Poetic Analysis

The first published writer in the American colonies, Anne Bradstreet’s writings reflect the romantic values of the Puritans. Typically stereotyped as romantically and sexually conservative, the Puritans considered “married love a religious duty and source of happiness,” inspiring countless poems addressed to spouses, both current and future (Cambridge History 74). Displaying similar attitudes towards poetry and marriage, for Puritan writers the “form [of poetry] served function, and the primary function was to explore, understand, and preserve meaning” of religious merit, valuing poetry as means of exploring a relationship with the Christian god (Cambridge History 66). In Bradstreet’s poetry, her focus became “making abstract doctrine real and true to human experience through an intense focus… a way of channeling thought and feeling in language” (Cambridge History 68). Her religious influences are clear in her poem “To My Dear and Loving Husband,” where she explores the relationship between the two through religious metaphors drawn directly from the Bible.

Drawing on Biblical metaphors of marriage, Bradstreet writes, “If ever two were one, then surely we” (line 1). This references Genesis 2:24, “For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife; and they shall become one flesh,” creating the argument that marriage is a sacred bond joining together her and her husband to whom this poem is addressed. This joining of the two is reflected in the form of the poem: twelve lines arranged in heroic couplets, pairs of two lines which are inseparably linked together. The relationship between Bradstreet and her husband is defined as more “loved” and “happy” than any other romantic pairing, reminiscent of Ephesians 5:25, in which Paul compares marriage to the bond between Christ and the Church, commanding Christian men to “love [their] wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.”

She continues with the Biblical references throughout, describing the love from her husband as worth “more than whole mines of gold, / Or all the riches that the East doth hold,” placing love above material goods (lines 5-6). This echoes the praise of the “noble wife” within the Proverbs: “Who can find a wife of noble character? She is far more precious than rubies. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will lack nothing of value” (Proverbs 31:10-11). This elevation of their love reminds that, in Puritan values, marriage exists as a symbol of “earthly love for husband and wife… as a living metaphor for the love of God,” modeling the ideal relationship as rooted in religious concepts (Cambridge History 75). This concept is brought together in the final line of “when we live no more, we may live ever,” referencing the Christian belief in an eternal afterlife (line 12). Her word choice here is careful, as she says “live ever” and not love ever. This reflects the Christian idea that “at the resurrection people will neither marry nor be given in marriage; they will be like the angels in heaven” (Matthew 22:30). Though they love now, Bradstreet acknowledges the only eternal love exists between them and their creator.

Poets of the Time

The Ecstasy of Capitulation— Daniel Borzutzky

I.
One reason to eat is to not speak, said the man
with a mouth full of food. When she told me that my

silence was worse than her silence, I agreed,
even though she was wrong. It is shallow to fight

for things, he said, but sometimes it can be fun. You
look like a tunnel, she said, and kissed my lips. What

I like least about words is their capacity
to invoke more words, she said, as she trashed my

poem. According to the New York Times, gay
teenage boys want monogamy while

heterosexual boys prefer “friends with
benefits.” My psychiatrist told me it was

okay to lie about the important details
of my life. As a result, I fell in love with

her. I stopped seeing her as a patient but when
we dated the spark was gone. If, as Cioran writes,

existing is plagiarism, then what is death?
I was lost all night in the forest only to

discover these were streets I knew quite well. In the
Oresteia, Apollo argues that the true

parent is “he who mounts.” Because the Furies fail
to ask what happens when the woman is on top,

they lose the case. In evaluations, a
student wrote: “Daniel would be a better teacher

if he wasn’t such an asshole.” Weren’t such an
asshole, I wanted to tell her, though as her

comments were supposed to be anonymous, I
could not admit that I recognized her

handwriting. On a first date, I innocently
went to the bathroom when the check arrived. She thought

I was trying to stick her with the bill but when
she realized I was unaware of dating

etiquette she was charmed. We had a nice kiss
goodnight, but afterwards I was so flustered I
went to a bar by myself, drank whiskey, and smoked
my first cigarette in years.

II.
Throughout my life I have always wanted to tell the truth,
even though I knew it was all a lie. In the end all that matters
is the truth content of a lie.

—Thomas Bernhard, Gathering Evidence

Before I met Lisa in person, says Jerry,
a user of an online dating service, I
really enjoyed the wit and flirtatiousness of
her emails. But on our first date she was stiff as
a board. I wasn’t attracted to her, though I
slept with her anyway, just in case I might like it.
And I did. I liked it so much, that now we’re
getting married.

