Pomp and Intertext

Cultural Commentary by Erica Eller

Tag: Donald Trump

On American sexism of late

When Hugh Hefner died, I didn’t shed a tear. Hugh Hefner was easy to ridicule and ignore for the most part. I tried to ignore the cringe in my gut when his face appeared in magazines. Turn the page. Men who lead harems are considered powerful by some standards–those of likeminded men. But by other standards–those of many women–these men are considered if not outwardly, then inwardly inferior. They are making up for some deep, gaping inadequacy. Trump’s small hands became a symbol for this kind of inadequacy, because as the wive’s tale goes: hand size correlates. This is the standard women’s interpretation, is it not?

Now what about Harems? Or the modern American capitalist version: the Playboy mansion. Of course harems are a separate culturally specific phenomena–I’ve toured Topkapı Palace, I even live in Istanbul. But I mean the compounds of women, collected as property, that seem to symbolize women’s dependence on male taste, wealth, and status. Oftentimes the male figureheads of such compounds are double or triple the age of their women property. The age-gap gives the entire arrangement an air of uncanny pedophiliac impurity. A kind of geriatric flavor, in which the future death and linked inheritance of a wealthy individual becomes a fetishized, sexualized commodity in and of itself. The women inside such a harem compete for power linked to their sex appeal. The women inside probably feel powerful, too. Their function is to oppress other women almost as much as the men themselves, just by their sheer quantity and by the harem’s internal hierarchy.

But women in a harem don’t determine the power. They don’t own it. They just profit off of it. Some people say these women should not be blamed. We say women should not be shamed for turning into parasites of the swollen patriarchal system. Those women are needy, too, just like women who choose self-determination. Well, if not blamed, what about educated? Would these women still exist if women’s consciousness on the whole could improve a bit?


Hugh Hefner seemed to choose duplicates of the same woman-type. Hugh Hefner perpetuated the blond Barbie-like Pamela Anderson look. Women who find Hugh Hefner’s system oppressive may also have a distaste for that look, like I do. It is likewise a very racially specific look. My impulse is to defend myself against it by pointing out its flawed sense of beauty: it’s fake, it’s exaggerated, it lacks nuance, it lacks character, it lacks eccentricity, it’s narrow minded, it’s cliche, it’s formulaic, and etc. People compare women with this look to thoroughbreds, pieces of meat, isolated body parts–like a piece-of-ass, or other ways of seeing that are perhaps more familiar to wealthy people who are attuned to the monetary values and graded qualities of their possessions, like the percentages of stock indexes. People want to place beauty into statistical models, percentages, ranking systems and other capitalist ways of thinking. Beauty competitions serve the same function–women are compared, weighed, measured, eliminated, made scarce, and more or less commoditized.


What else? This Harvey Weinstein guy from Miramax is suddenly “exposed” in the media. High-profile women had been holding off for years. This is the harem of Hollywood. Women who hadn’t been a victim of his antics denied even knowing about his sexist bullying. He has been called “smart” and “manipulative” by women who apparently disapprove of him. Like a cunning fox? Don’t give him that credit. Don’t excuse him. He was a producer in a position of power who used this power to oppress women by way of a kind of sexual initiation or rite of passage. Some women refused, but they also chose avoidance until now.

Avoidance is an easy coping mechanism. It makes sense in a way. If you have enough of a foothold to stand upright in a career, independently, then you can ignore the dirty politics influencing others around you. You cry tears with the women who experienced it the worst, you feel for them, but you do not necessarily financially support or go out on a legal limb and testify on their behalf. Many women choose not to expose themselves on behalf of their suffering sisters. But real support requires this courage. Real anti-sexist support is material in the sense that it legally protects or financially benefits, or takes care of another’s basic needs, or creates systems that enable that kind of support. These forms of support can bring stability for other women and ourselves. We need to form safety nets, safe spaces, and networks.  


