Je suis du genre Vintage… vous en doutiez ?

Source : Magazine Voici

Ah Marilyne Monroe, ah les années 1930 à 1960 : l’époque bénie de la lingerie sexy et très provocante sans être pour autant vulgaire, contrairement à aujourd’hui ou le string et le pantalon taille basse est de rigueur, sombrant toujours un peu plus dans la vulgarité… perso, j’ai jamais aimé, même si je porte des string de temps en temps sur mes photos, j’ai une nette préférence pour les culottes type 1950 ; c’est super sexy surtout avec un bustier ou un corset et les portes-jarretelles qui vont avec.

     My Am Is Mother

My am is the link, the mother unfolding.

Into my womb forms from infinity cling

Until ready to re-enter fresh,

Their shield flesh.

Force that brings nature to man.

Yet nature I – creation my husband.

My am is mother. I am the womb man;

I hold in enfoldment all parts of the whole.

I start, impart, I render fresh

Heart-new, re-entering flesh;

New choices, martyrdoms,

Chances to reach from sensual crumbs

To final fulfillment.

I am the merger, love, the converger;

The ohm, the shoal: energy’s soul.

My am is the face of the force.

As mate of creation, death too.

My am is mother.

I am the womb man betrothed to enigma.

Ensconced within, en route to some class,

First slapped on the ass but graced with grace.

They’re born re-faced.

My am is love waiting on the above.

Counted, numbered,

Named and de-slumbered:

And fixed to know or not know,

Because it is so –

I am the fixer, the mixer,

The mother, the womb man.

Death too.

©My Am Is Mother 9.1960/1995/2004

Circling Round Woman; Circling Round Nature;

Birth, Death & In Between; To The Child Mystic; Mother Book;

Arlene Corwin

    My Am Is Mother

My am is the link, the mother unfolding.

Into my womb forms from infinity cling

Until ready to re-enter fresh,

Their shield flesh.

Force that brings nature to man.

Yet nature I – creation my husband.

My am is mother. I am the womb man;

I hold in enfoldment all parts of the whole.

I start, impart, I render fresh

Heart-new, re-entering flesh;

New choices, martyrdoms,

Chances to reach from sensual crumbs

To final fulfillment.

I am the merger, love, the converger;

The ohm, the shoal: energy’s soul.

My am is the face of the force.

As mate of creation, death too.

My am is mother.

I am the womb man betrothed to enigma.

Ensconced within, en route to some class,

First slapped on the ass but graced with grace.

They’re born re-faced.

My am is love waiting on the above.

Counted, numbered,

Named and de-slumbered:

And fixed to know or not know,

Because it is so –

I am the fixer, the mixer,

The mother, the womb man.

Death too.

©My Am Is Mother 9.1960/1995/2004

Circling Round Woman; Circling Round Nature;

Birth, Death & In Between; To The Child Mystic; Mother Book;

Arlene Corwin

Look There! My Love!

Look there! My love!

On him - the stage -

Is directive divine;

A duel-dutied cage

To deflect and define.

Tiny fashioned space reflects –

On any given day – absorption

And impression: truths that maya took

Uncounted years to proffer forth.

With eyes to swallow

Lives the mouth.

In complement

Is love transposed

To sound and speech.

Infinitely subtle – this.

The tempered, blended face that

Must react, collect, kiss

And release

Again in endless trust.

The endless task turned easy.

© Love There! My Love! 9.5.1960

Love Relationships;

Arlene Corwin

Inborn Nobility

Inborn nobility, hidden

In gloom, ridden by

Doubt - the blindest accuser.

Smotherer guilt sends the natural mother

To fester in airlessness,

Mute who could care-lessness.

Left with any one second of safety,

The ever-unsleeping one seeps through the pores.

On single moment to breathe, eat and grow on;

Force-fed togetherness, grabbing to go on.

Inborn, no,

Ingrown now.

Doom in a womb;

Knowing indifference, it waits

Unaffectedly; triumphant destiny sates

The dear ruminant.