I love you, she said, as she smacked her child’s head.

I love you for your holes, she said,
not just the holes in your shoes and socks, but the
gaping holes in your personality.

When she asked me if I was uncomfortable,
I told her I wasn’t.
I really was uncomfortable.
What I neglected to say
was that I enjoy being uncomfortable.

Two old friends meet in a café to discuss
mutual funds and stock options. Thus begins a
story that ends with one man slicing off the
other’s neck, and stuffing his mouth with love poems
to Young Werther.

Life is too short to be genuine,
he said, as he stared into her deep
brown eyes. It was the most genuine thing
he’s said all day



A Chinese Banquet— Kitty Tsui

for the one who was not invited

it was not a very formal affair but
all the women over twelve
wore long gowns and a corsage,
except for me.

it was not a very formal affair, just
the family getting together,
poa poa, kuw fu without kuw mow*
(her excuse this year is a headache).

aunts and uncles and cousins,
the grandson who is a dentist,
the one who drives a mercedes benz,
sitting down for shark’s fin soup.

they talk about buying a house and
taking a two week vacation in Beijing.
i suck on shrimp and squab,
dreaming of the cloudscape in your eyes.

my mother, her voice beaded with sarcasm:
you’re twenty six and not getting younger.
it’s about time you got a decent job.
she no longer asks when i’m getting married.

you’re twenty six and not getting younger.
what are you doing with your life?
you’ve got to make a living.
why don’t you study computer programming?

she no longer asks when I’m getting married.
one day, wanting desperately to
bridge the boundaries that separate us,
wanting desperately to touch her,

tell her: mother, i’m gay,
mother i’m gay and so happy with her.
but she will not listen,
she shakes her head.

she sits across from me,
emotions invading her face.
her eyes are wet but
she will not let tears fall.

mother, I say,
you love a man.
i love a woman.
it is not what she wants to hear.

aunts and uncles and cousins,
very much a family affair.
but you are not invited,
being neither my husband nor my wife.

aunts and uncles and cousins
eating longevity noodles
fragrant with ham inquire:
sold that old car of yours yet?

i want to tell them: my back is healing,
i dream of dragons and water.
my home is in her arms,
our bedroom ceiling the wide open sky.

Poets of the Time

Wind and Window Flower— Robert Frost

Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.

When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cagèd yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,

He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.

He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.

But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.

Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.

But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.



Love Song for Lucinda— Langston Hughes

Love
Is a ripe plum
Growing on a purple tree.
Taste it once
And the spell of its enchantment
Will never let you be.

Love
Is a bright star
Glowing in far Southern skies.
Look too hard
And its burning flame
Will always hurt your eyes.

Love
Is a high mountain
Stark in a windy sky.
If you
Would never lose your breath
Do not climb too high.

Poets of the Time

The Housewife— Charlotte Anna Perkins Gilman

Here is the House to hold me — cradle of all the race;
Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear —
Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place;
Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here?

Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night;
Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight;
Duty older than Adam — Duty that saw
Acceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw.

Food and the serving of food — that is my daylong care;
What and when we shall eat, what and how we shall wear;
Soiling and cleaning of things — that is my task in the main —
Soil them and clean them and soil them — soil them and clean them again.

To work at my trade by the dozen and never a trade to know;
To plan like a Chinese puzzle — fitting and changing so;
To think of a thousand details, each in a thousand ways;
For my own immediate people and a possible love and praise.

My mind is trodden in circles, tiresome, narrow and hard,
Useful, commonplace, private — simply a small back-yard;
And I the Mother of Nations! — Blind their struggle and vain! —
I cover the earth with my children — each with a housewife’s brain.

Poets of the Time

To a Stranger– Walt Whitman
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.



Give All to Love– Ralph Waldo Emerson
Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good-fame,
Plans, credit and the Muse,—
Nothing refuse.
’T is a brave master;
Let it have scope:
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope:
High and more high
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent:
But it is a god,
Knows its own path
And the outlets of the sky.

It was never for the mean;
It requireth courage stout.
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending,
It will reward,—
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,—
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, forever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.

Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise
Flits across her bosom young,
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Though her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive;
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

Poets of the Time

To My Dear and Loving Husband– Anne Bradstreet
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.