The Amazonian Woman

Summary

The text is a poetic reflection on the multifaceted nature of an enigmatic Amazonian woman, exploring her complexity, allure, and the profound impact she has on the narrator.

Abstract

The Amazonian woman is portrayed as a figure of immense depth and contradiction, embodying various roles and personas that range from the wild and untamed to the domestic and nurturing. She is described as an embodiment of men's desires and sins, a mother, a lover, and a mysterious entity that defies superficial judgment. The narrator is captivated by her, acknowledging the alien yet magnetic qualities that draw him in, despite the challenges and darkness that come with her. Her presence is a blend of the divine and the profane, the natural and the civilized, and she is celebrated for her transformative effect on the narrator's life, leading him through a journey of self-discovery and emotional upheaval.

Opinions

The narrator views the woman as someone who transcends conventional standards of morality and ethics, possessing an intriguing and almost primal allure.
She is seen as a complex character, not easily understood, requiring deep exploration to grasp her true essence.
The woman's roles as a mother and lover are highlighted, yet they are intertwined with a sense of wildness and freedom that defies societal norms.
The narrator experiences a tumultuous emotional journey, from being thunderstruck and chased by terrors to finding solace and light in her presence.
There is an acknowledgment of the pain and darkness that accompany the woman's love, which is likened to both a swamp and a sea, suggesting both peril and depth.
The woman's love is described as transformative, bringing the narrator to a place of rest and light, and changing his perception of the world.
The narrator is conflicted about the nature of her love, questioning whether it is genuine or a form of deception, yet he is ultimately drawn to her magnetic and mysterious presence.

Her honest words were: come back, I want to be with you.

Image: Author

You’re incredible, but somewhere, something of what you are is alien to me, not to be judged by superficial standards, morals, ethics, but something curiously dirty, known only to the tramp in you.

Sometimes the Amazonian woman, painted mask, never found without deep exploration. Or the woman in Vegas, legs up to her throat, won on a one-hit-moment or found kneeling between church pews with prayers for sinners.

Most pastry days, the woman in the kitchen, apron loosely bound, hair tied, shoeless with powdered cheeks. No longer the child in the village square, making arm-windmills, daring the weathercock to turn, a child before the saliva kisses, probing fingers, as heavy dew moistens lips.

The breast bearer, the child carrier, crazed under fevered limbs before the savage moans quiet, a beautiful stillness, the desire for solitude descends. Newborn demands made on love, a plan for the course of life, education, travel, Hampton Court to Paris, holy chapels, shores to visit, let go from arms as wide as the sea.

The woman who bleeds no more, an accident of magic and mystery, living in a diluvian light that only love can show. The prime mover of destinies, embodiment of men’s desires and sins, not gone, submerged in rediscovered measure.

I cannot lay my head down without her; seeing only the edge of wonder, living in some interstellar space between her and what is real. Once so thunderstruck, streaked with blood, darkness ever creeping like sharp ice, pissing holes on the world, chased by a thousand wolves, the swarming terrors, fugitive of a thousand questions.

I didn’t know if her love was trickery or treason, a swamp or a sea, or why she would look upon a face, pitted, racked, showing signs of absolute madness. A buccaneer, witty, clever, a gypsy with a mandolin heart, but bringing only the taste of bad dreams, sinister demons.

Against a London fall of snow, she came, a woman whose love shone like steel, with flaming eyes, a place of rest and light living in a world previously unlooked-for and I kissed the summer’s dawn. Amid the ballet of busy streets, nights remembered, magical chemistry, impossible melodies, an Amazonian woman appeared with a painted face holding an angel’s harpsichord.