Vindication

poems from six women

Cherry Potts

• Publisher: Arachne Press
• Year: 2020
• eBook ISBN: 9781913665128
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Poetesse

The third of our #WomenVote100 Anthologies: a showcase for poets Arachne has previously published in anthologies, giving an opportunity to explore their writing in greater depth.These are poems made of myth and family, origins and anger, journeys and home: witty, clever, beautiful and sometimes harsh.
Whilst not directly reflecting on the experience of women fighting for the vote, the concerns of
women are foremost and are passionately addressed. My own sex, I hope, will excuse me,
if I treat them like rational creatures,
instead of flattering their fascinating
graces, as if they were in perpetual
childhood, unable to stand alone.From Vindication by Anne Macaulay, a found poem based on the work of Mary Wollstonecraft.

Anne Macaulay

Vindication

Taught from infancy beauty

is woman’s sceptre, the mind

shapes itself to the body, roaming

round its gilt cage, seeks to adorn

its prison. Strengthen the female

mind by enlarging it, there will be

an end to blind obedience.

My own sex, I hope, will excuse me,

if I treat them like rational creatures,

instead of flattering their fascinating

graces, as if they were in perpetual

childhood, unable to stand alone.

Women – endeavour to acquire

strength, both of mind and body,

soft phrases, susceptibility

of heart, delicacy of sentiment,

refinement of taste,

almost synonymous with

weakness, those who are only

objects of pity and that kind of love,

soon become objects of contempt.

Men – generously snap our chains,

be content with rational fellowship

instead of slavish obedience,

find us more observant daughters,

more affectionate sisters,

more faithful wives,

more reasonable mothers,

better citizens.

It is time to effect a revolution

in female manners:

time to restore lost dignity,

love with true affection,

learn to respect ourselves.

(Found Poem – Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman 1790)

Daughters of the Sea

He doesn’t want to see them,

cheeks glistening salt and spray,

beautiful, strong, riding the waves

like the dolphins beside them,

on their mission.

He doesn’t want to see them,

robes first billowing in the gusts

then clinging damply, tightly,

outlining firm bodies that could

inflame the passion of any man

to bury himself deep.

He doesn’t want to see them

come closer, but from afar

to shape them, mould them,

his sculptor’s hands as eager

as his lips and loins.

He doesn’t want to see them

now so near, alluring nereiads,

tempting him to join them,

but it can’t be his time yet,

so much still to do.

He can no longer see, now

feels light hands catch each arm

and another touch his back, washing

away resistance and he is floating,

his last journey, to sleep.

…………………………………………

I wonder what happened

that evening in late summer

as you stood at the shore by Daphnos.

Were you looking across to the hills

of Hysperion, way across the water?

Did the river surge as it flowed into

the storming sea?

Did you, Neria, have any time to run,

to finish the evening meal?

The bursting figs, the milky feta,

I never see or eat anymore.

As the light faded to evening

did you turn mermaid,

lose those powerful thighs to dive into

the deluge spewing on Daphnos?

Is this outstretched arm,

stranded fragment on the shore,

with hand gripping windblown robe,

all that remains, of you, of us?

………………………………………

I look out at the waves

like snowcapped blue mountains

as they smash and crash

higher than Hysperion’s headland.

In the waning light I touch your arm,

and find it now sleek-furred

your hand undulating

like a dolphin’s flipper.

My arm is held lightly now, a soft caress,

yet guiding me in deeper and deeper.

The winedark sea a womb to float in.

I have no questions now.

Here lived

Ludwig, Henriette, Kurt, Rosa, Andreas, Berthe, Gustav, Golda, Wilhelm, Marthe, and so many, many more. She knows the Talmud says a person is only forgotten when his or her name is forgotten. So she takes them to the streets, young Syrian boys, recent refugees, to shine the stolpersteine, reading names of the unwanted, the eliminated: Jews, Roma, Sinti, Jehovah’s Witnesses, homosexuals, disabled, dissidents. In translation, stolpersteine means ‘stumble stones’ but also can be ‘stumblin...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Sarah James
• Elinor Brooks
• Jill Sharp
• Sarah Lawson
• Anne Macaulay
• Adrienne Silcock
• About The Authors
• Copyright
• Acknowledgements