Is this 'She' Leda's template, sown from strands and strews that antedate even the minimal requirements for the elements to 'eveolve' toward the accidental flowering weeds of crotch and consciousness?
Or could 'she' function as a molestress of an under-aged god, a 'weeping boy' who just found himself coughed-up in a void rapidly filling with the kriegsgrind between darkness and light, with all that's best of meeting in her aspect and O' Byronic otherwise(s) eye-es?
Or is this 'she' just another strand hanging among the squirt-fart of pop-culture ringing its own bell in in order to call attention to hesheit's self inside the ringa-ding-ding of the toleration by any means necessary agenda? Freud. Wes Craven. Larry Flint. Which would yield the most evidence about the hanging strand intepretation? Is this 'she' a moment d' touchcrotchable on the part of Liardet? Should Michael Jackson be involked, contra-danced by, say, Ellen Degeneris?
Even if considered in terms of an absurdist/surrealist attempt at forcing the poem's language and situation into place, I, at least, see more of mental pathology than a poem using the mechanism of thwarted expectation and linguistic usurpation to make an attemped anti-art document using the verges of gender-swapping as its "Jake" card.
Still, I applaude Liardet's effort. Just not all that sure that I would go out of my way to read any more of his work.
Apologies to all for being essentially negative about this poem. Would also be adverse to any poem that attempted to establish even an inert moral sense about liars, thieves, gossips, rapists, murderers, and such like. I have no room for such in my mind. Judgemental? Absolutely. But that's between God and me.
Carpe Verve all
