Author To Her Book, The Poem by Anne Bradstreet

Author To Her Book, The

Rating: 2.8


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 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,
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 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 home-spun Cloth, i' th' house I find.
In this array, 'mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.
In Critics' 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.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 23 February 2016

Loved it! We go through this very thing with the poems we write, the short stories we send off, the terror of sending off a novel. Love the comparison to a child- that lent humor as well as truth to this.

29 0 Reply
Susan Williams 08 June 2017

I enjoyed this a year ago and I still enjoy it today. Our novels and our poems are truly our children

13 2 Reply
Janet Brown 10 June 2010

Here is the true first American poet.

7 3 Reply
Bernard F. Asuncion 08 June 2017

In better dress...... thanks for posting......

2 3 Reply
Glen Kappy 08 June 2017

interesting extended metaphor. feeble brain? obviously not. but i suppose we can excuse this as we can all hyperbole and that this is long before women's liberation. i wonder which poets anne considered good or great considering her estimation of her own work. gk

2 2 Reply

This is an autobiographical poem about the relationship between an artist and his work, a relationship often fraught with difficulty and disappointment.....brilliantly scripted......10++

1 0 Reply
Ruta Mohapatra 26 July 2020

In this array, 'mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam. In Critics' hands, beware thou dost not come...…..wise advice to her creations!

1 0 Reply
jenyliza 26 July 2020

interesting extended metaphor. feeble brain? obviously not. but i suppose we can excuse this as we can all hyperbole and that this is long before women's liberation.

1 0 Reply
Ramesh T A 26 July 2020

Whatever it is, each book is the child of the Author! Today I have 131 children!

2 0 Reply
Mahtab Bangalee 25 July 2019

very talented poem..............////

2 0 Reply
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Anne Bradstreet

Northampton, England
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