Thursday, 29 July 2010
| The Big Bad Woolf |
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POETRY | By Gabriel Arntt
This poem won second place at the Women in Poetry 2009 Contest.
Crazy? Maybe. A literary genius of grandiose proportions.
Her art created the life within, pulsating with each line she wrote.
One man she loved. Many doctors she hated. Yelled out in silence.
So many words, none of them heard.
Published and distributed, her talented memory remains.
Taught in the finest classes and preferred by the masses.
She illuminated the enigma that is the female mind.
But still, it was only a glimpse into the power it contains.
Many great writers have followed after and picked up the torch.
The ironic Sylvia Plath, the ingeniously witty Margaret Atwood,
The indelible truth of Toni Morrison and many others that stand out.
Voices that have and will always survive the test of time and scrutiny.
Some view her suicide as a weakness or mental illness, but why?
She chose to express her supreme right to create, and also to destroy.
She was a heroin in her own right, providing women a choice to fly.
But women who read her works now can escape within their imagination.
This is the gift she gave, the idea she nurtured, and the passion she imbued.
We will never fully understand what drove her to do what she did.
But is that not true of any genius? Madness is its eternal companion.
The woman, the artist, the wife, the loner, the creator, the destroyer, the life.
Virginia Woolf: The solitary, howling wolf, prowling through history,
changing our lives.
The Big Bad Woolf won second place at the Women in Poetry 2009 Contest. |
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