In 1941, Manfred Lewin (left), a young Jewish man living in Nazi Berlin, made a small book of poems and pictures. He gave this book to his boyfriend, Gad Beck (right), as they waited out an air raid together.
Today, The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum has a beautiful online exhibit where you can view this book in its entirety, along with translations and additional information. It’s a wonderful little piece of queer history, and I encourage you all to check it out here.
The voices of little girls are so powerful and profound because they haven’t yet been completely eaten away at by social conditioning.
“I am a rich pie filled with knowledge. I will not be eaten.” Holy fuck my new motto.
Transcription (with original line breaks):
The true feminine
I am not sugar and spice and everything nice. I am music, I am art. I am a story. I am a church bell, gonging out wrongs and rights and normal nights. I was baby. I am child. I will be mother. I don’t mind being considered beautiful, I do not allow that to be my definition. I am a rich pie strong with knowledge. I will not be eaten.
i’m not kidding, this poem shook me to my core. it inspired me more than any famous poet in the past few months. this little girl is going to influence the world in such a beautiful way.
Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.
I have been waiting for this post all my life.
They are indeed purple, But one thing you’ve missed: The concept of “purple” Didn’t always exist.
Some cultures lack names For a color, you see. Hence good old Homer And his “wine-dark sea.”
A usage so quaint, A phrasing so old, For verses of romance Is sheer fucking gold.
So roses are red. Violets once were called blue. I’m hugely pedantic But what else is new?
My friend you’re not wrong
About Homer’s wine-ey sea!
Colours are a matter
Of cultural contingency;
Words are in flux
And meanings they drift
But the word purple
You’ve given short shrift.
The concept of purple,
My friends, is old
And refers to a pigment
once precious as gold.
By crushing up molluscs
From the wine-dark sea
You make a dye:
Imperial decree
Meant that in Rome,
to wear purpura
was a privilege reserved
For only the emperor!
The word ‘purple’,
for clothes so fancy,
Entered English
By the ninth century
.
Why then are voilets
Not purple in song?
The dye from this mollusc,
known for so long
Is almost magenta;
More red than blue.
The concept of purple
is old, and yet new.
The dye is red,
So this might be true:
Roses are purple
And violets are blue
.
While this song makes me merry, Tyrian purple dyes many a hue From magenta to berry And a true purple too.
But fun as it is to watch this poetic race The answer is staring you right in the face: Roses are red and violets are blue Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.
Hirple – To limp or walk awkwardly
Cirple – An old Scots word for the hindquarters of a horse
what if when icarus fell apollo caught him before he hit the sea, arms as warm as the sun, but safer.
what if when ariadne cast the rope across a broken branch aphrodite stepped in with a reminder that this, this is not the kind of love you die for.
what if when achilles was ready for war ares appeared with a smile and said “you win well when you win, but what are you unwilling to lose if you lose?” and achilles knew the answer.
if you could retell the tale wouldn’t you want to tell it kinder? wouldn’t you want to give them peace, even love, where you could?
this was written before the printing press was invented and it still sounds like a modern day shitpost
a form of indian poetry, keh (say) mukarni (denial) is an interesting genre of riddles played between two young women, where one of them describes something in a way that it is mistaken by the other girl as her beloved, and finally turns out to be something completely different
wupacing 