Margaret Atwood

(18 November 1939 / Ottawa, Ontario)

Helen Of Troy Does Countertop Dancing - Poem by Margaret Atwood

The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretence
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.

Comments about Helen Of Troy Does Countertop Dancing by Margaret Atwood

  • David Marley (12/2/2019 5:29:00 AM)

    Yes. Powerful stuff. Peggy is good at putting herself in other shoes. This could almost be an anthem for workers. (Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • Abel Chukwu (6/9/2017 4:18:00 PM)

    Wow this is awesome. Touch me and you will burn. So thrilling (Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Sylvaonyema UbaSylvaonyema Uba (2/11/2017 11:25:00 PM)

    This is a torch song...

    Well expressed!


    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Oduro Bright Amoh (10/5/2014 4:33:00 PM)

    Nothing is so opaque as absolute transparency. Wow (Report)Reply

    6 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Ovi OdieteOvi Odiete (10/5/2014 4:27:00 PM)

    this is one great poem, so enthralling. (Report)Reply

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Kay Staley (10/5/2014 1:21:00 PM)

    Crush out the mystery/wall me up alive/in my own body. How easy it is to identify with parts of this poem even if the rest is not so easily applied to our lives. I dont like how it seems so choppy and opposite of a smooth flowing poem, but I like some of the lines that have such great emotion in them. (Report)Reply

    3 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • K.c. FordK.c. Ford (10/5/2014 3:26:00 AM)

    I found this poem long winded, weak, and achieving little. (Report)Reply

    7 person liked.
    36 person did not like.
  • Shankar Natarajan (12/17/2013 10:34:00 AM)

    http: //
    They'd like to see through me,
    but nothing is more opaque
    than absolute transparency.


    1 person liked.
    18 person did not like.
  • Pranab K ChakrabortyPranab K Chakraborty (10/5/2012 7:19:00 AM)

    I do give value.
    Like preachers, I sell vision,
    like perfume ads, desire
    or its facsimile. Like jokes
    or war, ...

    Profound with nice wit. Good poem and pure for PH lab.................... Pranab k c

    8 person liked.
    6 person did not like.
  • just emerged from a chrysalis (6/26/2006 7:53:00 PM)

    A rich tapestry of words knitted tightly together - this poem begs to be read over and over again to squeeze out the maximum meaning. Loved it.

    14 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
  • Cheung Shun Sang (11/6/2004 5:25:00 PM)

    rather good i think.indeed! (Report)Reply

    10 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
Read all 11 comments »

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Read poems about / on: rape, august, murder, respect, money, women, city, dance, believe, music, war, song, mother, light, woman, rose, smile

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2003

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