Hi,
Here's some that I'm going to type verbatim from _The Works of Anne
Bradstreet_, edited by Jeannine Hensley, Foreword by Adrienne Rich (which is
what I'm quoting from), Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge
MA, 1967
Please forgive any spelling typos - I'm typing what I can before I have to go pick
up my kids from school... then if you need more, I can give you more later
tonight.
She came to Boston at 18, two years married, out of a civilized and humane
background. Her father, Thomas Dudley, a man of education and worldy
experience, had been steward to an earl; her mother, by Cotton Mather's
account, "a gentlewoman whose extraction and estates were considerable." Her
own education had been that of the clever girl in the cultivated seventeenth
century house: an excellent library, worldly talk, the encouragement of a literate
father who loved history. Her husband was a Cambridge man, a Nonconformist
minister's son. her father, her husband, each was to serve as Governor of
Massachusetts; she came to the wilderness as a woman of rank.
...
Her father wrote back to England a year after their arrival: If there be any endued
with grace ... let them come over ... For others, I conceive they are not yet fitted
for this business. ... There is not a house where is not one dead, and some houses
many ... the natural causes seem to be in the want of warm lodging and good diet,
to which Englishmen ware habituated at home, and the sudden increase of heat
which they endure that are landed here in summer ... for those only these two last
years died of fevers who landed in June or July, as those of Plymouth, who
landed in winter, died of the scurvy. (Augustine Jones. _Thomas Dudley, Second
Governor of Massachusetts_ (Boston, 1899) p.449) ... To read and accept
God's will not only in the deaths of friends but in one's own frequent illness,
chronic lameness, political tension between one's father and Governor Winthrop,
four changes of house in eight years, difficulty in conceiving a child, private and
public anxiety and hardship, placed a peculiar burden of belief and introspection
on an intellectually active, sensually quick spirit.
Seventeenth-century Puritan life was perhaps the most self-conscious ever lived in
its requirement of the individual understanding: no event so trivial that it could not
speak a divine message, no disappointment so heavy that it could not serve as a
"correction," a disguised blessing. Faith underwent its hourly testing, the domestic
mundanities were episodes in the drama; the piecemeal thoughts of a woman
stirring a pot, clues to her "justification" in Christ. A modern consciousness looks
almsot enviously upon the intense light of significance under which those lives
were lived out: "Everything had a meaning then," we say, as if that had ever held
alert and curious minds back from perverse journeys: "When I have got over this
Block, then have I another put in my way, That admit this be the true God whom
we worship, and that be his word, yet why may not the Popish religion be the
right? They have the same God, the same Christ, the same word: they only
interpret it one way, we another." Thus Anne Bradstreet described in her old
age, for her children, what the substance of doubt had been. And if Archbishop
Laud and the Hierarchists back in England were right, what was one doing, after
all, on that stretch of intermperate coast, hoarding fuel, hoarding corn, dragging
one's half-sick self to the bedisdes of the dying? What was the meaning of it all?
One's heart rose in rebellion.
...
Versifying was not an exceptional pursuit in that society; poetry, if edifying in
theme, was highly recommended to the puritan reader. (A century later Cotton
Mather was finding it necessary to caution the orthodox against "a Boundless and
Sickly Appetite, for the Reading of Poems, which now the Rickety Nation
swarms withal." (_Manductio ad Ministerium_, 1726)) Unpublished verse
manuscripts circulated in New England before the first printing press began
operation.
...
The seventeenth-century Puritan reader was not, however, in search of "new
voices" in poetry. If its theme was the individual in his experience of God, the final
value of a poem lay in its revelation of God and not the individual. Least of all in a
woman poet would radical powers be encouraged. Intellectual intensity among
women gave cause for uneasiness: the unnerving performance of Anne Hutchinson
had disordered the colony in 1636, and John Winthrop wrote feelingly in 1645 of
"a godly young woman, and of special parts, who was fallen into a sad infermity,
the loss of her understanding, and reason, which had been growing upon her
divers years, by occasion of her giving herself wholly to reading and writing, and
written many books."
...
She appears to have written by way of escaping from the conditions of her
experience, rather than as an expression of what she felt and knew ... Theology, a
subject with which her prose memoir tells us she was painfully grappling, is
touched on in passing. Personal history -- marriage, childbearing, death, -- is
similarly excluded from the book which gave her her contemporary reputation.
These long, rather listless pieces seem to have been composed in a last
compulsive effort to stay in contact with the history, traditions and values of her
former world; nostaltia for English culture, surely, kept her scribbling at those
academic pages, long after her conviction had run out. Present experience was
still too raw, one sought relief from its daily impact in turning Raleigh and Camden
into rhymed couplets, recalling a scenery and a culture denied by the wilderness.
yet it is arguable that the verse which gained her serious acceptance in her own
time was a psychological stepping stone to the later poems which have kept her
alive for us.
...