Avoidance is a way of accepting the system of relative advantage. By this, I mean politely choosing to profit individually. It’s what I assume women of color are actually complaining about when they complain about white women. All women are struggling to “stay afloat.” When women should be building safety nets for one another, across racial lines, across age lines, across cultural lines, disability lines, across so many lines of difference, they instead play this game of avoidance and subtle one up(wo)manship. Women have the power to organize and ensure that the fall to the bottom is not so catastrophic. Women can become mentors, leaders, and organizers. One specific example is planned parenthood. Don’t let men decide its fate! I often wonder where are the women’s versions of “fraternal orders?” Where are the women who show willingness to financially and materially support one another?

Women traditionally do this in the private sphere. They rear families. They contribute all of their time and energy to the interests of others. Perhaps the idea of transposing that mindset into the public sphere seems too inhibiting. Perhaps women just want to escape the care-taking role altogether. Or perhaps their care taking role has always been independent all along, in a sense. Mothers can often singularly dominate without question. Perhaps that is what many women crave in their public lives as well. A kind of independent domination of their own sphere of influence.

In other words, it seems that women often prefer gaining entrance onto sinking patriarchal ships–to prove their equality in comparison to men. They’d rather pursue this than practice equality among one another. I often crave inter-gender equality and respect. Such equality depends on the more difficult alternative of building a ship, hiring crews, and captaining women-owned fleets. Systemic sexism would not be included in the by-laws.


So many women did not speak out about Weinstein until now. Why now? I didn’t follow this issue that closely, but let’s look at the president. This seems like a case of diverted energy. Aren’t so many women just angry about the current president? Just replay the tapes of Trump’s voice and remember what a heinous individual he is toward women. Just watch him place his hand on his daughter’s ass again. If we can’t oust the biggest sexist in power, then at least we can focus on one at the heart of the entertainment industry of Hollywood. At least we can join our Women’s March on Washington. We can get angry at his rhetoric toward women and lash out at so many other sexists because they are around us everywhere. We have a constant reminder in the white house of how much work is left to be done.

But what if Hillary had won the election? Then what would’ve happened? Let’s rewind. Obama won the election twice. This did not take away police brutality. This did not stop systemic racism. Rotating figureheads in or out of leadership roles creates symbolic, not systemic change. We should try to understand the difference, because we should place our bets on the latter. We need to take ownership, not just fill the roles of a system that has been in place for centuries.

Symbolic change is based on flimsy outward notions of identity–the same labeling and profiling mechanisms that racism depends on. Systemic change is based on seeing beyond the limited careers of charismatic individuals. What inspires me still about the authors of the U.S. constitution is their self-awareness about authoring systemic change. I don’t understand why our system doesn’t have a simple safety net to avoid politicians like Trump in the form of a minimum entrance exam regarding foreign and domestic policy. Politicians should have to pass an admissions test to enter politics. This is just one minor example of how we could strengthen the system. But we should all remember that Trump got into power due to a systemic change. Citizens United eliminated caps on private campaign funding. This is an example of how easily our democratic safety nets can be removed. Taking this into account, systemic, not symbolic progress should be the primary target for women.

I honestly haven’t done much to research my own blog topic. This one has been off the cuff. Feel free to add your thoughts or resources in the comments.







Notes on Bathos

I’d like to take you on an intertextual journey of bathos. To begin with, let’s get a working definition of bathos. A google search of the definition comes up with this:

noun: bathos

  1. (especially in a literary work) an effect of anticlimax created by an unintentional lapse in mood from the sublime to the trivial or ridiculous.
    “his epic poem has passages of almost embarrassing bathos”
  • Origin: Greek

    mid 17th century (first recorded in the Greek sense): from Greek, literally ‘depth’. The current sense was introduced by Alexander Pope in the early 18th century.

Alexander Pope made the term famous by writing a parodic style guide for bad poetry entitled Peri Bathous, regressing intentionally from the ancient guide for sublime poetry entitled Peri Hypnous.

