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A poignant and hilarious tour of the last frontier, the ultimate forbidden zone, The vagina monologues is a celebration of female sexuality in all its complexity and mystery. Hailed as the bible for a new generation of women, it has been performed in cities all across America and at hundreds of college campuses, and has inspired a dynamic grassroots movement--V-Day--to stop violence against women. Witty and irreverent, compassionate and wise, Eve Ensler's Obie Award-winning masterpiece gives voice to real women's deepest fantasies and fears, guaranteeing that no one who reads it will ever look at a woman's body, or think of sex, in quite the same way again.… (plus d'informations)
Femmes aimées, violentées, soumises, curieuses, rieuses, soucieuses, amantes et mères. Un texte écrit par une femme sur les femmes et pour les femmes (et les hommes aussi) à partir de plus de 200 interviews réalisés dans le monde entier. Je ne l'ai pas vu au théâtre, mais cette lecture m'en donne envie. ( )
« J'ai décidé de faire parler des femmes, de les faire parler de leur vagin, de faire des interviews de vagins..., et c'est devenu ces Monologues... Au début, ces femmes étaient un peu timides, elles avaient du mal à parler. Mais une fois lancées, on ne pouvait plus les arrêter. Les femmes adorent parler de leur vagin. » Depuis leur parution aux Etats-Unis en 1998, 'Les Monologues du vagin' ont déclenché un véritable phénomène culturel : rarement pièce de théâtre aura été jouée tant de fois, dans tant de lieux différents, devant des publics si divers... Mais que sont donc ces monologues dans lesquels toutes les femmes se reconnaissent ? Il s'agit ni plus ni moins de la célébration touchante et drôle du dernier des tabous : celui de la sexualité féminine. Malicieux et impertinent, tendre et subtil, le chef-d' oeuvre d'Eve Ensler donne la parole aux femmes, à leurs fantasmes et craintes les plus intimes. Qui lit ce texte ne regarde plus le corps d'une femme de la même manière.
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
For Ariel, who rocks my vagina and explodes my heart
Premiers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
I come from the "down there" generation. --Foreword
I am not sure why I was chosen. --Introduction
I bet you're worried. --Body text
Citations
Derniers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
I was there when her vagina opened. We were all there: her mother, her husband, and I, and the nurse from the Ukraine with her whole hand up there in her vagina feeling and turning with her rubber glove as she talked casually to us—like she was turning on a loaded faucet.
I was there in the room when the contractions made her crawl on all fours, made unfamiliar moans leak out of her pores and still there after hours when she just screamed suddenly wild, her arms striking at the electric air.
I was there when her vagina changed from a shy sexual hole to an archaeological tunnel, a sacred vessel, a Venetian canal, a deep well with a tiny stuck child inside, waiting to be rescued.
I saw the colors of her vagina. They changed. Saw the bruised broken blue the blistering tomato red the gray pink, the dark; saw the blood like perspiration along the edges saw the yellow, white liquid, the shit, the clots pushing out all the holes, pushing harder and harder, saw through the hole, the baby's head scratches of black hair, saw it just there beyond the bone—a hard round memory, as the nurse from the Ukraine kept turning and turning her slippery hand.
I was there when each of us, her mother and I, held a leg and spread her wide pushing with all our strength pushing and her husband sternly counting, "One, two, three," telling her to focus, harder. We looked into her then. We couldn't get our eyes out of that place.
We forget the vagina, all of us what else would explain our lack of awe, our lack of wonder.
I was there when the doctor reached in with Alice in Wonderland spoons and there as her vagina became became a wide operatic mouth singing with all its strength; first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms.
I was there later when I just turned and faced her vagina. I stood and let myself see her all spread, completely exposed mutilated, swollen, and torn, bleeding all over the doctor's hands who was calmly sewing her there.
I stood, and as I stared, her vagina suddenly became a wide red pulsing heart.
The heart is capable of sacrifice. So is the vagina. The heart is able to forgine and repair. It can change its shape to let us in. It can expand to let us out. So can the vagina. It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world. So can the vagina. I was there in the room. I remember.
A poignant and hilarious tour of the last frontier, the ultimate forbidden zone, The vagina monologues is a celebration of female sexuality in all its complexity and mystery. Hailed as the bible for a new generation of women, it has been performed in cities all across America and at hundreds of college campuses, and has inspired a dynamic grassroots movement--V-Day--to stop violence against women. Witty and irreverent, compassionate and wise, Eve Ensler's Obie Award-winning masterpiece gives voice to real women's deepest fantasies and fears, guaranteeing that no one who reads it will ever look at a woman's body, or think of sex, in quite the same way again.
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Un livre qui touche au fond de l’intime ( )