JP Seabright

Tenterhooks

In/
fantalising
hermaphrodites
with cockandboobscum
between my
breasts
body trussed &
basted
smeared in the
juices
of my own
consolations
horny as a
fucking
hornet buzzing with
effervescing
confessions
fingering myself into
infinity
kicking &
screaming
into the soft limp
pillow
of my gender-
bent
body

Out/
damn kut i say
hell
is murky queerly
dirty
exploring my
garden
of earthy delights
hieronymus
anonymous
sticky fingers in both pies
sliding betwink the
cracks
(that’s how the bite gets
in)
tantalising &
tenderised
a piece of
meat
vandalised beyond
belief
hungup & strungup &
fuckedup on your
tenter
hooks

Ripped On The Body

Image ID: A page of text is ripped and torn vertically into two columns with text obstructed along the vertical edges, corners, and down the middles of both sides. The full text of the original document follows:

This exercise will focus on Jeanette Winterson's book Written On The Body.  It was published in 1993, and is described as a 'work of fiction', perhaps the most accurate way of describing a work that tries to break away from the conventional novel form. It has no clearly defined plot, the chronological structure being presented through the narrator's mind, characters are introduced via reminiscence in their relation to the narrator.  The narrator "itself" is ungendered, not without sexual presence, but of a non-specified sex, and therefore sexuality; for the book details a love affair, and could be narrated by either a man or woman.  It is this issue of narration and gender, in relation to the contents of the book, and in relation to the author that is most interesting, both as an example of a post-modern text, but also in the context of feminist literary theories.
Although written in prose form, this extract from the central section of the book  given the separate heading 'The Skin', exemplifies the strongly poetic style of writing.  It is a particularly sensual passage, and alludes to the title of the book.  Hélène Cixous in her approach to the concept of écriture feminine believes there is a close connection between the female body and feminine writing.  After deconstructing phallogocentric binary oppositions she argues that 'there is no invention of any other I, no poetry, no fiction without a certain homosexuality...'  and 'femininity and bisexuality go together'.  This is not so far removed from Coleridge's consideration of the androgynous mind, or Woolf's assertion that 'it is fatal for anyone who writes to think of their sex...one must be woman-manly or man-womanly.'  Winterson has written a book that explores the female body, both in sickness and in health from the point of view of an un-named, gender-free narrator/lover.  It is interesting to consider whether knowledge of the author's sex and sexuality influence the way a reader might respond to the narrative voice and interpret the text.  Could this passage have only been written by a woman?  The poetic sensibility of the writing style and the loose structural form allow the text to be viewed in terms of écriture feminine,  in the same way that the end of Joyce's Ulysses has also been considered.  If male homosexual writers, like Jean Genet are regarded as eligible for feminine writing,  then surely lesbian authors should have a greater claim?  By choosing to write from an unspecified narrative position, Winterson may have lost the opportunity to develop what Bonnie Zimmerman considers to be a much needed 'unique lesbian feminist perspective'.  However, at the same time she has avoided marginalisation, and opened up the possibilities of author-narrator-text-reader relationships and interpretation.  

I
Muddy knees and football boots,
despairing parents for a child who refuses
to wear dresses, Arsenal sweatbands
wrapped around wrists that will one day
wear stripes of a different kind, hair uncut
and unkempt, strangers assume you’re a
boy and this pleases you no end, you call
yourself Jimmy or Spike or something, and
practice your brand new signature.

Here endeth the first gender.

II
You smell like teen spirit with unwashed
black jeans and long baggy jumpers pulled
down to knees and stretched over wrists
where thumbs poke through, you’d cover
your face in a balaclava if you could, and
you listen to songs about loving girls and
never once ask yourself why you always
identify with the man despite being only
fourteen.

Here endeth the second gender.

III
Grandad shirts and dress suit trousers with
buttons for braces to keep them held up
with and oversized jackets that double as
coats shrouded with scarfs and fingerless
gloves and men’s thermal vests from M&S
- underwear the only thing you can afford
to buy new - you walk and talk like a
Victorian dandy, a Fagin a pirate a
highwayman, you can barely afford food
but at least you look good, as a ragamuff-
diver, a charity shop gentleman dyke.

Here endeth the third gender.

IV
Disco napped 1970s flares, your mum’s
Adidas joggers with the go faster stripe
that lost their elastic that one time you
washed them, now barely holding up over
your jutting hips, lips shiny with the herbal
burn of hash-fags-smoke, the sting of
poppers brings tears to your eyes. More
Than A Woman is your calling card for
you’ve come to admit you’re a woman of
sorts, embracing your breasts now you’ve
finally found someone who knows how to
touch them, and your blossoming cunt
wants to fuck the world and everyone in it.

Here endeth the fourth gender.

V
At work, suited and booted with your
invisible panties, finally you can afford to
buy smart shirts and cufflinks, for the first
time in your life men are looking at you
and you surprise yourself because you
think you might like it. and fucking the
new boy just might be your new kink, and
in between you roam the streets looking
for trade, your girlfriend no longer enough
for you, her and that Gold Star brigade.

Here endeth the fifth gender.

VI
Decades later you’re back where you
started, boy? girl? who cares, for now
there are peers and queers and non-binary
spheres, recognition and representation
whilst bigots invent new forms of fascism
and declare the gender wars, some people
are trans get over it, but not you, still not
sure what you are, still that tomboy
playing with cars and climbing trees and
turning your head at all the pretty girlboy /
boygirls.

You can’t wait to see what comes next.

Gender Lessons

Sex in Context

I am an endangered & ungendered thing
difference my distinguishing feature
a creature of circumstance
I love therefore I am

The species is in pieces
for I have no wish to populate
I desire only to copulate

Sappho - suffice to say - I am sex in context

Neither man nor beast
virgin or whore
society undecided
precisely what I’m for

The phallus is a fallacy
a family fairytale
the vulva’s not so vulgar
there lies a glistening grail

Do I not spend my gender & sell my sex
if I claim that I am not a woman?
If I am not woman, then who do I love?

If my love dare not shout out its name
then I have lost all sense of self
& the biosex terrorists are to blame

Do I have to politicise my body
in order to criticise the state
& the straight-backwardness of it all?

For now that I am liberated
I no longer lie back and think of Hall

I love my woman-kind
in body and in mind
the never-knowing-norm of the female
form

Pure presence
or poor pretence
I am sex in context

JP Seabright (she/they) is a queer writer living in London. They have three pamphlets published: Fragments from Before the Fall: An Anthology in Post-Anthropocene Poetry by Beir Bua Press; the erotic memoir NO HOLDS BARRED  by Lupercalia Press, and GenderFux, a collaborative poetry pamphlet, by Nine Pens Press. MACHINATIONS, a collaborative experimental work, will be out from Trickhouse Press in Autumn 2022. More info at https://jpseabright.com and via Twitter @errormessage.