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Lesbian Poet Herstory Page Manager: |
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Trish
Shields
bard@subee.com
Please contact Trish
with your questions or suggestions for this section.
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Under the able direction of poet/novelist Trish
Shields, these pages of Just About Write will
introduce Lesbian poets from the past, a little about
their herstories, and a sampling of their works. These women were
pioneers, and they left a remarkable legacy for us
all. We urge you to take the time to learn
something about them and their lasting impressions of life,
love, and the world around us. |
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Elsa Gidlow |
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One of the more important
mentors of lesbian feminism during the 1970s was Elsa Gidlow.
A Bay Area poet, she originally came from Hull,
England, and emigrated to Montreal, Canada, while still a
child. As a young adult,
Elsa moved to New York City and published On A
Grey Thread in 1921, the first
openly lesbian poetry book published in the United States. It was further expanded into a book
entitled Sapphic Songs, published in 1982 by
Druid Heights Press.
During the 60s, she was
unsuccessfully prosecuted by McCarthyites determined to put
such an outspoken lesbian woman in her place - out of the
limelight. Essentially self-educated, her words touched the
world.
She also made a living as
a freelance journalist. In 1986, Elsa Gidlow published
her autobiography entitled Elsa: I Come
With My
Songs. It and her papers are now part of The Gay
and Lesbian Historical Society of Northern California. After
publishing several books of poetry, numerous articles,
and an autobiography, Elsa Gidlow suffered a number of strokes and passed away in
1986.
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Go to current Lesbian Poet Herstory
Page
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For the Goddess
Too Well Known |
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I have robbed the
garrulous streets,
Thieved a fair girl from their
blight,
I have stolen
her for a sacrifice
That I shall make to this
night.
I have brought
her, laughing,
To my
quietly dreaming garden.
For what will be done
there
I ask no man
pardon.
I brush the
rouge from her cheeks,
Clean the black kohl from the
rims
Of her eyes; loose
her hair;
Uncover the
glimmering, shy limbs.
I break wild roses, scatter them over
her.
The thorns between
us sting like love's pain.
Her flesh, bitter and salt to my
tongue,
I taste with
endless kisses and taste again.
At dawn I leave her
Asleep in my wakening
garden.
(For what was
done there
I ask no man
pardon.)
© Elsa
Gidlow |
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