Lives later some blessed will

Takes the gift.

©Inborn Nobility 60.9.13

To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

    In My World

In my world,

The objects I perceive

Are charged with a new

Intensity.

When they read

What I write,

When they enter

My world

The key to my law is this:

Prose is as poetry,

Poetry, prose;

And the images all

Concrete. The search

Is always for concrete

Expression, for concrete

Expression, for concrete

Expression.

My world is real.

Read it as that

Or enter it not.

Man is divine.

Mankind is cruel.

Those who damn us

With labels

Miss out

On a gift-tool.

Justice

For us

Before they decide –

Nothing more,

Nothing less.

Joyful the text

Stands on trial. After all,

For whom

But the human progression

Do our weep-shouts call?

©In My World 60.9.24

To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

    In Deference

In deference to the natural man

Who can do much more than he does;

Who, setting his potential at

A fraction of what he believes,

Does what he can to

Store and restore wares,

Which, in themselves, bear

Such glow, that although rarely shown,

Soar stars above his most desired end attained;

In reference to the careless manner,

Typically mismanaged,

Typographically mistaken,

Perpetuates the spoof,

The goof

That reaffirms mortality.

©In Deference 1960

To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

     I’m In The Market For A Love Affair

Verse:

My analyst can explain it,

And I can explain it to him.

It’s getting so I can go for months

Not feeling the need to feed this whim.

Can’t plan, for it’s back before I count to ten.

Knocked flat on my back I scan the world of men.

Oh, bud-like, flower-like man eating plant,

Go peddle you seed elsewhere.

I swear I wear myself out,

In this losing shadow box bout.

Cherchez les homes,

Here I come.

Chorus:

I’m In The Market For A Love Affair.

I go around just looking for a love affair.

I need the making of a love affair,

To keep myself aware of living.

I need the take of giving -

That’s the snare.

My life is one big pink rejection slip –

I may flip!

I know, but still I go around looking, looking,

Finding, finding,

Having, having,

Making, breaking affairs.

I’m In The Market For A Love Affair.

I go around just looking for a love affair.

I get so bored creating love-inducing situations.

Though my creations are a practiced art,

The value they impart

Only frees me –

Temporarily.

How long will youthful blush sustain the strain of time?

The pattern shows,

The cycle flows,

The need still grows,

Love comes and goes away.

Alone I’m left to play the market for a love affair.

© I’m In The Market For A Love Affair 1960

Love relationships; Lyrics; Arlene Corwin

I Am (Comma Or Not)

I am(,)
(Comma or not)
Sure(,)
I am
That, the what
For which there is
No more.
I am will,
The h in trust.
I don’t have to justify
Or satisfy;
For I am just.
Moreover, I am Sat.

©I Am (Comma Or Not) 60.11.31
To The Child Mystic;
Arlene Corwin

I Am, Ergo…

Sensing salvation
In something resplendent,
The dreamer had seen
What once only seemed.
Transcendent, unendent:
The essay was defined;
With practice refined
And
Refined
And
Finally
Hissing unreason was
Missing; and seasonal passing
Had ceased.
This was bliss’ aimless kiss
Fixing dreamer and dream
To a mistress un-named.
Purely His, what remained was
As shameless as form that is
Formlessly framed, and thus
Aimless,
And
Blameless,
Ergo,
Only This Is.

©I Am, Ergo 1960
To The Child Mystic;
Arlene Corwin

I Am The Paint Remover

I am the paint remover.
It is my job to collect
All the prettys I suspect,
And remove the layers of taint
That cover the core of pretty.
It’s a nice job,
And I like it;
But slow, so…
I like it more.

©I Am The Paint Remover 60.11
To The Child Mystic;
Arlene Corwin

        Gita

Whose –isms are gone,

Jealous of none,

An accountant of mercy

Who tersely checks cold,

Alike heat, alike mold,

Alike dryness of misery,

Wetness of happiness,

And who is forever

Forgiving, contented,

Resolved. And resolved

Drafting no-dread,

Made unafraid,

Drear, fear and cheer-

Beyond-measure free.

