Kim Fahner : Gay Girl Prayers, by Emily Austin

Gay Girl Prayers, Emily Austin
Brick Books, 2024

 

 

 

Emily Austin offers her debut collection of poems, Gay Girl Prayers, as a series of subverted prayers and biblical stories, upending things to spin them inside out from a queer, feminist perspective. In “Deuteronomy 32:18 & John 6:35,” the flip of gender is purposeful, and presented early in the collection, as the poet writes: “You were created in the image of God--/man and woman, God created you/so, man and woman God must be.” In “Words of Consecration,” she writes: “Don’t take this, any of you, and eat it—/this is her body.//Don’t take this, any of you, and drink it—/this is her blood, which pumps for its own ends.” Catholics, active and lapsed, will recognize the phrases as part of the Mass, when the priest blesses the host before communion.

The poem that sets the tone for the book is “Genesis 37,” conjuring witchy wisdom in its lines: “Shall we resurrect, strange women?/Rise like steam, like birds from a subway station?/Defy the convention of the proverbs?/Write with our fingers?/I am.” The best way to do this, as Austin demonstrates, is to upend seminal Catholic prayers and memorized mantras. Readers will see this in poems like “The Virgin Jeff,” which begins “Hail Jeff,/blessed are thou among men,” and in “Hey Mamma,” which begins: “Hey Mama/who art in a lesbian bar,/hallowed be thy yearning” and ends with “Lead us not into bigoted churches,/deliver us from conservative politicians.” The second last poem in Gay Girl Prayers is “Joy to the World,” which subverts the Christmas hymn of the same name and reappropriates it from a queer perspective: “Do you hear what I hear?/Heaven and Nature are singing/they’re drag queens/they’re harmonizing/queer joy to the world/while two men slow dance.”

Austin’s quick, dry wit is evident throughout her poems as she uses her voice to highlight and expose the injustices that have been done by the Catholic church to women since the beginning of time. She uses the architecture of biblical verses and parts of the Mass, but then repopulates the traditional religious language with poetry that empowers girls and women. As a queer poet, Austin alludes to feminist, queer, and trans women, raising a rallying call that challenges the oppressive and patriarchal dogma of the church by forcing it to look to itself to discover and recognize its own sins.

A number of poems that refer to the infamous vestal virgins thread themselves through the collection, offering the reader places to land and gathering pieces of the collection together. “Matthew 25:1” is: “Heaven is ten girls/who take their lamps/to one another’s bed chambers/to light their rooms/until they sleep,” and then “Matthew 25:2” follows a bit later with “Heaven is ten girls/who take their lamps/to one another’s bed chambers/to read lesbian erotica/and make out.” The sequencing of the successive Matthew poems continues, and the subversion intensifies along the way. This series of poems is a bit reminiscent of a series of Russian nesting dolls, in many ways, and often left me wanting to skip ahead curiously to the next poem in the sequence to see how the image and symbolism would remake itself over and over again in a new and innovative way.

Austin’s wit is quick, acerbic, and pointed to specifically splice the various patriarchal and colonial organizations that would oppress women. In “Matthew 1:18,” she writes: “If you are ever forced to conceive of anything,/by a condom or a government that fails you,/by a Tinder date who ghosts you,/by God, your father, or by some unholy spirit,/let it be that you are important and good, like Mary/but with more choice.” In “At Calvary,” a poem about being oneself, about coming out in the midst of a non-supportive family, the speaker says: “She’ll climb on her cross at Easter dinner/while her homophobic uncle serves sour wine,” and “She’ll say, “Mom, they know what they’re doing,” alluding to the crucifixion. In this re-writing and re-imagining, the story takes a resurrective turn, so that the speaker will “rise from her chair,/contemplate going through hell to forgive them,/ascend to the room she prepared for herself,/and find peace in the miracle of her life.” Here is a poem that speaks of stepping into self, of speaking up clearly, and of reclaiming truth and identity in opposition to any organizational structure that is oppressive and misogynistic.

What Emily Austin does in Gay Girl Prayers is brilliantly clever as she revises traditional pieces of prayer that were fashioned by an archaic religious structure and turns them on their heads, transforming them into hymns of resilience and celebration for queer, feminist, and trans women. The result is a grouping of poems that will make you laugh out loud as you read, but also make you well aware of the careful poetic crafting of artful subversion that’s taking place in front of you on the page. Gay Girl Prayers fashions a new kind of poetic dogma that speaks of struggle, survival, empowerment, self-love, and of feminist solidarity in a way that is inclusive and spirited.

 

 

 

 

Kim Fahner lives and writes in Sudbury, Ontario. Her newest book, a novel, is The Donoghue Girl (Latitude 46, 2024). Her next book of poems, The Pollination Field, will be published by Turnstone Press in 2025. She recently won first place for her CNF essay, "What You Carry," in The Ampersand Review's 2024 essay contest. As well, Kim was named as a finalist for the 2023 Ralph Gustafson Poetry Prize. She is the First Vice-Chair of The Writers' Union of Canada (2023-25), a member of the League of Canadian Poets, and a supporting member of the Playwrights Guild of Canada. She may be reached via her website at http://www.kimfahner.com