Complaint
She's gone. She was my love, my moon or more.
She chased the chickens out and swept the floor,
Emptied the bones and nut-shells after feasts,
And smacked the kids for leaping up like beasts.
Now morbid boys have grown past awkwardness;
The girls let stitches out, dress after dress,
To free some swinging body's riding space
And form the new child's unimagined face.
Yet, while vague nephews, spitting on their curls,
Amble to pester winds and blowsy girls,
What arm will sweep the room, what hand will hold
New snow against the milk to keep it cold?
And who will dump the garbage, feed the hogs,
And pitch the chickens' heads to hungry dogs?
Not my lost hag who dumbly bore such pain:
Childbirth at midnight sassafras and rain.
New snow against her face and hands she bore,
And now lies down, who was my moon or more.
She chased the chickens out and swept the floor,
Emptied the bones and nut-shells after feasts,
And smacked the kids for leaping up like beasts.
Now morbid boys have grown past awkwardness;
The girls let stitches out, dress after dress,
To free some swinging body's riding space
And form the new child's unimagined face.
Yet, while vague nephews, spitting on their curls,
Amble to pester winds and blowsy girls,
What arm will sweep the room, what hand will hold
New snow against the milk to keep it cold?
And who will dump the garbage, feed the hogs,
And pitch the chickens' heads to hungry dogs?
Not my lost hag who dumbly bore such pain:
Childbirth at midnight sassafras and rain.
New snow against her face and hands she bore,
And now lies down, who was my moon or more.
More on this later...
(LATER)
I got this poem in my inbox from Garrison Keilor's "The Writer's Almanac." I read it and immediately thought of The Seal Wife. The entire poem has a feel of loss, but the loss of the relationship seems only to be subtext. The greater part of the complaint is over who will care for him. Who will do all of the work she did that now lies undone? He even goes so far as to blunt refer to her as his "lost hag." Not the most endearing term.
I've been puzzling over the heroine's journey, lately. It seems so different than the hero's journey, and yet there doesn't seem to be any sort of consensus on the fate of women. In many stories they end up old crones, wicked witches, or jealous queens, and in others they destroy their relationship with their husband and flee to a kind of solitude. What does a fully realized heroine look like? I'm not sure I can find that answer in fairy tales or mythology. We see so many men in stories able to reach self-actualization. They come full circle and become whole as men, but women seem to have a different cycle or cycles to fulfill.
The question I am asking isn't simply a story question. As a woman I want to be able to understand the phases of my life, and how I am called to change through each one. While I don't believe that story can offer us complete understanding, it can offer us a direction to look into- a path that we may explore. Stories evolve through the collective wisdom of their tellers, as they are passed on gaining bits of truth and wisdom like some cosmic oyster of human truth.
And yet, stories seem to leave women only the option of becoming undesirable and used up- missed mostly for the work they leave undone. Perhaps I need a different perspective.
Anyone out there have one to offer?
(LATER)I got this poem in my inbox from Garrison Keilor's "The Writer's Almanac." I read it and immediately thought of The Seal Wife. The entire poem has a feel of loss, but the loss of the relationship seems only to be subtext. The greater part of the complaint is over who will care for him. Who will do all of the work she did that now lies undone? He even goes so far as to blunt refer to her as his "lost hag." Not the most endearing term.
I've been puzzling over the heroine's journey, lately. It seems so different than the hero's journey, and yet there doesn't seem to be any sort of consensus on the fate of women. In many stories they end up old crones, wicked witches, or jealous queens, and in others they destroy their relationship with their husband and flee to a kind of solitude. What does a fully realized heroine look like? I'm not sure I can find that answer in fairy tales or mythology. We see so many men in stories able to reach self-actualization. They come full circle and become whole as men, but women seem to have a different cycle or cycles to fulfill.
The question I am asking isn't simply a story question. As a woman I want to be able to understand the phases of my life, and how I am called to change through each one. While I don't believe that story can offer us complete understanding, it can offer us a direction to look into- a path that we may explore. Stories evolve through the collective wisdom of their tellers, as they are passed on gaining bits of truth and wisdom like some cosmic oyster of human truth.
And yet, stories seem to leave women only the option of becoming undesirable and used up- missed mostly for the work they leave undone. Perhaps I need a different perspective.
Anyone out there have one to offer?
5 comments:
I think the crones are inspiring.
Maybe the moon, in her constant state of change, or changing degrees of how much of herself she reveals/shares can tell us something.
Have you read Kathleen Ragan's "Strong Girls, Wise Women, Beloved Sisters"? I haven't read it all. It's interesting to hear her thoughts on the heroine's journey--that often the acts of courage a woman does in a fairytale are sitting with a baby through the night and not letting the troll outside the window scare her, or caring for a changeling child--things that aren't adventurous or climactic activities, but which require a kind of steadfastness and constancy. That is certainly the biggest challenge and greatest growth in myself since becoming a mother--losing the option to quit or be "goal oriented," (or "procrastinating a goal oriented").
I was at a Rendezvous in Grand Portage last month and heard a reenactor talk about women's currency--basically people finally started reading women's journals and letters and discovered all the millions of dollars represented in their bartering, which they generally never told their husbands about.
Maybe it helps to see the man in a story as the male/yang aspect of your own psyche--the one that protects or ventures out.
I have started reading "Anatomy of the Spirit," by Caroline Myss--I think it is right for you as well.
Maybe, as a parting thought, the very lack of women's stories being written down says something about accomplishment without needing outside recognition--I'm so hooked by wanting approval and have just started saying, "I thank MYSELF for washing the dishes," instead of sending my husband brain waves to get him to thank me and then getting huffy when he doesn't get the message.
I think the crones are inspiring.
Maybe the moon, in her constant state of change, or changing degrees of how much of herself she reveals/shares can tell us something.
Have you read Kathleen Ragan's "Strong Girls, Wise Women, Beloved Sisters"? I haven't read it all. It's interesting to hear her thoughts on the heroine's journey--that often the acts of courage a woman does in a fairytale are sitting with a baby through the night and not letting the troll outside the window scare her, or caring for a changeling child--things that aren't adventurous or climactic activities, but which require a kind of steadfastness and constancy. That is certainly the biggest challenge and greatest growth in myself since becoming a mother--losing the option to quit or be "goal oriented," (or "procrastinating a goal oriented").
...continued
I was at a Rendezvous in Grand Portage last month and heard a reenactor talk about women's currency--basically people finally started reading women's journals and letters and discovered all the millions of dollars represented in their bartering, which they generally never told their husbands about.
Maybe it helps to see the man in a story as the male/yang aspect of your own psyche--the one that protects or ventures out.
I have started reading "Anatomy of the Spirit," by Caroline Myss--I think it is right for you as well.
Maybe, as a parting thought, the very lack of women's stories being written down says something about accomplishment without needing outside recognition--I'm so hooked by wanting approval and have just started saying, "I thank MYSELF for washing the dishes," instead of sending my husband brain waves to get him to thank me and then getting huffy when he doesn't get the message.
wanted to comment on a very small part of this post:
My son, Ennis would get not-so-sweet around 8:30... we called it the Hour of Anguish.
It started all of a sudden one day (never did check the dates to see if it was after he got his first shot) and lasted for nearly a month.
My friend who is an energy worker said that different times of the day correspond with different areas of the body and she wondered if that evening time matched with digestion since Ennis had thrush for a long time and his digestive system didn't have much flora during that time.
Rose- I love it! Thanking myself for all the stuff I don't really want to do is not something I had ever thought of. It is like a gift we give ourselves, isn't it? I am pretty sure my husband could care less if those things get done.
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