Remembering Tangren

A small collection of memories of the Southern Oregon Woman Writer's Group, Gourmet Eating Society and Chorus

 

 

Tangren Alexander  1940-2021

"It's difficult to find the words to have a conversation with Death."-- Tangren, March 22, 2021.

Tangren Alexander was a beloved teacher, prolific writer, and imaginative photographer who studied the cosmos, created art and story with dolls, and was a mainstay of the vibrant lesbian feminist community of Southern Oregon. She was also a loving mother, sister, aunt, companion and friend, known for her generosity. Tangren left for the stars on March 26, 2021.

For the Woman Who Asked Why I Write Dirty Poems

Father! Make him stop this solitary vice.         

The boy is touching himself, 

spilling his seed, 

killing his babies,

self-abuse. 

He'll go blind. 

He'll go crazy. 

He'll die young. 

He's a pervert. 

Satan controls him.

Bind his hands. 

Beat him each night. 

Tie his wrists to the headboard 

so he can't reach his parts. 

Strap his feet to the bedpost 

so his thighs can't rub. 

Cover his genitals 

with a hard metal shield. 

An obstinate case? 

Attach a red hot wire to his penis.

Peaches and Cherries     

Each September

you bring me peaches

picked from the drooping branches

of your carefully tended trees.

You select the best, unblemished

caressing the velvet

of sun-touched fuzzy globes, 

rose-tinged gold.

blessing Brigid's waters

come …

ye young nymphs

and sage women too

come …

catch the mystery

of Brigid's sacred pool

Two Sides Of The Coin

It's as easy to fall in love with a rich man  

as a poor one. 

He won't buy the cow if he gets the milk for free. 

Marry a doctor.

Wait for your prince to come.

Maybe I'll meet a rich man.

Sex is my duty to my husband.

How much for a lifetime?

I can't afford to leave.

Reclaiming

Corona: 1. A rare and glorious sight during full eclipse of the sun, radiance made visible.
Corona: 2. In the night sky, a constellation, a circle of stars
Corona: 3. All outer events called to a halt, no going to gatherings. Performances and performings vanish alike.

At 7:30 this morning, I make a grocery run. The Coop so quiet, the surprisingly many shoppers not stopping to hug in the aisles. 
We quickly fill our carts. 
Back home, groceries unload in the still chilly day.