A final word – about women American poetry abounds in women poets, of whom I printed a representative selection in the first edition. Unaccountably, however, I overlooked Denise Levertov and Adrienne Rich, and I have now rectified the omission. I have also added two younger women poets (two of the ‘three new voices’ mentioned above). The fact that they are ‘ethnic’ did not dictate my choice. It was simply that Alta and Ai appealed to me more than most of the other women born since the forties whose work has been appearing in the past decade. As in the case of the men, I could not find any really outstanding new talents; but at least Alta and Ai have something to say. They also have enthusiasm. They may not appeal to those readers whose taste runs more to Levertov and Rich, but I have now included them as well. Like Walt Whitman, America is large; it contains multitudes.
London, 1983
GEOFFREY MOORE
My grateful thanks go to Mrs Sheila Robinson for her much appreciated secretarial services, and to Sean Figgis and Julian Smith who assisted me in the location of texts and the revision of bibliographies.
For the additions to the Bibliography in the 1989 reprint I should like to acknowledge once again the invaluable help of Dr P. A. J. Easy.
Note on the Text
I have followed American texts throughout, using those of the most accurate scholarly editions wherever available. In the great majority of poems, therefore, spellings follow the American pattern. If there are occasional inconsistencies, this is because the poets are inconsistent. Some, like Pound and Lowell, use English spellings; others, like Allen Tate, employ English and American interchangeably – sometimes even in the same poem. Wherever else the reader finds oddities of spelling or punctuation (e.g. Whitman’s ‘naivetè’ and ‘Kanadian’, and some of the usages of the seventeenth century poets), that is what the poet wrote. This is also true of such later poets as Emily Dickinson, whose idiosyncrasies of syntax and punctuation are not merely quaint but meaningful.
Anne Bradstreet 1612–72
The Author to her Book
Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did’st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true
Who thee abroad expos’d to publick view,
Made thee in raggs, halting to th’ press to trudg,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judg)
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretcht thy joynts to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobling then is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun Cloth, i’th’ house I find
In this array, ’mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam
In Criticks hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.
The Flesh and the Spirit
In secret place where once I stood
Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood
I heard two sisters reason on
Things that are past, and things to come;
One flesh was call’d, who had her eye
On worldly wealth and vanity;
The other Spirit, who did rear
Her thoughts unto a higher sphere:
Sister, quoth Flesh, what liv’st thou on
Nothing but Meditation?
Doth Contemplation feed thee so
Regardlessly to let earth goe?
Can Speculation satisfy
Notion without Reality?
Dost dream of things beyond the Moon
And dost thou hope to dwell there soon?
Hast treasures there laid up in store
That all in th’ world thou count’st but poor?
Art fancy sick, or turn’d a Sot
To catch at shadowes which are not?
Come, come, Ile shew unto thy sence,
Industry hath its recompence.
What canst desire, but thou maist see
True substance in variety?
Dost honour like? Acquire the same,
As some to their immortal fame:
And trophyes to thy name erect
Which wearing time shall ne’re deject.
For riches dost thou long full sore?
Behold enough of precious store.
Earth hath more silver, pearls and gold,
Than eyes can see, or hands can hold.
Affect’s thou pleasure? take thy fill,
Earth hath enough of what you will.
Then let not goe, what thou maist find,
For things unknown, only in mind.
Spir: Be still thou unregenerate part,
Disturb no more my setled heart,
For I have vow’d (and so will doe)
Thee as a foe, still to pursue.
And combate with thee will and must,
Untill I see thee laid in th’ dust.
Sisters we are, ye[a] twins we be,
Yet deadly feud ’twixt thee and me;
For from one father are we not,
Thou by old Adam wast begot,
But my arise is from above,
Whence my dear Father I do love.
Thou speakst me fair, but hatst me sore,
Thy flatt’ring shews Ile trust no more.
How oft thy slave, hast thou me made,
When I believ’d, what thou hast said,
And never had more cause of woe
Then when I did what thou bad’st doe.
Ile stop mine ears at these thy charms,
And count them for my deadly harms.
Thy sinfull pleasures I doe hate,
Thy riches are to me no bait,
Thine honours doe, nor will I love;
For my ambition lyes above.
My greatest honour it shall be
When I am victor over thee,
And triumph shall, with laurel head,
When thou my Captive shalt be led,
How I do live, thou need’st not scoff,
For I have meat thou know’st not off;
The hidden Manna I doe eat,
The word of life it is my meat.
My thoughts do yield me more content
Then can thy hours in pleasure spent.
Nor are they shadows which I catch,
Nor fancies vain at which I snatch,
But reach at things that are so high,
Beyond thy dull Capacity;
Eternal substance I do see,
With which inriched I would be:
Mine Eye doth pierce the heavens, and see
What is Invisible to thee.
My garments are not silk nor gold,
Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold,
But Royal Robes I shall have on,
More glorious then the glistring Sun;
My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold,
But such as Angels heads infold.
The City where I hope to dwell,
There’s none on Earth can parallel;
The stately Walls both high and strong,
Are made of pretious Jasper stone;
The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear,
And Angels are for Porters there;
The Streets thereof transparent gold,
Such as no Eye did e’re behold,
A Chrystal River there doth run,
Which doth proceed from the Lambs Throne:
> Of Life, there are the waters sure,
Which shall remain for ever pure,
Nor Sun, nor Moon, they have no need,
For glory doth from God proceed:
No Candle there, nor yet Torch light,
For there shall be no darksome night.
From sickness and infirmity,
For evermore they shall be free,
Nor withering age shall e’re come there,
But beauty shall be bright and clear;
This City pure is not for thee,
For things unclean there shall not be:
If I of Heaven may have my fill,
Take thou the world, and all that will.
