Starting from last week, with Arundhathi Subramaniam, all the way to March 8, we will celebrate women in poetry. That could mean anything. But today, here’s a fond shout-out at the other element in our lives– the men.
Are their descriptions of women flattering or indignant? Realistic or worshipping? Plain or ornate? I will go with the easy (and true) answer here and tell you that it’s all of the above and more.
William Butler Yeats wishes his beloved were dead because then she would forgive him. Addressing her, Yeats says, “Nor would you rise and hasten away/Though you have the will of wild birds/ But know your hair was bound and wound/About the stars and moon and sun:…”(
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In a forgiveness of a different sort, David Yezzi remarks on a rabbi who buys flowers for his wife, each Friday. In
Not the ideal response, no matter the intention! Later, the poet learns that the flowers in the rabbi’s gesture are not for wooing or for affection, but for peace. Now, in the poet’s home, there is no peace. He wonders, “what they might have meant to you, those simple tokens/holding in sight what no rite can grow back.” The poem is a reflection of so many things– the expectations of each entity in a relationship and of what constitutes demonstration.
Mark Halliday creates an entire ‘what-might-have-been’ scenario in
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Sometimes, men and women are looking for the same thing. For instance, in William Blake’s work. In these four lines from Several Questions Answered , he makes an essential point. “What is it men in women do require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire. What is it women do in men require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire.”
In The Paradise Flick , Michael Sharkey addresses Eve, wondering if Adam and she were happy, seeing how they were deprived of a childhood. Eve never knew, unlike Adam, a world/that was free of the chatter of others.’ How did she cope? And how could she choose/ if she’d wanted, to live by herself?”
It is an interesting thought – that Eve might have grappled with the same questions that so many women think about even today.
Srividya is a poet. Read her work at www.rumwrapt.blogspot.com