it with dreams & unbearable hope,
making memories of the future,
straightening out my crooked past,
teaching me to live in the present present tense
with the past perfect and the uncertain future
suddenly certain for certain
in the long tunnel of my old wanting
which before always had an ending
but now begins & begins again
with you, with you, with you.

Links: listen to Vanessa Daou's version of this poem on youtube


Erica Jong : The wingless & the Winged p.235

	the wingless thing
	man ...  
		- e.e. cummings

Most men use their cocks 
For two things only: 
They stand up pissing 
& lie down fucking. 
The world is full of horizontal men- 
Or vertical ones- 
& really it is all the same disease. 

But your cock flies
over the earth,
making shadows
on the body of women,
making wild bird noises
from its tiny mouth,
making music
& food for thought. 
It's not a wingless thing
at all. 

We could call it Pegasus--
If it didn't make us think
of gas stations.
Or we could call it Icarus--
if it didn't make us think
of falling.

But still it dips and dives
through the sky like the gilder,
in search of a meadow,
a field,
a sun-dappled swamp
from which (you rightly said)
all life begins.


amitabha mukerjee (mukerjee [at-symbol] gmail) 2011 Sep 03