The Poem
Mae West
by Edward Field
She comes on drenched in a perfume called Self-Satisfaction
from feather boa to silver pumps.
She does not need to be loved by you,
though she’ll give you credit for good taste.
Just because you say you love her
she’s not throwing herself at your feet in gratitude.
Every other star reveals how worthless she feels
by crying when the hero says, Marry me,
or how unhoped- for the approval is
when the audience applauds her big number,
but Mae West takes it as her due:
she knows she’s good.
She expects the best for her self
and knows she’s worth what she costs,
and she costs plenty –
she’s not giving anything away.
She enjoys her admirers, fat daddy or muscleman,
and doesn’t confuse vanity and sex,
though she never turns down pleasure,
lapping it up.
Above all she enjoys her self,
swinging her body that says, Me, me, me, me.
Why not have a good time?
As long as you amuse me, go on,
I like you slobbering over my hand, big boy,
I have a right to.
Most convincing, we know all this
not by her preaching
but by her presence – it’s no act.
Every word and look and movement
spells Independence:
she likes being herself.
And we who don’t
can only look on, astonished.
Edward Field is the recipient of the W.H. Auden award, the Bill Whitehead lifetime achievement award, the Lambda Literary Award, and is the author of ten books of poetry, including After The Fall: poems old and new, in which can be found his poem, “Mae West,” published by University of Pittsburgh Press, © 2007.
Filed Under: Literature, Recent Posts
Tags: edward field, lambda, Love, mae west, Men, poem, poet, poetry
Comments (6)
Elaine Mintzer
February 9th, 2012 at 5:12 PM
For those of us who can't get no, I want some of her perfume.
maybellcottage
February 10th, 2012 at 1:16 AM
You nailed it. What a woman, right? Full of herself, yes. Pretty, no. Magnetic, in spades, and had every man in the house on her…case.
Jack Grapes
February 10th, 2012 at 7:04 PM
When I used to teach poetry to kids in the schools, I used your poem "Bride of Frankenstein" (from VARIETY PHOTOPLAYS, published by Russ Haas Press back in 1967 — I have three copies on my bookshelf, the tattered one, the pristine one, and the loaner one), to show these young writers how low-brow cultural phenomena (horror movies, no less), could be elevated–not so much by the language of poetry, but by the language of thought. I've used many of your poems, including "Frankenstein", "Curse of the Cat Woman", "The Return of Frankenstein", and "The Life of Joan Crawford" to get even the muscled football players asleep in the back of the room to wake up and pay attention. Wonderful to read another variety photoplay from the movies, turned so deftly by your pen from the language of poetry to the language of thought. What a special place in poetry you've filled for me over the last–dare we count them–years. Thanks again for another wonderful poem.
maybellcottage
February 11th, 2012 at 5:00 PM
funny.
Gerald Locklin
February 12th, 2012 at 4:06 AM
Edward,
American poetry of the last fifty years directly or indirectly dates from your first two books, STAND UP, FRIEND, WITH ME, and VARIETY PHOTOPLAYS. And you remain our greatest living poet. What's more you've encouraged the work of hundreds of us, and I will always be deeply indebted to you for your support and friendship.
–Gerry
wenitrains
February 13th, 2012 at 5:21 AM
Edward Field, it is an honor to have your poetry in Cultural Weekly. I am looking forward to seeing more of your
work in this column. Wendy Rainey
Leave a reply