Spunk-mouth Vaginas and The Anointed Pussy

(Christos Tsotsos is the author of The secret of the elements.)

I was over the moon. I had a copy of my first poem published in a literature magazine, which I held in hand like some precious trophy. I entered my house overinflated with pride calling for my wife. I found her in front of her laptop at the kitchen table. 

"I am officially a published poet" said grinning and flicked the page open for her where my poem was printed. 

"I'm so proud of you" she said and started reading it right away. This was the first time I was showing it to her. I observed her facial expressions while she read. I followed the rhythm of her breathing, exhaled when she did, smirked when she smiled, counting the minutes during her long pauses. Finally! She was done. My eyes were asking 'well, what do you think?'

"I don't get it" she said.

"What do you mean?" Her respond startled me.

"That is exactly my question. What does it mean? There is some beautiful imagery but they don't seem connected. It is almost incoherent. Sorry, I don't like it."

I took the poem and read it once more. She was shutting down her laptop. It was the same poem as the one I wrote a few months ago that made perfect sense to me. There was the emotion of the protestors, shouts, explosions, and the ripples their voices made on the fabric of history. It was all there. I began explaining it to her while she was tiding up her workspace/kitchen table. She laughed at my analysis. 

"Really? Is that what it means? Sorry I still do not see it." She sensed that I was hurt and added "Your other poem was much more beautiful, why you didn’t send that one?"

"I couldn't. I had that published on my blog. I never thought of it to be good enough for this literature magazine."

"That was silly, it was so much better."

I demanded she elaborates on her judgment. She picked the poem and went on scrutinizing it, tearing it appart like a tigress does with its victim. Picking up word for word.

"Here you use the word 'odour', it sounds awful, you could have used 'smell', such a nice common word, it sounds better in the context"

"But it is not a smell is it now? It is an odour. There is a big difference." I was loosing my patience

"How so?"

"Pfft"

"How about this one: ’burst'?  What on earth were you thinking? It reads like the effect of a bad meal. And then you use 'pavements'.  It is a protest for fuck's shake it happens on the streets. Why not use 'streets' instead? It sounds more appropriate." She was getting more into the role of the editor and I felt like I was getting whiplashed.

"Well, the protesters break the pavements and throw the pieces at the police, the street tarmac is not good enough. I suppose it is not as easy to break it into pieces... Oh hell, I don't know the aesthetics of the words sounded like the best ones to use."

I turned my back on her and filled a glass with water when I heard "Oh no!" I turned around and was greeted with a horrified look. "Tell me you didn't use that name!" She waved the magazine under my nose. I took it off her hands and read it. My name should mean golden-mouth in Greek but there was a typo in it, instead it now translated to spunk-mouth. 

"Nobody will notice that." I said in a desperate attempt to avoid the conversation. 

"Maybe not, but when you think about it there is bound to be Greeks that will read it and instantly see it. Now you have them as well as the Spanish." I looked at her wondering. 

"You do know about your suname right?"

"What is wrong with my surname?" I demanded.

"Come on, you know it means vaginas in Spanish slang." She winked.

"So? It is spelled differently. You can say the same for Koontz but only those in yorkshire will find that funny." I finally managed to have a drink of the water I pured. I was feeling flustered.

"True. But the combination is staggering. There is bound to be a Greek and a Spanish friend, somewhere in the world, who could put both together and have a good laugh about it."

I was tired of her laughing at my expense. "I don't see it."

"You see meaning in a crappy poem that uses odour, pavements and burst, but cannot see the irony of a pen name that, combining Greek and Spanish, means Spunk-mouth Vaginas?"

"No."

I took the magazine in my study and shoved it in a drawer. Outside the sun was setting. It was meant to be a glorious day, spring was around the corner and I was supposed to be a published author and poet. Instead I was an idiot with a pornographic pen name and the wrong idea on words and their aesthetic value in prose and poetry. She walked past me on her way to our room.

"Shall we go out to celebrate?"

"Sure." I mumbled absentminded. "What if I change my pen name to Christos?"

"Heh! If you drop the s at the end of your last name too then you can become The Anointed Pussy. That is a good pen name for a poet. Don't you think? Come on don't sulk the pub is waiting. First round’s on me."

(Christos Tsotsos is the author of The secret of the elements.)