The Dreams of Daughters

A dissertation submitted to the Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

in the Department of English of the College of Arts and Sciences

by

Elizabeth Harmon Threatt

M.A. University of Cincinnati 2008

Committee Chair: Don Bogen, Ph.D.

Abstract

³7KH'UHDPVRI'DXJKWHUV´LVDFROOHFWLRQRISRHPVWKDWH[SORUHVWKHFRQQHFWLRQV between family, domesticity, death, love and grief. Organized into four sections, the creative portion of my dissertation follows a trajectory that explores internalized and externalized grief and familial relationships. With a nearly consistent female narrator, the manuscript begins by looking at highly personal interactions between mothers, daughters, and sisters. As the sections progress, the narrator moves from the dreams of daughters, to those of lovers, husbands and wives, and fathers, ultimately returning to the moment that sparks the entire book ± the PRWKHU¶V death. Together, these poems provide a creative look at what happens to individuals and families when death alters the perspective of every relationship.

This dissertation also includes a critical essay that focuses on the poetry collection

Domestic Violence by the Irish poet Eavan Boland. The essay argues that these poems work to critique and dismantle mythologies of women that nationalist rhetoric often creates. Through a close examination of several poems in this collection, I show how Boland poetically subverts the woman-as-muse trope and strives to create a new and empowered space for women.

ii iii Acknowledgements

Aurorean : ³:KHQ:H5HDOL]H,W,V$XJXVW´ ³+HPPLQJ´ ³*LUORQD6ZLQJVHW´ Big Muddy : ³:KDW

I would like to thank Dr. Don Bogen, who worked with me through multiple drafts of these poems, and who was always available with words of advice. I would also like to thank other faculty members of the University of Cincinnati, who had a part, knowingly or unknowingly, in the creation of this manuscript: John Drury, Dr. Danielle Deulen, Dr. Jana Braziel, Dr. Beth Ash, and Dr. Amy Elder. I would also like to thank my undergraduate mentor, Dr. Richard Lyons, from Mississippi State University, for sparking within me a love for poetry. I would also like to thank my friends and colleagues at UC for their friendship, proofreading, encouragement, and needed distraction: Mary Jo Tewes Cramb, Lisa Ampleman Warren, Rebecca Morgan Frank, Ruth Williams, George Potter, and Nick Chuha. My family is also deserving of appreciation, for their inspiration, love, and humor. Thanks to Bob and Frank, who kept my head out of the academic clouds. Special thanks to my sister, Debby, who has always been my best friend, and my father, who had to be much more. Finally, and most importantly, I thank Patrick, whose constant love and support helped me persevere.

iv Table of Contents

Part I Section I

The Dreams of Daughters 2 Winter Birth 3 Hemming 4 Bedroom 5 Kemper County 6 Yellow Jackets 7 Girl on a Swingset 9 Adolescence 10 Little Sister 11 What We Leave Behind 12 The Dreams of Sisters 13 Insomnia 14 The Danger of Being a Sister 15 A Must-Have for the Holidays 16 Dear Mother 17 After the Burial 18 The Moonlit Branch 19 The Cat Outside the Window 20 Dream Life 21

Section II

The Dreams of Lovers 24 Couple in the Far Booth 25 What You Want 26 Yet Another Want 27 When We Realize It Is August 28 Nightsong 29 Your Current Fantasy 30 Filming Your Script 31 Your Love Is a George Foreman Grill 32 Lying Next to You I Feel 34 Midnight Porch-Sitter 35 According to Society, This Is a Masculine Poem 36

Section III

The Dreams of Wives 38 If It Brings Down Limbs 39 This November 40

v After Seeing John Wayne and MDXUHHQ2¶+DUD:KHQ,ZDV7HQ 41 June Hour 42 What She Would Have Required 43 Being Woman 44 Ode to My Appendix 45 Noah Moons His Wife 46 Debating with My Husband 47 The Dreams of Mothers 48 Seeing Myself as a Widow 49 Grandchild 50 A Son¶s 40th Birthday 51 The Brief Story of Our Life Together 52

Section IV

The Dreams of Fathers 54 The Man Driving a Tractor on the Interstate 55 The Saw Mill 56 Forester 57 Feller Buncher 58 Outside the Chicken Coop 59 Carpenter 60 The Man Who Paints Nudes 61 On Hearing of Your Cancer 62 Meditation on a Nebraskan Landscape: Loess Plains 63

