She was never porn. She was never Page 3. She never had implants to enhance the image of her fecundity.
The Willendorf Venus. She looks like me. When I had a really bad haircut pre-2000.
And while social media thinks nudity, the naked breast, is somehow pornographic, I am glad to reclaim Her now at this New Moon, as we approach the Vernal Equinox, or the equilux, as I prefer. Equal light. Equal dark.
The dream of equality lives on.
And the hoohah on social media surrounding the image of the Willendorf Venus reminded me reach deep into my poetry archive. Because one of my earliest hymns to the goddess was to this Willendorf Venus. She has been found in southern Germany where some of my father's people originated. Because we can only imagine her significance to our ancestors.
And, as I have said, I look a lot like Her when I get naked in front of a full-length mirror.
Willendorf Venus
long, long ago in a sing-song time
even before memory, before you and I
or even our grandmother's
grandmothers were born...
a man and a woman embraced, a long hot clinging
so tjat they rubbed together like two flints trying
to ignite a spark and they did spark
stroking, clacking and cracking at each other
it made a twig fire that lit some kindling that lit
the log that made the big hearth
so they maybe paused a bit and they thought
it would not be a good thing to let
the light die out...it would be cold
wild animals would not stay away
they both kept it going day and night so that they
might be forever
so then they maybe paused a bit again
they made good use of their fire
they took some clay and began to play with it
rolling it and patting it and marking it until they found
that it was all beautiful marvellous round
round like the mountain of a woman's ass
long and oval as her lovely breasts
bulky as saddlebags packed on her mighty thighs
solft all down her legs as they wound around her man
they huddled closer to keep the fire going day and night
night and day so as not to die
they baked her and saw that she was good
he was good and they were good
when the babies came, as they sometimes do
they weaned them on her image and blessed her name
for her respite...the baby played...they returned again
to their embrace, tending the tinderbox of their need.
Copyright Bee Smith 2003
Binary Star, (Poetry by Helen Shay & Bee Smith), Nisaba Press