Anas Nin|Author, Poet, Stories of Erotica

Erotic stories, erotica poetry... but more than that,it is more than sex. If you have ever read any of Anais Nin you know, she was a brilliant author with a talent for words. This goddess knew how to put words together to make them sing.

I first read Anais Nin's writings I confess because of the movie "Henry and June". At one point in that movie a quote by Anias Nin was spoken and I was in love with a new author and poet. I adored and related to the quote so much that I wanted to read more of her work. I got the book "Tropic of Cancer", which was written by Henry Miller, one of her lovers and Henry of "Henry and June" of course. Anais Nin wrote the introduction to the version I purchased. The words written in that introduction alone were beautiful and just so eloquent, I was surprised I had missed such a treasure and that she had mostly been noted only for her erotica. While Anais Nin is most known for her erotica I think she also deserves an applaud for being a master of prose and word.

The quote I mentioned that caused me to search out more of her work:

"I wept because the process by which I became a woman was painful. I wept because from now on I would weep less. I wept because I had lost my pain and I was not yet accustomed to its absence."

~Anais Nin

Below, I posted MY story, "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn...Too". In that story I refer to the above quote. It did indeed affect me.

Anais Nin (1903-1977)

Anais Nin is best known for her journals, published in ten volumes as The Diary of Anais Nin. Her ideas have influenced feminist thinking -- in agreement or reaction -- although she herself moved away from political forms of feminism.

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TURN ON SOME MUSIC as you enjoy my lens!

This is a story written by me, Kathy Ostman-Magnusen that was inspired by my show with Monkdogz Urban Art in New York called "Flashing Flesh" and the fact that I was not able to go to the opening. It was also inspired by Anais Nin and a quote by her that I copied down when I saw the movie "Henry and June".

My Art is represented by Monkdogz in New York.. check my bio for more info.

"A Tree Grows in Brooklyn... Too"

It wasn't hard to pack, I took only the important things with me, a handful of leaves from trees to remind me where I had come from. Yet I expected more.. there had to be more.

There are journeys that people seek out that lend to experiences not yet lived, I am one of those travelers. My plane to New York would arrive late, but it came and I could not stop myself from crying. A dream met, the hope of all who seek out distant lands, but never speak of them out loud. Whatever keeps the prize from those silent souls is often hidden in boxes with labels that remark there is no return. Boxes full of tape that bind gifts and treasures, only released in dark spaces while completely alone.

"I'm on my way to meet my creative side face to face, lest it lose its resilience," I said inside my mind. "Oh fragile path, its time to stop along the way and breathe in those desires. Time to take out your paints and splash their blood from head to my toe, lick up complaints from the wounded, give solace, because they are you". I cried again..."That's how you got here, you paid for a thousand and one days, time to feel your worth."

My goal met, I stood before my shadow, a painting on the wall. I recognized its worth beyond my past objections and wanted only to soothe myself. I had met one of my emotions head on and its fragrance became the charm I had been looking for. I stood before my painting, my painting of me and gave it back a smile of recognition.

"Did you bring the book?" I heard a voice behind me say.

I did not turn around to see the face from where the voice came, instead I closed my eyes and felt the essence from its breath. I felt it on my shoulder like a bird that rested after flight. I had the book, indeed I did. I took it from my pocket and in the process all the leaves that I had carried so carefully, fell to the ground.

"OH NO!" I opened my eyes and saw their green veined figures on the tiles on which I stood. "However will I find my way home again! However will I remember those graves from all my sadness, reminders from where I came from!?"

The door to the gallery opened and a wind swept in. It took up the leaves and caused them to begin dancing. I could only watch in disbelief. They seemed happy and unconcerned about me. I wanted to gather them again, put them in their place and demand they stay put, do as they were told. The next thing I knew they rushed right out the door, on to the elevator and into the street. I ran blindly waving my arms, screaming and frantic. I would not know who I was without them. However would I find my soul again? I watched the leaves swim through the currents of freedom. To be understood later? I was not sure, I was alone.

I walked back up to the gallery.. sensed a shadow but I was too bereaved to search out its eyes. Standing again in front of my painting I wept. Mysteriously the voice of before, was once again behind me, and it began to sing. It was soft and gently, something about it felt soothing and I wanted to stay there forever. I closed my eyes and bowed my head inhaling the music to my ears. I felt its presence, breathing on my neck, then kissing my shoulder. Opening my eyes, holding the book in hand, I knew a question could be asked of the melody that came from the figure behind me.