Part II

Critical Essay: The Maternal Paradox: Nationalism, Gender, 64 DQG:RPHQ¶V6SDFHVLQ(DYDQ%RODQG¶VDomestic Violence

vi

I

The Dreams of Daughters

I have had dreams where you are alive again as if you were never dead in the first place, dreams where you are alive but I dream-know that you will be dead again when I wake up, dreams where I see you in the grocery store because you have faked your death and run away, dreams where you cheat on my father with lots of men, dreams where you eat ice cream and watermelon on the Fourth of July in a red-striped shirt, dreams where you shave your head and arms to learn how to sweat, dreams where your smell becomes the whole dream ± of tampons and baby powder in a blue space with my head lying next to your stomach, dreams where you are still my mother but younger than me and Japanese with a white face and purple flowers in your black hair, dreams where I can remember what your voice sounds like again, dreams where you touch my shoulders shyly and your hands become small birds brushing against my skin, dreams where we both know that I am dreaming, and so you are nothing more than you, and many, many dreams where all of your dream-lives exist together, but I have never had a dream where I ask you why you have been dead, why you are still dead, why you are dead in the first place, or why the memory of you is always like sticking my tongue in a vastness of sand instead of the simple taste of honeysuckle I grew up believing it would be.

2 Winter Birth

,DOZD\VWKLQNRIP\PRWKHU¶VGHDWK

3 Hemming

She slices black thread above the daughter's knee picking out ends like burrs from purple cloth, one licked thumb against the new bare width, a brief glance at the edges, almost giving up her mouth's corner-death-grip on three pins, her lips¶ white dandelion fray, her hands as strong as buttons.

4 Bedroom

There was some secret war here, deep-hidden

5 Kemper County

What I remember is her smell of dust, musty in the dark, his blank face hoary against the rough wind. Nothing else comes first, except the unpredictable, wary sigh of dishes shifting in the cabinets. The room ached to know what strong glue held the kitchen stairs in place, their ancient fret- work sagging like wet sweetgum leaves cradled in a gutter. He picked a knife from the drawer and threw it into the floor; its handle rattled. She plucked it out with two fingers, more curious than angry. Within the lull, I watched it slip beneath kitchen sink soap, its shadow waving thin, briefly unstopped.

6 Yellow Jackets

1.

My face was stung. And stung;

7 (Yellow Jackets, cont.)

8 Girl on a Swingset

In her emerald-studded globe, she kicks up a fine cloud of gold, rubs her face into blistered hands.

Pulling on her ropes, she tilts her head toward the sun and throws back her hair, nuzzling effortlessly into sky.

9 Adolescence

The little girl is not

10

Little Sister

That small ridge on your nose you think looks like the foothills of the Smoky Mountains and once compared to the hump on the back of the man who works down at the BP on weekends, UHDOO\LVQ¶WVREDG

It houses you, not the you with big feet, or the thirteen-year-old you with small breasts, but the you with teeth and hair and flakes of skin that scatter with every whooshing step and sigh.

,QVLGHWKDW³OLWWOHVNLVORSH´RXUGHDGPRWKHU lives and breathes, doing calisthenics and shouts for grandkids, peeking out through your pores, with gray eyes, onion-paper skin, and scars on both wrists.

7KH\RXZLWKDF\QLFDOVPLUNKDVQ¶WEHHQERUQ\HW The sneer and grimace still lie dormant in your cartilage, flexing their muscles.

Those hearts you draw on your science notebooks DUHQ¶WWKHKHDUWVRIWRPRUURZZKHQ\RXZLOO stare blankly at an ivory-tinted wall wondering where your husband is, and whether you brought his suit back from the dry cleaners, and if he will bother to come back to get it.

When you look at me with my eyes and her eyes, we will sit together, humming tuneless songs, WKH³%DWWOH+\PQRIWKH5HSXEOLF´RUPD\EH some Frank Sinatra.

7KHQZH¶OOEDNHUDLVLQFRRNLHV DQGWKH\¶OOVLWRQWKHVKHOI between layers of waxed paper, cementing into small planets composed only of crystallized sugar and ice.

11 What We Leave Behind for my siblings

1. I watched the moon suck honey from the ocean

12 The Dreams of Sisters

Tonight you have wasted no time

13 Insomnia

In the encyclopedia of monotonies,

14 The Danger of Being a Sister

I am not obsessed with your hair. It is your right front tooth that enthralls me. Little square thing WKDWZDVMXVWOLNHRXUEURWKHUV¶

I am sure there is some of me in there somewhere. Perhaps inside your wrists. Your ears. Buried beneath your eyebrows.