Recently, in response to Donald Trump’s outrageous demands for “unqualified praise” from reporters, Alexandra Petri of the Washington Post created her own “bathetic” style guide for Trump coverage in the news.

Point #3 of Petri’s guide is a bathetic allusion to Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”:

3. Does Donald Trump contradict himself? Very well; he contradicts himself. Donald Trump is large. Donald Trump contains multitudes.

The lines from “Song of Myself” read:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)


Arguably, Whitman’s own lines are an “omnisexual” bathetic allusion to the bible, perhaps to “Song of Solomon”, which has been described as perhaps the sexiest, most conspicuously “queer” book of the bible. A comparison of the two “Songs” is made here.

I’ve opted to make a slightly less elegant allusion than Petri has in a similar bathetic allusion to lines from “Song of Myself”:

Donald Trump too is not a bit tamed, he too is untranslatable,
He sounds his barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.


Pope with his bathos and Whitman with his free-verse were two poets who willfully challenged poetic traditions. A poem I once wrote willfully merges the freedom of Whitman and anticlimax of Pope in my own “Song of…” poem.

My poem is entitled “Song of Sandwich.” The poem’s sex symbolism comes from my rendering of the sandwich as a symbol of the vagina. I try to make jabs at patriarchal and poetical attempts to “trump” women’s choice, discourse, etc (although you may have to “undress” the language to find these jabs).

Before I give you the text of this poem, however, I shall divert you to another quip I made about Trump via Twitter in relation to this sandwich theme:

By clicking on the link in my tweet, you’ll find a lively rebuttal by arrantpedantry.com of Merriam Webster’s “definitional meaning” of hotdog, stating that instead, meaning should be derived from use. Therefore, for all intents and purposes there is no such thing as:

Genus: Sandwich, Species: Hotdog

nor can we establish the following claim:

Genus: Politician, Species: Donald Trump

Octopi (I assume), Hotdogs, and Trump are to remain taxonomic anomalies.

Now, I present you the ultimate anticlimax of this post!

“Song of Sandwich” by Erica Eller

Until the night shall cometh, I’ve several little squares
Of cheese inside my sandwich, I won’t offer to share–
This is my reward for stretching dollars ’till they tear.
Says one cheese to the other (why must I overhear):
“I’m not about to tell you, and neither would you dare
write minor reportage about this underwear
I’d rather not abort, nor am I an au pair!”
A minor correspondence crawls out into the air
From a phallic ‘wich, though rowdy is its hair
purges mayo at its crust, as if it didn’t belong in there
My nemesis is meaning, but it seeps inside the lair
of every poet’s dreaming who ever had a spare
word to lace a paper–rolled, lit and inhaled just to impair
the sharp blade of the morning, the deep bliss in the stare
of Mona or Madonna, Magdalena or Cher
If this doesn’t have a subject, you know, neither did Seidel
But this has a smaller budget and I don’t write as well.
Imploring for a subject, look how flat I fell!
But words still sing so swell–
yes, words still sound so rare
When they find their proper pair–
Swelling oceans have a moment
Of pause before they break
Couldn’t call you on the phone
Or invite you for a steak
I couldn’t quite afford it
When all I had was this–
A lingering abyss–
Leave it there to rot, now
Leave it there to write
The lines of how Kraft singles
And Wonderbread unite
The voices in a sandwich,
They call me an absurdist–
but I think I heard them wrong,
I thought they said an artist.
In the mirror, I gazed at it so long,
It never had occurred to me
That myself and I could belong
to the archives of our longing
The poet’s names who stack so high
All fingering their “ladies” 
No mothers asking why
They haven’t swallowed coffee
Or drunk all of their tea
Or took to Law of Murphy
They’re so filled up with sea
Sea water in their salty tears
Hot air in their lies
A crab or two down under
A carcass hosting flies
We know that our lineage of poets
Would rather shore up guys
I’ve only an addiction
to making mess of this:
the art we’re so attuned to–
I sing you streams of piss