The poet, Pascale Petit, has kindly written a poetic statement for publication on this blog. We want to thank her for allowing us to reproduce it here.
Pascale Petit is a French/Welsh poet whose second and third collections, The Huntress and The Zoo Father, were both shortlisted for the TS Eliot Prize and were Books of the Year in the Times Literary Supplement. Pascale has been selected as one of the Next Generation Poets. Les Murray writes of her: “No other British poet I am aware of can match the powerful mythic imagination of Pascale Petit.”
Writing Poems from Rape and Abuse
When writing The Zoo Father I was not interested in just writing about rape or abuse, what I wanted was to make art. Until I could find a way of doing that I couldn’t write. Before I wrote it I had an eight-month block. It was only when I visited the Ménagerie in Paris’s Jardin des Plantes with its Amazonian species that I could see how I could make portraits of my father and myself through those animals. As Sharon Olds has said, I know that no one is interested in what happened to me as a child. What readers might be interested in is how I make art out of such difficult material.
Another difficulty is that this raw material can look dangerously close to bad poetry, to over-written, over-emotional poems about personal experiences, often not rendered freshly. There is a close resemblance between ‘art brut’ on the one hand – and I was interested in making raw art ¬– and a mere outpouring of self-expression. Another barrier is the problem of politeness: it is not considered good manners to write so critically of one’s parents, and is not even polite to talk about these taboo subjects. That’s a lot to go against.
I had different problems when writing about my mother’s abuse, which was mental, though possibly more damaging. This abuse is intangible and therefore harder to write about concretely. Mental rape, the terrorisation or invasion of children’s or vulnerable people’s minds, is a global issue and I hope that my explorations in The Huntress have some relevance, however small, to how the first world terrorises and invades the third world, the tactics it uses to enslave weaker or poorer nations. My central theme in that book is power abuse and terrorisation of one human being by another as well as an in depth exploration of my relationship with my mother. The point Zoe Brigley made about the Lithuanian poet who had suffered at the hands of the KGB was that he told me he found my poem cathartic, even though it was so personal.
In writing The Wounded Deer – Fourteen poems after Frida Kahlo I was free from the difficulties of writing autobiography. I sometimes give readings of these poems with projections of the paintings and I don’t feel so exposed afterwards as I do after giving readings from The Zoo Father and The Huntress . I was not writing about myself but the Mexican painter, someone far from my cultural background.
Or was I? Central to that pamphlet – and the full-length collection I am writing now, The Thorn Necklace (with the paintings) – is the trauma when Kahlo was seriously injured as a teenager in a street accident. Her vagina and spine were literally skewered by the handrail of a bus. She was raped by a chance accident, by an object. There are no notions of blame. So I was free to write about its repercussions throughout her life. “Telling it as it is” through a persona reduces the embarrassment factor. However raw or graphic the details of physical or mental distress, they are here under the guise of an icon who has already transmuted her suffering into art. I also write about the abuse of the natural world, and another collection I am working on now has the endangered coast redwoods of California as its focus.