Efferent, also

Untouched by the deed;

Who immersed,

Lays up all to the good: foes,

Imperative no’s;

So too, praise, disrespect –

Who resolved, loves;

Silenced, loves silence,

Loves, hmm;

Silence/solitude,

Never brooding

Over this road or that good:

He attains peace.

©Gita 60.12.27

Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin

          Gita

Whose –isms are gone,

Jealous of none,

An accountant of mercy

Who tersely checks cold,

Alike heat, alike mold,

Alike dryness of misery,

Wetness of happiness,

And who is forever

Forgiving, contented,

Resolved. And resolved

Drafting no-dread,

Made unafraid,

Drear, fear and cheer-

Beyond-measure free.

Efferent, also

Untouched by the deed;

Who immersed,

Lays up all to the good: foes,

Imperative no’s;

So too, praise, disrespect –

Who resolved, loves;

Silenced, loves silence,

Loves, hmm;

Silence/solitude,

Never brooding

Over this road or that good:

He attains peace.

©Gita 60.12.27

Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin

      Exercise

He plays the alto sax;

He pays no income tax,

Gets no benefit

From sources of that kind.

The benefits he gets

Come from his music.

The benefit San Getz

Come from his soul.

©Exercise 1960

Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

       Everything Is One

Everything is one:

And when I die the world

Will put the formless piece of form of fun

Into a tome

And say, “My what a poem!”

©

Everything Is One 1960To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

   Childhood Reminiscence Of An Essence Of The Child Love

Brings near-as-missing, (almost here),

A camera clear conception

Of gefilte fish, my grandma’s

Own delicious fish, which

Dish was cheaper, keeping better

Then the other, grand rich mothers

Who did not use dark

But light fish. Grand gefilte,

Ground by hand and grand mothers.

Sweet tasting, oh, sweet taste…

And oh, the moment wasted hurting;

Worsest moment, wasted hurting when

The heaping other neighbor mothers

Dared – comparing cents per pound –

To flag a right of birth and brag.

White chastelessness, and that was fat.

Flat tastelessness, and that was that

With every bite…the camera fades

Into conditioned night.

A grocery-stopping grownup moved;

And not the simplest point was proved.

© Childhood Reminiscence Of An Essence Of The Child Love 10.25.1960

Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

      Blues: The Solution

 Verse:

I wrote a blues last night.

Wrote a blues so blue it gave me a fright.

When I awoke I was quite all right –

In fact,

Today I won’t be crying the blues.

The blues just make me cry and who want to cry?

Oh no, not I.

I’m getting tired of the blues.

I’m uninspired by the blues.

I used to think it was the hip thing to do,

Now I’m all through with the blues.

Chorus:

Blue, why are the blues always blue?

Blue, why are the blues always blue?

They could be purple, pink or green,

But since they’re almost always mean,

We call the hue the blues.

You, hey you who often sing the blues,

You, hey you who often sing the blues,

Why do you say you feel low down

When down is brown just like the ground,

And blue is high just like the sky.

A room that’s painted blue feels cool and icy,

A heart that’s tainted blue feels cruel and sore.

The empty, yearning, lonely pain is twice the chore

That’s hellish more than just a bore.

Blue, why are the blues always blue?

You, who are depressed, what should you do?

Well, I suggest that you get dressed

In something light that suits you best:

You guessed it right, a bright and warm and loving hue.

To crush the blues dress in a warm and loving you.

©

Blues: The Solution verse1960/chorus1988 see revised 06.10.29Lyrics;

Arlene Corwin

               April Is The Coolest MonthApril is the coolest month,

April is a ball.

April is the coolest month,

The coolest month of all.

June has an engaging smile,

July you’re pleasure spent.

January rages while

March provides the precedent

For April, yes, the coolest month,

The month you start to groove.