Love is not archaeology, though that would fit me like a glove, digging you up again and again, making deep, impractical art of you.

15 A Must-Have for the Holidays

Because I am 23 and not married, do not have at least one child, cannot fit my old jeans over my hips, HDWWKHGHVVHUWWKDW¶VPHDQWIRUGHFRUDWLRQ never had the ability to wear red lipstick with anonymity, and do not have anyone to share WKLVVHDVRQ¶VIXOOQHVVZLWK I am a failure. (Yes, I know my mother was barely 21 when she decided to staple down, GRQ¶WUHPLQGPH  I can (and do) wear a turtleneck to hide my lack of cleavage and tuck my rounded chin into the snug cushion of the top, avoid standing too much so that couch pillows fold in around me instead of my lumpiness hanging out, and make sure not to wear rings that pudge out my fingers. And I know that if only ,FRXOGWKURZDSODWHDWP\IDWKHU¶VKHDG then I could do anything. If I could haul off half-cocked and cocksure with yellow, pumpkin-stained china blossom plates in my hand and chuck them against a doorjamb, WKHQ,¶GEHDOPRVWJXDUDQWHHGWKDW tomorrow would be a good day, or at least ordinary enough to stand.

16 Dear Mother

There are some things I have

17 After the Burial

Implausibly, April becomes invisible.

18 The Moonlit Branch

I misremembered. It was winter and I was nine,

19 The Cat Outside the Window

leaves its indelible footprint on the glass,

20 Dream Life

How I Would Be Born 0\PRWKHU¶VZDWHUZRXOGQRWKDYHEURNHQDWFKXUFK

21 (Dream Life, cont.)

22

II

23 The Dreams of Lovers

The way an empty grocery cart

24

Couple in the Far Booth

They drink quickly, caught in the buzz

25 What You Want

Even when we sit in darkened movie theaters you want me to tell you all the things I want ± the perfect time, you say, for quiet revelations ± DQGVR,GRZKLVSHULQJXQGHU.LQJ.RQJ¶VKDLU\DUP a blow-up doll of Elvis on our back porch, for the man running the cash register down on the corner of Central and Main to stop trying new mustaches, for you to learn that burritos should always be rolled, not folded.

You ask me what I want, well here it is. I want forgetfulness cloudy around me, like a roaring cluster of love bugs on a windshield, blinding me until we swallow one another whole; your arm on the back of my seat to sprout wings and fly. Your toga-ed body underneath the dracaena, but you are reading me like an upside-down book, your mouth indignant as midnight.

26 Yet Another Want

I want you to know what it feels like to be in love,

27 When We Realize It Is August

Too soon frogs pad back at night, finger to finger and croak to croak on the slipshod concrete, mottled little things. The first to feel WKHDEVHQFHRIDQHLJKWR¶FORFNVXQ they loll together, content to grunt their knowledge over time. Persimmons split their wrinkly skins against sweet gum balls, and we wrap our bodies around each other; my face in your arm waits for a sign that the fat I am hoarding is as good a thing as the clovish whiff of leaves on a damp day. You touch me, and I am ready to irreverently pull love from you again, poised like a flock of geese on a cat-tailed pond, like the last tomato on our vine, like a woman coming in from a walk, hair pulled back, hands nestling aster in her pockets.

28 Nightsong

A stump like a first-shaven boy.

29 Your Current Fantasy

You send me red, yellow, white daisies,

30 Filming Your Script

You used to always say,

31

Your Love Is a George Foreman Grill

1.

When Baudelaire argued in favor of artificiality,

32 (Your Love Is a George Foreman Grill, cont.)

33 Lying Next to You I Feel

that same, strangely awkward, communal feeling of ten women peeing next to each other, squatting low with a slow hiss, where everyone becomes a pair of tan flats or a pigeon-toed tweed pump tapping the tile, where the Nike in stall seven calls out to the pink flip-flops in three, whose toes are the color of your lips ZKHQ\RX¶UHDQJU\DWPHIRUIORRGLQJWKHEDFN\DUG ZLWKWKHVSULQNOHUZDWHULQJWKHQHLJKERU¶VU\HJUDVV ± I told her the sofa was mauve, Marl, EXW\RXNQRZVKHGRQ¶WOLVWHQ± DQGQXPEHUWKUHH¶VSLQNWRHQDLOVJLJJOHWRKHUVHlf while the heeled sandals of two blows her thin nose delicately, the way your hand twitches when I hold it carefully as we walk down the street in scuff-driven mode, and though you tell me not to do such things, I still want to break the hand-washing silence, to touch the pale pink toes of the bottle blonde with one outstretched finger or run my hand over the stomach of the quiet pregnant one who looks way too old to be, but mostly, I want to avoid at all costs the look of you, alone at night, with your soliciting, one-on-one gaze.

