Thursday Short Poem: Olds' "Connoisseuse of Slugs

I've long been a fan of Sharon Olds, the American "poet laureate of the body". No other poet today writes incarnate flesh and sex in all its gorgeous messiness as well as she; I've had a few of hers up before, but this is another old favorite.

The Connoisseuse of Slugs

When I was a connoisseuse of slugs
I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the
naked jelly of those gold bodies,
translucent strangers glistening along the
stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies
at my mercy.  Made mostly of water, they would shrivel
to nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,
but I was not interested in that.  What I liked
was to draw aside the ivy, breathe the
odor of the wall, and stand there in silence
until the slug forgot I was there
and sent its antennae up out of its
head, the glimmering umber horns
rising like telescopes, until finally the
sensitive knobs would pop out the
ends, delicate and intimate.  Years later,
when I first saw a naked man,
I gasped with pleasure to see that quiet
mystery reenacted, the slow
elegant being coming out of hiding and
gleaming in the dark air, eager and so
trusting you could weep.

Comments

[Lauren]

FYI, some are accusing Olds of polluting our childrens' precious minds.

[Hugo]

Thanks for the link, Lauren. What perfect timing.

[older]

I love this poem! I have always been a slug fancier. They were my favorite researach subject back when I was studying biology. However, I had already seen a naked man by that time.