It is easy to identify the essential
founder of American literature if you put preconceived notions aside. Despite a near glut of over educated clergy and highly literate laymen, the first
poetic voice to emerge from the struggling colonies in New England and first published
poet to rise from the stony soil
was a sickly young woman, the mother
of eight, who was discouraged in every way from expressing
herself.
Anne
Dudley was born in North Hamptonshire, England on
or about March 20 by the old Julian Calendar in 1612. Her father
Thomas was a Puritan leader and
her mother Dorothy Yorke was the well-read
daughter of a noble family. Her parents took Simon Bradstreet, the son of a minister, into
their household when his father died when she was 16 and he was 25. Anne married
the man who had been a virtual brother
to her.
Young Bradstreet became a junior officer of the Massachusetts Bay Company and her
father an investor and supporter. In 1630 the whole extended family boarded the Arabella, the flagship of the Winthrop
Fleet of 11 vessels that brought the first large wave of the
great Puritan Migration to
re-enforce the tiny, struggling colonies planted two years earlier.
Thomas Dudley soon became Governor John Winthrop’s
Deputy and Bradstreet took the third ranking post of administrator. Frail young Anne had suffered on the arduous sea voyage and found the primitive life of a frontier village hard. She suffered from a variety of ailments,
including smallpox which scarred her face, and a joint condition, probably rheumatoid arthritis. Both her husband and father frequently traveled to other Puritan
villages in their duties. She passed these
times when she was bed ridden by
studying her father’s extensive library. She mastered
not only the Bible, as expected, but dense theological texts and works in Latin, French, and German. She also read and adored poetry and
began to compose verse of her own
which she shared privately with her
family.
Despite her frail health and scholarly bent, Anne was a devoted wife. She gave birth to eight children who she doted on.
As the Colony prospered, so did her family’s prospects. They helped establish the new principal city of Boston
and in a few years moved across the Charles
River to New Town, soon to be
renamed Cambridge. In 1636 both her husband and father
became founders of Harvard University, from which two of
her sons would later graduate.
The following year Anne received a strong lesson on the perils of being caught making public expressions when her close friend, Anne Hutchinson, with whom she privately shared many opinions, was brought to trial before Governor Winthrop and sentenced to exile from the colony, expected to be a death sentence by starvation among the “savages” and eventually execution by hanging for heresy.
The family moved twice more, first
to Ipswich and finally to North Andover in 1640.
It was with some consternation that Anne learned that her brother-in-law the Rev. John Woodbridge had secretly copied her poems and taken them to London where they were published in 1650 under the title, The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America, by a Gentlewoman of those Parts. None-the-less, she was proud of the accomplishment, and the laudatory interest with which it was received.
Anne continued to write, although
not for publication. Here themes were as wide ranging as
her reading—by this time she had amassed a personal
library of perhaps 800 books,
perhaps the greatest depository in the colony. She touched on religious themes, but also closely observed nature, politics, and domestic life. She wrote both short pieces and long, almost epic verse
dense with allusion. She composed a series of devotions for her family’s private use,
Increasingly crippled and bed ridden
more frequently, Anne suffered the loss of a beloved daughter and other
relatives and a devastating 1666 house
fire that destroyed virtually
everything the family owned,
including Anne’s precious library.
Despite these reversals she continued to passionately embrace life and thank
God.
Due to her family’s prominence, they
were able to rebuild a comfortable home. Anne died
there in on September 16, 1672 at the age of 60.
An expanded American edition of The Tenth Muse including several unpublished poems was published posthumously in 1678 in Boston as Several Poems Compiled with Great Wit and Learning. Despite the lingering Puritan disdain for expression by women, no less an august personage than Cotton Mather himself admired the work.
In the mid-19th Century, the religious poems she composed for her family were published as Contemplations and brought about renewed interest in her as a poet. By the early 1900’s, however, her work was dismissed as a historical curiosity rather than as a substantial contribution to literature.
The rise in women’s studies set off a re-assessment of her work, which is now regarded as both highly original in many respects and well constructed
within the poetic disciplines of her
time.
Anne Bradstreet made other contributions to American letters, culture, and public life through her many descendants who include Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Rev. William Ellery Channing, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. and Jr., Richard Henry Dana, abolitionist Wendell Phillips, Sarah Orne Jewett, Herbert Hoover, Justice David Sauter, and actors John Lithgow and Sarah Jessica Parker.
Sometime after the London publication of The Tenth Muse Anne wrote her thoughts of mingled shame and pride in a poem, naturally.
The Author to Her Book
Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, exposed to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
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,
The visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save homespun cloth I’ th house I find.
In this array ‘mongst vulgars may’st thou roam.
In critic’s hands beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known;
If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.
—Anne Bradstreet
No comments:
Post a Comment