Writing of the body, rather than merely about it, Poplawski argues, allows Lawrence to represent the deep recesses of primitive consciousness in the individual.

In Writing the Body, Paul Poplawski posits that Lawrence, especially after the publication of The Rainbow (1915), 'makes the body the locus of a dialectical aesthetics,' which allows him to create a 'discourse' of the body (xii). One of his aesthetic and philosophical challenges was to express this new love, a love largely dependent upon physical touch and sexual, bodily experiences, in a language that privileged the unity, rather than the separation of the mind and body. Lawrence attempts to redefine the relationship between men and women so that it becomes a source of liberation and self-realization.

People are sterile as stones-Lawrence (2L 389) (1) For there never was a free soul in a chained body-Lawrence (2L 283) She clung to him unconscious in passion, and he never quite slipped from her, and she felt the soft bud of him within her stirring, and strange rhythms flushing up into her with a strange rhythmic growing motion, swelling and swelling til it filled all her cleaving consciousness, and then began again the unspeakable motion that was not really motion, but pure deepening whirlpools of sensation swirling deeper and deeper through all her tissue and consciousness, til she was one perfect concentric fluid of feeling, and she lay there crying in unconscious inarticulate cries.There must be an actual revolution, to set free our bodies. Whilst all her womb was open and soft, and softly clamouring, like a sea anenome under the tide, clamouring for him to come in again and make fulfillment for her. She could only wait, wait and moan in spirit and she felt him withdrawing, withdrawing and contracting, coming to the terrible moment when he would slip out of her and be gone. She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction upon him. But it was over too soon, too soon, and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last. It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination.

Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering. She was giving up.she had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree, like an animal, while he waited, standing there in his shirt and breeches, watching her with haunted eyes.He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came into her. “His body was urgent against her, and she didn't have the heart anymore to fight.She saw his eyes, tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving.

Dh lawrence love