34 Midnight Porch-Sitter

0\KHDGLV\RXUIRUWXQHWHOOHU¶VJOREH

35 According to Society, This Is a Masculine Poem

Because it examines its scar tissue

36

III

37 The Dreams of Wives

I give you my hand to break the fingers if you want and the small reed-bones on the back of my palm to snap while you catch new grass between your toes, blades sinking deep through your brittle heels. I give you the bones of my back to taste, and watch as you rub your thumb against my throat, holding the sky as grief inside your chest. Together we fall, with softly opened, mewling mouths, feel the air between us blink next to skin, the world green inside your swallowing eyes. You have my hips to bury beside your feet in all their rootedness, my knees to hold you up. And when you become a tree, sweet-nesting in the damp hair curled next to your neck, I hold you in my arms, whisper to you sweaty-tongued and airy, pull back and breathe into your leaves.

38 If It Brings Down Limbs

Leaping out from the oak trunks I hide behind, I shout your name and you jump to catch my words with your open palm. There will be a tree on our house before the day is over, the voice of millions of pine needles whispering in our ears as we lie in bed, seeing bark desperately cling its scaly skin to our walls, little wet moths.

The word sadness feels much too close to the color of grief for me to say, so we sing about train rides and beer, talk about the hamster we lost last year under the bed, think of our last vacation in Mobile, cough to throw ourselves off the moment, until we give in and silently weep, like a small child in a department store who plops down in the center aisle and kicks away his shoes.

39 This November

Every year you tell me the summer will be longer

40 $IWHU6HHLQJ-RKQ:D\QHDQG0DXUHHQ2¶+DUD:KHQ,:DV7HQ

Because I saw the two of them together, black and white in Ireland, the next two years of my childhood consisted of blue-ringed-raspberry-lip days, kissing my fitted sheets at night, video tapes hidden beneath the pillow, until I searched for deep auburn hair dye, moving on to a Technicolor world.

You have read War and Peace, Where the Red Fern Grows, a little Jane Austen in my lamplight, so that you say now there is nowhere I can go without you, especially at night. When I watch you move somewhere beneath sleep, I imagine you bringing my hands around your back, pushing my hair from my face with your thumb. I feel the hem of my jeans rub against my heels, and I am walking fast through a casual field, one shoe lost along the way.

41 June Hour

Tonight there is a slit in summer we can slip our fingers through. It wears a clean shirt for us, this pale midnight fortune.

We never know whose it is, the first great swath of silence lolling around the muscadine vines. Brushing against us like cats, hanging around until we are full, riddled with the dark. I am embarrassed to wait for your footsteps to follow me in.

Your mouth is the hunched slump of far-off fog. Knowing all the little joys in cruelty, we cringe deep in our pillows.

42 What She Would Have Required

Today my mother came through the front door,

43 Being Woman

It is a dream that keeps coming back to me,

44 Ode to My Appendix

Whatever happened to us?

45 Noah Moons His Wife

Dear one, maker of our covenant,

46 Debating with My Husband

As usual, talking with you today

47 The Dreams of Mothers

The dreams of mothers are much more like

48 Seeing Myself as a Widow

She has planted her tulips.

49 Grandchild

Next to her face, he builds

50 $6RQ¶VWK%LUWKGD\

All she remembers is

51 The Brief Story of Our Life Together

1. Because your hair falls into my contact lens case

52

IV

53 The Dreams of Fathers

I think I am supposed to say something to my sons here.

54 The Man Driving a Tractor on the Interstate

There is nothing to say of his slowness,

55 The Saw Mill

Fronds of sawdust spit from the top stack.

