Feminist Studies articles from March 1997

Feminist Studies archives from March 1997

Listen Up: Voices from the Next Feminist Generation.
March 22, 1997... At the risk of being confessional in a tell-all historical moment, I have some confessions. One: With Leslie Heywood, I am coediting a book, to be entitled "Third Wave Agenda: Being Feminist, Doing Feminism" (University of Minnesota, forthcoming...

To Be Real: Telling the Truth and Changing the Face of Feminism.
March 22, 1997... At the risk of being confessional in a tell-all historical moment, I have some confessions. One: With Leslie Heywood, I am coediting a book, to be entitled "Third Wave Agenda: Being Feminist, Doing Feminism" (University of Minnesota, forthcoming...

The idea of love between us. (poem)
March 22, 1997... It was a vision he had, a candle he lit, something he cupped his hand around and held gently, then gave to me: "Here, you hold it a while"; and it flickered, and was frail, and smelled wonderful. But it was like having a child with no pregnancy,...

The winged woman. (short story)
March 22, 1997... Against the wind the poet can do nothing at the hour when goodbyes depart she can only request of the swallows that they fly without stopping over her dreams. - Manuel Scorza She was a winged woman. Her mother knew it before she brought her...

Musings: an artist's statement.
March 22, 1997... I consider art making to be an act of resistance. In my work, I examine the awareness that occurs when we recognize our places in the world as part of larger social patterns and put alternative perspectives into dialogue. My paintings thus...

The blue window. (poem)
March 22, 1997... In that shadowy time before sorrow- that twilight, October in Berkeley, the early sixties, when I walked home along Euclid from Mrs. Runkle's where I'd played Schumann's Traumerei so beautifully, for once, I'd made her cry - Before the...

The blessings of my beloved on my body. (poem)
March 22, 1997... I was lying on my side curled up like a snail on our flannel-sheeted futon, because I was ashamed of my aging body, while outside the dogwoods turned ragged in nearly November, curling down their leaves like ballerinas' toes, exposing hard...

Mapplethorpe. (poem)
March 22, 1997... So here I am the morn in the poetry class and all week long the only photograph that really grabs me, transfixes me, is the Mapplethorpe erection I saw by accident once at the bookstore across from the courthouse as I browsed around downstairs...