#emilies

[cocorahrah-blog]

[littletoboggans-blog-blog]

Whacher,

Emily’s habitual spelling of this word,   

has caused confusion.

For example

in the first line of the poem printed Tell me, whether, is it winter?   

in the Shakespeare Head edition.   

But whacher is what she wrote.

Whacher is what she was.

She whached God and humans and moor wind and open night.   

She whached eyes, stars, inside, outside, actual weather.

She whached the bars of time, which broke.   

She whached the poor core of the world,   

wide open.

To be a whacher is not a choice.   

There is nowhere to get away from it,

no ledge to climb up to—like a swimmer

who walks out of the water at sunset   

shaking the drops off, it just flies open.

To be a whacher is not in itself sad or happy,

although she uses these words in her verse

as she uses the emotions of sexual union in her novel,   

grazing with euphemism the work of whaching.

But it has no name.   

It is transparent.

Sometimes she calls it Thou.

{Anne Carson, The Glass Essay}

[dagnabbott-blog-blog]

If sissypissy and pussy-strut combined their tumblr names then they would be "Cissy Strut" by The Meters