56 Forester

At the end of each day,

57 Feller Buncher

The hydro-ax picks its way

58 Outside the Chicken Coop

Mud slopes the path, shining in mid-day

59 Carpenter

The voices buzz beneath him,

60 The Man Who Paints Nudes

Moving a sheet underneath her legs,

61 On Hearing of Your Cancer for my brother

And now this place that I imagine, where

62 Meditation on a Nebraskan Landscape: Loess Plains for my Father

There must be some place where living

63

7KH0DWHUQDO3DUDGR[1DWLRQDOLVP*HQGHUDQG:RPHQ¶V6SDFHVLQ(DYDQ%RODQG¶V

Domestic Violence

Founded on male control [ . . .], a control often exercised through domestic violence,

QDWLRQDOLVPFRQVWUXFWVµWKHIDPLO\DVDPLFURFRVPRIWKHQDWLRQDOVWUXFWXUHZKHUHLQZRPHQDUH expected to altruistically seUYHKXVEDQGVDQGFKLOGUHQDQGWKHUHE\WKHVWDWH:RPHQ¶VGRPHVWLF

labor therefore becomes co-opted by the larger narrative of nationalism. Ann Rea in Border

Crossings: Irish Women Writers and National Identities

On the female presence in traditional IriVKSRHWU\(DYDQ%RODQGZULWHV³7RZULWHDERXW age you need to take something and / break it. // This is an art that has always loved young

ZRPHQ$QGVLOHQWRQHV´ %RODQG 7DNHQIURPKHUSRHP³,QVWUXFWLRQV´LQWKHFROOHFWLRQ

Domestic Violence, these lines hint at how the collection seeks to challenge the notion of the female poetic muse and destabilize the trope of the disempowered woman. Furthermore,

%RODQG¶VSURMHFWFDOOVIRUDUHH[DPLQDWLRQRIQDWLRQDQGQDWLRQDOLVPDVWKH\DUHLPSOLFDWHGLQWhe perpetuation of such female objectification1. As the above poem states, traditional (masculine)

Irish poetry has loved its depictions of women, women-as-REMHFWVZKRDUH³EUDQFK>HV@«JLUOLVK

1 Boland further comments upon this issue in her personal narrative Object Lessons, where she spends much time exploring how she began writing ³LQDZRUOGZKHUHDZRPDQ¶VERG\ZDVDWDVDIHGLVWDQFHZDVDPRWLIDQGQRWD PHQDFH´  7KLVERRNOLNHPXFKRIKHURWKHUZRUNLVKLJKO\FRQFHUQHGZLWKWKHLQWHUSOD\EHWZHHQ nation/nationalism and the female poet.

64 ZLWKEORVVRP´DQGUHSUHVHQWD³SURPLVHGVXPPHU´RUD³VSULQJDIWHUQRRQ´  2. Here, the female muse is a cultural construction of women whose identity rests within the physical landscape of a country that uses them both for creative inspiration and for a foundational part of

Irish national identity3. Boland places maUNHGHPSKDVLVRQWKH³EURNHQ´DVSHFWRIWUDGLWLRQDO poetic female identity, literally breaking the first line of her poem in half. The woman is

³VQDSSHGRII´OLNHDEUDQFKDQGUHSXUSRVHG2QFHWKHZRPDQKDVEHHQFR-opted by the writer and the nation, reduced to a mere symbolDOOWKDWUHPDLQVLV³$GHDGWUHH7KHIXWXUH:KDWGRHV

QRWEHDUIUXLW2UWKLQNLQJRI´  

)RU%RODQGPXOWLSOH³VQDSS>LQJV@RII´EHFRPHWKHVWDUWLQJSRLQWIRUDomestic Violence, published in 2007. The poems in this collection challenge the inherited images of Irish womanhood, interrogate the creative tradition that has simultaneously ignored and transformed the feminine into muse, and attempt to recast the female poet and citizen into real identities with real voices. Additionally, she questions her own role in a nation that she both loves and resents

IRULWVWUHDWPHQWRIZRPHQ7KHVHSRHPVUHILJXUHWKHWHUP³GRPHVWLF´DQGHTXDWHYLROHQFH enacted upon women within the personal home to violence enacted upon women and their images in the public sphere (in both social/political and literary realms). Her poems take Ireland

WRWDVNH[DPLQLQJKRZ³WKHPDNLQJRIDQDWLRQ>@OLHVQRWLQFRGHVRUQDPHVEXWLQLWVSRZHU to construct its unseen inner life from the minds and memories oIWKRVHZKROLYHLQLW´ %RODQG

