Erica Jong

(26 March 1942 / New York City)

Erica Jong Poems

1. A Bespectacled Artist Called Lear 2/3/2015
2. Touch 3/28/2012
3. The Woman Of It 3/28/2012
4. You Hate The Telephone 3/28/2012
5. You Operate 3/28/2012
6. You Whom I Hoped To Reach By Writing 3/28/2012
7. Zen & The Art Of Poetry 3/28/2012
8. The Book With Four Backs 3/28/2012
9. The Buddha In The Womb 3/28/2012
10. The Catch 3/28/2012
11. The Central Passion 3/28/2012
12. Dear Keats 3/28/2012
13. The Cover Of The Book 3/28/2012
14. Dear Anne Sexton 3/28/2012
15. Driving Me Away 3/28/2012
16. The Ecological Apocalypse 3/28/2012
17. Egyptology 3/28/2012
18. Eveningsong At Bellosguardo 3/28/2012
19. Flight To Catalina 3/28/2012
20. For Howard Moss 3/28/2012
21. Gardener 3/28/2012
22. Here Comes 3/28/2012
23. If God Is A Dog 3/28/2012
24. Insomnia & Poetry 3/28/2012
25. The Death Of Goddesses 3/28/2012
26. I Sleep With 3/28/2012
27. I Try To Keep 3/28/2012
28. The Keys 3/28/2012
29. Knives 3/28/2012
30. Her Broom, Or The Ride Of The Witch 3/28/2012
31. Letter To Myselves 3/28/2012
32. The Man Under The Bed 3/28/2012
33. Mute Marriages 3/28/2012
34. My Death 3/28/2012
35. Near The Black Forest 3/28/2012
36. Morning Madness 3/28/2012
37. On Reading A Vast Anthology 3/28/2012
38. On The Avenue 3/28/2012
39. On The First Night 3/28/2012
40. The Other Side Of The Page 3/28/2012
Best Poem of Erica Jong

Beast, Book, Body

I was sick of being a woman,
sick of the pain,
the irrelevant detail of sex,
my own concavity
uselessly hungering
and emptier whenever it was filled,
and filled finally
by its own emptiness,
seeking the garden of solitude
instead of men.

The white bed
in the green garden--
I looked forward
to sleeping alone
the way some long
for a lover.

Even when you arrived,
I tried to beat you
away with my sadness,
my cynical seductions,
and my trick of
turning a slave
into a master.

And all because
you made
my fingertips...

Read the full of Beast, Book, Body

We Learned

The decorum of fire...
-- Pablo Neruda

We learned the decorum of fire,
the flame's curious symmetry,
the blue heat at the center of the thighs,
the flickering red of the hips,
& the tallow gold of the breasts
lit from within

[Hata Bildir]