From Contemplations
18
When I behold the heavens as in their prime,
And then the earth (though old) stil clad in green,
The stones and trees, insensible of time,
Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen;
If winter come, and greeness then do fade,
A Spring returns, and they more youthfull made;
But Man grows old, lies down, remains where once he’s laid.
20 [19]
By birth more noble then those creatures all,
Yet seems by nature and by custome curs’d,
No sooner born, but grief and care makes fall
That state obliterate he had at first:
Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again
Nor habitations long their names retain,
But in oblivion to the final day remain.
20
Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees, the earth
Because their beauty and their strength last longer
Shall I wish there, or never to had birth,
Because they’re bigger, and their bodyes stronger?
Nay, they shall darken, perish, fade and dye,
And when unmade, so ever shall they lye,
But man was made for endless immortality.
To My Dear and Loving Husband
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d 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 recompence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love lets so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
Here followes some verses upon the burning of our House, July 10th, 1666. Copyed out of a loose Paper
In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow neer I did not look,
I waken’d was with thundring nois
And Piteous shreiks of dreadfull voice.
That fearfull sound of fire and fire,
Let no man know is my Desire.
I, starting up, the light did spye,
And to my God my heart did cry
To strengthen me in my Distresse
And not to leave me succourlesse.
Then coming out beheld a space,
The flame consume my dwelling place.
And, when I could no longer look,
I blest his Name that gave and took,
That layd my goods now in the dust:
Yea so it was, and so ’twas just.
It was his own: it was not mine;
Far be it that I should repine.
He might of All justly bereft,
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the Ruines oft I past,
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast,
And here and there the places spye
Where oft I sate, and long did lye.
Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest;
There lay that store I counted best:
My pleasant things in ashes lye,
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sitt,
Nor at thy Table eat a bitt.
No pleasant tale shall ’ere be told,
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle ’ere shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom’s voice ere heard shall bee.
In silence ever shalt thou lye;
Adeiu, Adeiu; All’s vanity.
Then streight I ’gin my heart to chide,
And did thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the skye
That dunghill mists away may flie.
Thou hast an house on high erect,
Fram’d by that mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent though this bee fled.
It’s purchased, and paid for too
By him who hath enough to doe.
A Prise so vast as is unknown,
Yet, by his Gift, is made thine own.
Ther’s wealth enough, I need no more;
Farewell my Pelf, farewell my Store.
The world no longer let me Love,
My hope and Treasure lyes Above.
Michael Wigglesworth 1631–1705
From The Day of Doom
1
The Security of the World before Christ’s coming to Judgment. Luk. 12:19
Still was the night, Serene and Bright,
when all Men sleeping lay;
Calm was the season, and carnal reason
thought so ’twould last for ay.
Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,
much good thou hast in store:
This was their Song, their Cups among,
the Evening before.
2
Wallowing in all kind of sin,
vile wretches lay secure:
The best of men had scarcely then
[Mat. 25:5]
their Lamps kept in good ure,
Virgins unwise, who through disguise
amongst the best were number’d,
Had clos’d their eyes; yea, and the wise
through sloth and frailty slumber’d.
3
Like as of old, when Men grow bold
Gods threatnings to contemn,
[Mat. 24:37, 38]
Who stopt their Ear, and would not hear,
when Mercy warned them:
But took their course, without remorse,
til God began to power
Destruction the World upon
in a tempestuous showre.
4
They put away the evil day,
and drown’d their care and fears,
Till drown’d were they, and swept away
by vengeance unawares:
So at the last, whilst Men sleep fast
[I Thes. 5:3]
in their security,
Surpriz’d they are in such a snare
as cometh suddenly.
5
The Suddenness, Majesty, and Terror of Christ’s appearing. Mat. 25:6 Il Pet. 3:10
For at midnight brake forth a Light,
which turn’d the night to day,
And speedily an hideous cry
did all the world dismay.
Sinners awake, their hearts do ake,
trembling their loynes surprizeth;
Amaz’d with fear, by what they hear,
each one of them ariseth.
6
They rush from Beds with giddy heads,
and to their windows run,
Viewing this light, which shines more bright
[Mat. 24:29, 30]
then doth the Noon-day Sun.
Straightway appears (they see’t with tears)
the Son of God most dread;
&n
bsp; Who with his Train comes on amain
To Judge both Quick and Dead.
7
Before his face the Heav’ns gave place,
[Il Pet. 3:10]
and Skies are rent asunder,
With mighty voice, and hideous noise,
more terrible than Thunder.
His brightness damps heav’ns glorious lamps
and makes them hide their heads,
As if afraid and quite dismay’d,
they quit their wonted steads.
8
Ye sons of men that durst contemn
the Threatnings of Gods Word,
How cheer you now? your hearts, I trow,
are thrill’d as with a sword.
Now Atheist blind, whose brutish mind
a God could never see,
Dost thou perceive, dost now believe,
that Christ thy Judge shall be?
9
Stout Courages, (whose hardiness
could Death and Hell out-face)
Are you as bold now you behold
your Judge draw near apace?
They cry, no, no: Alas! and wo!
our Courage all is gone:
Our hardiness (fool hardiness)
hath us undone, undone.
10
No heart so bold, but now grows cold
and almost dead with fear:
No eye so dry, but now can cry,
[Rev. 6:16]
and pour out many a tear.
Earths Potentates and pow’rful States,
Captains and Men of Might,
Are quite abasht, their courage dasht
at this most dreadful sight.
11
Mean men lament, great men do rent
The Penguin Book of American Verse Page 5