View of the wilderness in New Mexico from my friend Anne’s remote home
Women
Women have no wilderness in them,
They are provident instead,
Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts
To eat dusty bread.
They do not see cattle cropping red winter grass,
They do not hear
Snow water going down under culverts
Shallow and clear.
They wait, when they should turn to journeys,
They stiffen, when they should bend.
They use against themselves that benevolence
To which no man is friend.
They cannot think of so many crops to a field
Or of clean wood cleft by an axe.
Their love is an eager meaninglessness
Too tense, or too lax.
They hear in every whisper that speaks to them
A shout and a cry.
As like as not, when they take life over their door-sills
They should let it go by.
–Louise Bogan
Some poem, isn’t it?
Bogan is one of my favorites. I’ve written about her here before:
Louise Bogan: A Poet’s Poet
Now That I Have Your Heart by Heart
Some girls, like me, who have problematic maternal relationships, create their own “mothers” — a collation cobbled together into something resembling an internal mother. It is like a rag doll, created from snippets of life experience with important adults, both men and women — experiences of advice, warning, admonition, hope, affection and comfort.
I first discovered this Louise Bogan poem as teenager. I took it as a life lesson. Sometimes when I was confronted by a frightening choice I would say to myself: Women have no wilderness in them. This was enough to call up the whole poem, and like a taunt, but an elegant one, it was enough to get me over the threshold and try the new thing or take the risk. Eventually, with enough practice, I internalized it. It is an important part of me.
Yes, Bogan is in another class.
That first line “Women have no wilderness in them” could be a poem itself.
I agree with Maureen’s comment. Glorious stuff.
Not surprised that you Sally knew of this poem during the formative years given your current state of formidable wisdom. More wildness! More wilderness!