I heard myself speak up, "What am I going to do? My tokens, my history have left me, I have no more leaves to remind me of me."

Kisses on my shoulder the melody did reply, "You don't need them anymore, no more regret. No more waiting for life to begin or unrewarded promises of places you have never been only to wonder about. There are fresh leaves on every tree on every journey you will step out to meet."

I turned around to see the figure. Confused at first at what I saw but accepting, the voice I saw came from me. I had met my worth, acknowledged the relief of letting go and knew it was just the beginning.

Remembering the book, I opened up the pages to a treasured quote:

"I wept because the process by which I became a woman was painful. I wept because from now on I would weep less. I wept because I had lost my pain and I was not yet accustomed to its absence."

~Anais Nin

Placing the book on the floor beneath my painting, still open to the words I have understood so many times, I knew exactly what she meant. I then took off all my clothes, left the book behind and entered the world outside.

Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

6 December 2007

copyright 2007 & 2008

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.

Life shrinks or expands according to one's courage.

Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Ordinary life does not interest me.

Anas Nin.

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poem I hope Anais would get~ by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

There was a stain on her dress

and it was the only thing that he could see.

And all that afternoon

she felt

very un-special

looking back on her

it was to her

yes me

a stroke of regret

a mean implanted sting.

She wanted to know love

mistaking a boy for a man

who would never understand

a young girls heart

or anything past his own

at the moment

selfish mood

to impart.

Young boys

grow up to be men

and I confess to being curious

do they look back

do they ultimately

understand

past those days

of words without groom?

If you look into the sun

nothing can be seen

the glow is too bright

trees are missed

and rivers continue on

despite our missing eyes

life continues

and we see other lives.

Out on the landscape

a million eyes

have spied

missed the kisses of the land

that if we held our breath

for just one single second

would indeed

lend

colors

and an outer magnitude.

In new days

we might just begin

to comprehend

new lands do not end.

And I would say

to me

and you

ahh at least that's a beginning.

Hold out for kindness

past self

boys who forget

a young girl has feelings

and a boy

self absorbed

or in his own insecurities

can be cold

of heart.

So many years away now

a stain

on 'my' dress

and a boy who recognized it

as a stain

past my heart.

I did get past that

the boy and his rejection

looking once in awhile on Google

to see if he still lives

afar.

So many years ago

a girl and a dress

stained into her psyche

she was a girl

indeed

dismissed.

And added to her memories

a dream put to a test

if she could fly

past that day

of sadness

of her own

diary

of a someone's piety

a young boys words

that took so long

for her

to protest.

ABOUT Kathy Ostman-Magnusen: I am an artist, represented by Monkdogz Urban Art, New York. ORIGINAL ART may be purchased through Monkdogz: http://www.monkdogz.com/chelseagallery/artistart/M... My newest website: http://www.kathyostman-magnusen.com

IMAGE is of my sculpture, "Bleeding Wings "

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I love the passion of the French.

Isabelle Boulay

Do you think that because a poem or story or book is 'focused' on erotica that it cannot be considered as great literature?

Does Erotica Make Good Literature?

Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin (full title Henry and June: From A Journal of Love: the Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin (1931-1932)) is a 1986 book that is based upon material excerpted from the first volume of Anais Nin's published diaries, written between October 1931 and October 1932. This, the first of currently four volumes of unexpurgated diaries, concentrates on her passionate involvement with the writer Henry Miller and his wife June Miller.

Plot summary

At the end of 1931, Nin finds herself bored with being a timid, faithful wife to her banker husband, Hugo Guiler. Upon meeting Miller, she begins an uninhibited sexual and emotional affair with him, which prompts an intellectual and sensual awakening.

[edit]Sequel

The book's sequel, Incest, which was published in 1992, continues Nin's odyssey of transgression and passion with detailed accounts of her simultaneous affairs with her analysts, Otto Rank and Rene Allendy, with Henry Miller and Antonin Artaud, as well as her incestuous seduction of her father and of her male and female cousins.

[edit]Adaptations

The book was later filmed as Henry & June, with Fred Ward as Miller, Uma Thurman as June, and Maria de Medeiros as Anais Nin. The movie, released in 1990, is notable as the first film to be released in the United States with an NC-17 rating.

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