Woman to Man -- Judith Wright

Guest poem sent in by David Morgan-Mar

(Poem #1221) Woman to Man The eyeless labourer in the night, the selfless, shapeless seed I hold, builds for its resurrection day - silent and swift and deep from sight forsees the unimagined light. This is no child with a child's face; this has no name to name it by; yet you and I have known it well. This is our hunter and our chase, the third who lay in our embrace. This is the strength that your arm knows, the arc of flesh that is my breast, the precise crystals of our eyes. This is the blood's wild tree that grows the intricate and folded rose. This is the maker and the made; this is the question and reply; the blind head butting at the dark, the blaze of light along the blade. Oh hold me, for I am afraid. -- Judith Wright

This poem builds one extended image of a developing embryo within the
author's womb. The first three stanzas are full of the wonder of creating
this new life. The eyeless labourer of the fertilised egg cell silently
and swiftly builds the body of what will be a new person, building for
its resurrection, or birth. The use of the word "resurrection" is
interesting, implying a death first, but at this point we can overlook
that symbolism.

Stanza two extends the image. The embryo is not yet a child, has not yet
a name, and yet the author and the nameless man to whom she is speaking
already know it intimately. They share the joy and the love and the wonder
of creation. The child is their hunter and their chase - the urge to
reproduce drives them and provides them with a goal. Although not yet
present, the future existence of the embryo and what will be a baby is
tangible in their lovemaking.

The development into a child is echoed in stanza three. The man's arm
provides the strength, the women's breast the shape of the flesh, the
eyes will be a mixture of theirs. There is cooperation in this endeavour,
and the result will belong to both of them - be a part of both of them.
The blood's wild tree reflects the growing network of arteries and veins
in the embryo. The intricate, folded rose is in the miracle of unfolding
from an undifferentiated mass of cells into a human being.

So far we have love, and wonder. These emotions occupy the minds of new
parents-to-be. Stanza four brings a dramatic and mind-rocking change of
mood. Two lines of paradoxical duality make us question what is really
happening here. Then we have a blind head butting at the dark. Blindness
and darkness cloud our vision and we have the image of violence, enclosure,
constriction. This baby needs to emerge into the world, and the passage
will be a difficult one. The first thing it sees is the blaze of light
along the blade. Pain and shock await, in birth, and in life. The blade
severs ties to the mother as the umbilical cord is cut, and also
represents the fears of the author about the birth. Childbirth can be
dangerous - can be deadly. And thus the significance of the resurrection
in the first stanza hits home. The only way to create new life is to
risk death.

So hold me, for I am afraid.

This is a profoundly moving and deeply affecting poem. I can never know
what it feels like to carry a child, but this poem - Woman to Man - gives
me some idea of the conflicting emotions that must go through an
expectant mother's mind. When published in 1946, it caused a sensation
and uproar. Even now, it is powerful and, well, educational. New
fathers-to-be could do worse than read this poem. But lest this become
clinical and detached, the effect of these words lingers, and reminds
us that poetry speaks to something within us all. And that is something
that this work definitely achieves.

David.

Some biographical links:
  http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/jwright.htm
  http://www.nla.gov.au/events/doclife/brady.html