Woodbridge, the brother-in-law who published her first book (without her
knowledge or consent), explained that the book "is the Work of a Woman,
honoured, and esteemed where she lives, for her gracious demeanour, her
eminent parts, her pious conversation, her courteous disposition, her exact
diligence in her place, and discreet managing of her Family occasions, and more
than so, these Poems are but the fruit of some few houres, curtailed from her
sleepe and other refreshments."
...
She was a spirited woman with a strong grasp on reality and temperament,
experience, and the fact of having reached a wider audience converged at this
point to give Anne Bradstreet a new assurance. Her poems were being read
seriously by strangers, though not in the form she would have chosen to send
them out. Her intellectual delight was no longer vulnerable to carping ("They'll say
my hand a needle better fits"); it was a sympton neither of vanity nor infirmity, she
had carried on her woman's life conscientiously while composing her book. It is
probable that some tension of self-distrust was relaxed, some inner vocation
confirmed, by the publication and praise of _The Tenth Muse_. But the word
"vocation" must be read in a special sense. Not once in her prose memoir does
she allude to her poems or to the publication of her book; her story, as written out
for her children, is the familiar puritan drama of temptation by Satan and
correction by God. She would not have defined herself, even by aspiration, as an
artist. But she had crossed the line between the amateur and the artist, where
private dissatisfaction begins and public approval, though gratifying, is no longer
of the essence. For the poet of her time and place, poetry might be merely a
means to a greater end; but the spirit in which she wrote was not that of a
dilettante.
...
Upon the grounds of a Puritan aesthetic either kind of poem won its merit solely
through doctrinal effectiveness ; and it was within a Puritan aesthetic that Anne
Bradstreet aspired and wrote. What is remarkable is that so many of her verses
satisfy a larger aesthetic, to the estent of being genuine, delicate minor poems.
Anne Bradstreet was the first non-didactic American poet, the first to give an
embodiment to American nature, the first in whom personal intention appears to
precede Puritan dogma as an impulse to verse. Not that she could be construed
as a Romantic writing out of her time. The web of her sensibility stretches almost
invisibly within the framework of Puritan literary convention; its texture is
essentially both Puritan and feminine. Compared with her great successor,
Edward Taylor, her voice is direct and touching, rather than electrifying in its
tensions or highly colored in its values. Her verses have at every point a
transparency which precludes the metaphysical image; her eye is on the realities
before her, or on images from the Bible. Her individualism lies in her choice of
material rather than in her style.
The difficulty displaced, the heroic energy diffused in merely living a life, is an
incaclulable quantity. It is pointless, finally, to say that Poe or Hart Crane might
have survived longer or written differently had either been born under a better star
or lived in more encouraging circumstances. America has from the first levied
peculiarly harsh taxes on its poets -- physical, social, moral, through absorption as
much as through rejection. John Berryman admits that in coming to write his long
poem, Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, "I did not choose her - somehow she
chose me - one point of connection being the almsot insuperable difficulty of
writing high verse at all in a land that cared and cares so little for it.. Still, with all
stoic recognition of the common problem in each succeeding century including the
last half hour, it is worth observing that Anne Bradstreet happened to be one of
the first American women, inhabiting a time and place in which heroism was a
necessity of life, and men and women were fighting for survival both as individuals
and as a community. To find room in that life for any mental activity which did not
directly serve certain spiritual ends, was an act of great self-assertion and vitality.
To have written poems, the first good poems in America, while rearing eight
children, lying frequently sick, keeping house at the edge of wilderness, was to
have managed a poet's range and extension within confines as severe as any
Amercian poet has confronted. If the severity of these confines left its mark on the
poetry of Anne Bradstreet, it also forced into concentration and permanence a
gifted energy that might, in another context, have spent itself in other, less enduring
directions.
...
More from Adrienne Rich: What did it really mean for women to come to a "new
world"; in what sense and to what extent -was- it "new" for them? Do the lives of
the women of a community change simply because that community migrates to
another continent? (The question would have to be asked differently for the poet
Phyllis Wheatley, brought to the "new world" as a slave.) What has been the
woman poet's relationship to nature, in a land where both women and nature
have, from the first, been raped and exploited? Much has been written, by white
American male writers, of the difficulties of creating "great literature" at the edge
of wilderness, in a society without customs and traditions. Were the difficulties the
same for women? Could women attempt the same solutions? To what strategies
have women poets resorted in order to handle dangerous and denigrated female
themes and experiences? What did the warning of the midwife heretic Anne
Hutchinson's fate mean for Anne Bradstreet? To what extent is Bradstreet's
marriage poetry an expression of individual feeling, and where does it echo the
Puritan ideology of marriage, including married love as the "duty" of every
god-fearing couple? Where are the stress-marks of anger, the strains of
self-division, in her work? ...
OK. So there you go. A chunk of text to do with as you will......
If you need more, or clarification, or other hints/comments, just drop me a line.
Text file Source (historic): geocities.com/athens/2464
geocities.com/athens(to report bad content: archivehelp @ gmail)
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