|Henry Fuseli, Death of Dido|
I wrote a short story called "Katherine" not too long ago. While searching the Poetry Foundation for last Friday's Dorothy Parker poem (I was in a bit of a rush), I found a poem whose first line was "Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, Katherine." Out of curiosity I took a look at it, and...wow.
It should be noted that historically—at least in the history of literature—the language of curses is the language of poetry.
Curse Two: The Naming
Cynthia Huntington (1951 – )
Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, Katherine.
Black hair, small cold eyes, whom you loved.
Cock-tease Katherine, chewer of souls.
The door blew open and she blew in, a ghoul.
Black air, small cold wind, taking everything.
Fish-eater Katherine, whose nails dig blood.
I'm going to call her pinch-cunt, pickle-lip,
piss-dribble, shit-smear, goat's-meat breath.
I want to throw stones at her mother's corpse,
send her children to name-change foster homes.
May the coat she is wearing burst into flames
and boil the flesh blistering off her bones.
May she be refused in both heaven and hell
and wander the earth forever without rest——
a hungry ghost clinging to the rocks and trees.