Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise
sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities
you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,
nobody has that
power, you are merely a fellow/traveller
Give up this medical concern,
permit yourself anger
and permit me mine
which needs neither
your approval nor your suprise
which does not need to be made legal
which is not against a disease
but against you,
which does not need to be understood
or washed or cauterized,
which needs instead
to be said and said.
Permit me the present tense.
Members should be ashamed to not have anything written here.
is there by any chance another link to a website with this poem posted, because i can't find any and i need about two other sources confirming this poem is by margaret atwood.
Very well thought and written, message is very clear but what made her to think like this is a big question.
Hey, I'm doing an assigment about this poem and as I'm quite new to english poetry, I didn't really get the message. Would you be so kind to tell me what is the message of the poem? Of course you don't need to do it, but you would help me a lot.
An insightful piece nicely put together with conviction.....
LAST RESPONSE: Finally the conclusion is that she speaks in cold terms of the way science and scientists would handle love and contrasts that handling with her own. It simply needs to exist in the world, in the "present" and that will suffice
This poem goes about LOVE which is my favourite theme in poems. The poetess only wants to tell us, the readers, that love is not to be compared as a scientific subject. Love needs to be understood and it is in the present tense. Vert clear message by the great Poetess
Most deserving as the Modern POem Of The Day! 5 Stars full
Indeed, the present tense IS absolutely better than the past tense, the present tense makes the poem still be directed to you as the reader, partly of complete, your message has reached me, dear poetess Margaret Atwood!
This is only half the poem. People should be more observant and careful before posting on the internet, but I guess in this age of immediacy, that may be too much to ask. The rest of the poem is this (and the first part of the poem should be labeled with 'i.') : ii I am not a saint or a cripple, I am not a wound; now I will see whether I am a coward. I dispose of my good manners, you don't have to kiss my wrists. This is a journey, not a war, there is no outcome, I renounce predictions and aspirins, I resign the future as I would resign an expired passport: picture and signature gone along with holidays and safe returns. We're stuck here on this side of the border in this country of thumbed streets and stale buildings where there is nothing spectacular to see and the weather is ordinary where love occurs in its pure form only on the cheaper of the souvenirs where we must walk slowly, where we may not get anywhere or anything, where we keep going, fighting our ways, our way not out but through.