Poem #3 Alfred Hitchcock #metoo

posted November 9, 2019

What’s it all about, Alfred Hitchcock?
Why did you ruin my love for you?
But was it actually you that I loved? Or what you disseminated
On the virgin celluloid?

(Woody Allen, #youtoo.)

Your invitations
Were irresistible.
As were my feelings as I watched,
Taking in all the imperfections the broken halide crystals
Left on the ancient film stock
The dated hairstyles
The inevitable cameo

 You always created a sense of place
I met you there, didn’t I? 
With a bottle of cold, tangy white wine
Alone in my apartment, my lover out till midnight
You teased me the way he did,
You were here, and he was not.

You teased me the way he did,

I was not immune to believing 
I should be grateful for male attention
In whatever form it may take.

In whatever form it may take.
One of your blond ingenues 
Cherry-picked for fame,
Graced with attention.

When I think about what I loved
––What we shared––
Your art, my reaction to it––
I see it as a spell you cast
Province of witches—even this you stole from women:
Vertigo’s mesmerizing arc shot
Your vision inseminated my young self

Do I now have to reject my own?

For the month of November, I will be writing 30 Poems as part of this wonderful challenge to support Center for New Americans. If you want to support me, please go here.

The Comments

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  1. Wow. Thanks, Nerissa. How DO we take into consideration what we now know about the artists who once inspired/mesmerized us (and whose work still does)? How do we respond to the newly realized layers of awfulness behind the genius?

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