Dissections by Rhonda Dynes
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First electronic edition
27 pages
ISBN 978-1-9994442-3-5
Praise for Dissections:
In this vivid collection, Rhonda Dynes’ personal poetic world is filled with energy—visceral and embodied—body-slamming the body-shaming patriarchy to the mat with the verbal force of its wit, rage, exuberance and invention. Calling on a range of powerful and inspiring matriarchs, from Hildegard von Bingen to Roxane Gay, these poems tackle gendered violence and power with inspiring and spirited power.
In Dissections, Rhonda Dynes pointedly observes, “a Caliban’s tale is never told.” Honest, funny, and cutting in its observations about gender, rape culture and fat-phobia, Dissections examines who among us gets turned into villains, invoking figures like Miss Piggy, Godzilla, and Saint Hildegard to tell the story.
Rhonda Dynes’ Dissections refashions insults into sharp, incisive poems full of compassion, humour and a bone-dry defiance. Full of controlled vulnerabilities, Dynes’ writing is a beautiful work of strength and self-love.
Featuring cover and interior art by Gary Barwin
Scroll down for an excerpt
First electronic edition
27 pages
ISBN 978-1-9994442-3-5
Praise for Dissections:
In this vivid collection, Rhonda Dynes’ personal poetic world is filled with energy—visceral and embodied—body-slamming the body-shaming patriarchy to the mat with the verbal force of its wit, rage, exuberance and invention. Calling on a range of powerful and inspiring matriarchs, from Hildegard von Bingen to Roxane Gay, these poems tackle gendered violence and power with inspiring and spirited power.
- Gary Barwin, author of No TV for Woodpeckers and Yiddish for Pirates
In Dissections, Rhonda Dynes pointedly observes, “a Caliban’s tale is never told.” Honest, funny, and cutting in its observations about gender, rape culture and fat-phobia, Dissections examines who among us gets turned into villains, invoking figures like Miss Piggy, Godzilla, and Saint Hildegard to tell the story.
- Paola Ferrante, author of The True Confessions of Buffalo Bill
Rhonda Dynes’ Dissections refashions insults into sharp, incisive poems full of compassion, humour and a bone-dry defiance. Full of controlled vulnerabilities, Dynes’ writing is a beautiful work of strength and self-love.
- Jia Qing Wilson-Yang, author of Small Beauty
Featuring cover and interior art by Gary Barwin
Scroll down for an excerpt
Excerpt: "If I Could Make a Body"
If I could make a body
That was all your bodies,
From the one who made the ‘Kick me’ sign to the one driving down Ottawa Street saying “Walk faster,”
I think I might smile a bit.
Before I tucked in, large fork in bulbous hand,
And ate you all up.
I would get so big, because there are so many of you, see. And I would out-Godzilla Godzilla. And I would
Out-big-scary-monster every single fucking scary monster under your bed.
You know that nightmare, you do have nightmares right?
The one where you are standing up holding your own intestines in your hand, But you’re still breathing for a minute, until you die?
You made that my waking life - your stares at me, standing in the front of the class,
Forced to give a speech, colon in hand.
You made that my daily life, standing in the centre of the playground, spleen in fist as you threw
Rocks and bits of glass into my open viscera.
So maybe, I’m just wondering,
If I could take you all in,
Mother you a little in my very big bad belly,
If I could understand a bit where you were a monster, too.
That was all your bodies,
From the one who made the ‘Kick me’ sign to the one driving down Ottawa Street saying “Walk faster,”
I think I might smile a bit.
Before I tucked in, large fork in bulbous hand,
And ate you all up.
I would get so big, because there are so many of you, see. And I would out-Godzilla Godzilla. And I would
Out-big-scary-monster every single fucking scary monster under your bed.
You know that nightmare, you do have nightmares right?
The one where you are standing up holding your own intestines in your hand, But you’re still breathing for a minute, until you die?
You made that my waking life - your stares at me, standing in the front of the class,
Forced to give a speech, colon in hand.
You made that my daily life, standing in the centre of the playground, spleen in fist as you threw
Rocks and bits of glass into my open viscera.
So maybe, I’m just wondering,
If I could take you all in,
Mother you a little in my very big bad belly,
If I could understand a bit where you were a monster, too.