Comes July, you’re much too hot –

Too hot to even move.

Doesn’t matter what you do,

In April you can do it better.

No hot sun to beat on you,

No snow to freeze the morning dew.

Comes April comes the coolest month,

The spring-iest of spring.

The fuel of living touches off

The cool of everything.

Rain becomes a crystal palace,

Hatter madness fills the air.

You can live the book of Alice

Without a care,

For April is the,

April is the,

April is the coolest month.

©April Is The Coolest Month 1960

Circling Round Nature; Lyrics;

Arlene Corwin

         Ah, Love #4You deceive

And I believe.

I believe

You do deceive.

Still, by will

I listen still,

Sharpening un-skill,

Until I twist with the path;

And desisting from wrath,

Not resisting the lie,

As you speak, so hear I.

And each sprinkle of truth

Has the tinkle of bells.

If you knew how each sprinkle

Or truth has the tinkle

Of bells, it would be

Only tinkling truth you

Would tell.

Ó

Ah, Love #4 1.16.1960Love Relationships;

       Ah, Love # 3You may say

My works are good

But I may not,

For if I should,

Outrage outsize

In sweet, sweet sounds

Breaks waves of fear

Crested with tear-

Filled eyes and brings

Me to my knees

Toute suite; moreover,

You my love

Are no more happy

Than you were

Before. Yes, you

Are right, another

Paradox in sight.

©Ah, Love 11.16.1960

Love Relationships; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

A Toast

A toast

To the hare

Who loosens

The chase,

Winds up

The chased.

After

To afar,

A toast

And a prayer.

©A Toast 60.9.11

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Circling Round Nature; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

             A Toast

A toast

To the hare

Who loosens

The chase,

Winds up

The chased.

After

To afar,

A toast

And a prayer.

©A Toast 60.9.11

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Circling Round Nature; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

A Speck To Speculate Upon

Dear source, you are a means

Too plainly mean –

So subtle, not at all what first you seem.

Through pain I’ve seen

That you are virtues all.

You lure to purify.

You are a mite of living light.

But can one marry you?

What kind of wedding night: a man to light?

A speck on which to speculate a little bit.

©

A Speck To Speculate Upon 1962To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

*

went back to it in ’88,’95, and finally 2005

A Life

Host alms

Almost gone.

Past ghosts

Tossed on.

Calm, lost,

Exhausted,

Calm-dead;

Past costs

Mostly crossed.

A kiss less faith,

Leased near abyss;

Missed just

The least,

And ceased as bliss-

Seized face

Whose space

A cosset

Almost gone:

Are lean,

Half-faiths

N’ over.

Half score,

Hard won, half won.

Hardening core

Increasingly creeps

Stealing over,

Sometimes still,

While shadow’s showdown hovers,

No - covers, until

Only a toilette

Chained child

Whose wet behind

Peers out

Bound, blind,

While out-eyes

Pour out tears out-size.

Poor

Toothless lamb,

Unsure lamb,

Pure lamb,

Pouring teething tears

Of truths abundant.

Damn not,

Lamb, but

Use the world

As sewer.

©A Life Out Again 60.11.15

Pure Nakedness; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

      A Life Out Again

Host alms almost gone;

Past ghosts tossed on.

Calm, lost, exhausted ghosts

Calm-dead; past costs

Mostly crossed;

A kiss less faith.

Are lean,

Half-faiths

N’ over.

Half score, hard won,

Hard core undone,

Creeping, stealing over

While the shadows and the showdowns hover,

Covering the child toilette chained,

Whose wet behind

Peered out bound, blind,

While eyes

Poured sheer tears out-size;

Poor lamb, toothless lamb,

Unsure-getting-pure lamb,

Pouring tears of truths abundant.

Damn not lamb but

Love, accept and use the transformation

As your signs.

©A Life Out Again#2 06.9.15 #1 60.11.15

Pure Nakedness; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin (neé Arlene Faith Nover)