Following on from Fern Stone’s last guest post, where misogyny was taken to task, the poem that ‘started’ it all.

On top of the sexism, there was also the by comparison minor failure to recognise someone else’s art as a finished piece and appreciate it as it should be beheld.

In The Medusa Protocol II what constitutes art is central to the conversation at Kirsty/Medusa’s apartment; ‘how alike a painting of a bowl of fruit is to a real bowl of fruit doesn’t reveal the first thing about how good the art is,’ etc. Both there and previously here (Brigitte Bardon’t: Radio Songs; a Review) I’ve quoted Martin Creed:

“My work is about fifty per cent what I make of it and fifty per cent what people make of it. Meanings are made in people’s heads. I can’t control them.”

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Introducing Fern Stone: newest kick-ass poet warrior on the block!

While out for a scroll the other day across the groups and pages where poetry is shared, a post caught my attention.

Someone wrote of previously having dropped a poem directly to the group, only for someone else to . . . Let’s not mince words. The ‘someone’, Fern Stone, is mid-twenties and female; while the critic male and heading the wrong side of middle-aged.

Cringe worthy stereotypes abounded from the latter with unabashed aplomb.

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