Bibliofreakblog

FreeVerse: The Raper from Passenack

I almost didn’t go with this poem.  God only knows what kind of spam I’ll get.  But in the interest of bringing you good poetry, I went with it.

Besides, deciding which William Carlos Williams poem to use and not wanting to use something sexual or violent, slims down the available selection considerably.

I guess that has something to do with his work as a doctor or something.  

Whatever it is, this poem is deeply disturbing, partly for its simplicity, and partly because it was written by a man and is oddly insightful–particularly for the time in which it was written–and also partly because it could’ve been written today.  Somethings haven’t changed, and that’s what freaks me out the most, I think.

“The Raper from Passenack” by William Carlos Williams

was very kind.  When she regained
her wits, he said, It’s all right, Kid,
I took care of you.

What a mess she was in.  Then he added,
You’ll never forget me now.
And drove her home.

Only a man who is sick, she said
would do a thing like that.
It must be so.

No one who is not diseased could be
so insanely cruel.  He wants to give it
to someone else–

to justify himself.  But if I get a
venereal infection out of this
I won’t be treated.

I refuse.  You’ll find me dead in bed
first.  Why not?  That’s
the way she spoke,

I wish I could shoot him.  How would
you like to know a murderer?
I may do it.

I’ll know by the end of this week.
I wouldn’t scream.  I bit him
several times

but he was too strong for me.
I can’t yet understand it.  I don’t
faint so easily.

When I came to myself and realized
what had happened all I could do
was to curse

and call him every vile name I could
think of.  I was so glad
to be taken home.

I suppose it’s my mind–the fear of
infection.  I’d rather a million times
have been got pregnant.

But it’s the foulness of it can’t
be cured.  And hatred, hatred of all men
–and disgust.