 7KH\VLPXOWDQHRXVO\VKRZDV.DWKU\Q.LUNSDWULFNLOOXVWUDWHV³FULWLTXHVRIWKHQDWLRQ-state as a patriarchal entity that relies on the oppression of women, [and] examin[e] [. . .] the toll

2 Of course, most Western traditional poetry also operates in this fashion of positing women as creative poetic muses and figured tropes that represent the goals of nations and particular societies. 3 Boland further explores this notion, commenting in Object Lessons³ZRPHQ± their bodies, their existences ± had been for thousands of years observed through the active lens of the poem. They had been metaphors and LQYRFDWLRQVVLPLOHVDQGPXVHV>«@&XVWRPFRQYHQWLRQODQJXDJHLQKHULWHGLPDJH7KH\KDGDOOOHGWRWKHLQWHQVH passivity of the feminine within the poem. And to this moment when I found my poetry and my sexuality on a FROOLVLRQFRXUVH´ -28).

65 nationalist ideals take on familial and communal relationships, and imaginative reconceptions of

,UHODQGDQG,ULVKLGHQWLW\´ .LUNSDWULFN ,QWKLVFRQWH[W,ULVKQDWLRQDOLVPFRPHVWRSOD\D major factor in the creation of a multivalent identity for Irish citizens, hinging on the relationship of the citizen to the nation through a seemingly intimate interaction. Most pertinently, the

Troubles in Ireland created a moment (or rather, many moments) for nationalistic goals to be re- evaluated by feminists and writers alike. With war, violence, and conflict inherently come the concerns of the nation for the increase of loyalty and patriotism evidenced through citizens.

While the 1998 Belfast Agreement officially ended the Troubles, the issue of nationalism remains particularly relevant for women, whose voices have historically been silenced by the state patria and the masculine literary tradition4. In line with a long-standing tradition of critique of the nation as re-creative of delimiting, familial relationships, Boland questions whether national space and identity are also domestic, thus simultaneously examining state and national violence at the same time that she explores literal domestic violence through the poems in

Domestic Violence. Born in Dublin in 1944, Boland lived briefly in Ireland before moving to

London at the age of six, and at the age of fourteen, she returned to Ireland, forced into a

GLDVSRULFDIILOLDWLRQZLWKKHU³KRPHODQG´(YLGHQWLQPXFKRIKHUZULWLQJKHUORQJLQJIRU a homeland and her distrust of her ascribed role as a female poet within it often consume her reflections upon citizenship and poetry. Her resulting conflicted association with Ireland, as well as its history, provides a catalyst for this exploration, and, as she seeks to define her role within a

³KRPH´ODQGKHUSRHPVTXHVWLRQZKDWUROHKHUVWDWXVDVZRPDQSOD\VLQWKLVUHODWLRQVKLS

Critiqued and explored in Domestic Violence, the nation becomes a metaphorical representation of the domesticated home, and thus, nationalism for the citizen is synonymous

4 )RUDPRUHWKRURXJKDQDO\VLVRIQDWLRQDOLVPVHH*HOOQHU¶VNations and Nationalims, $QGUHZ3DUNHU¶V Nationalism and Sexualities, DQG$QGHUVRQ¶VImagined Communities.

66 with loyalty to the home, or the homeland5. The nation is the home, the domesticated space of procreation, physical intimacy, and ascribed sanctity, as it is simultaneously represented through the physical image of the house. Obviously, as well, womHQ¶VWUDGLWLRQDOVSDFHKDVDOZD\VEHHQ in the domestic sphere. In the opening and title poem of her book, Boland writes,

Everything changed the year that we got married. And after that we moved out to the suburbs. How young we were, how ignorant, how ready to think the only history was our own.

And there was a couple who quarreled into the night, Their voices high, sharp: nothing is ever entirely right in the lives of those who love each other. (Boland 13)

She opens the book by asserting the connection between marriage and history; read in context

ZLWK%RODQG¶VSHUVRQDOKLVWRU\ZKLFKFDQEHVHHQDVDQHYHQWXDO³PDUULDJH´WR,UHODQGKHU critique of her own naiveté in regards to her role as a woman within the state is clarified. Having

³PRYHGRXWWRWKHVXEXUEV´EHHQFR-opted into the material structure of the nation, the poet

LPPHGLDWHO\IDFHVFRQMXJDOGLOHPPDV:KLOHWKH³TXDUUHO´LQWKHSRHPLVLnitially set up as, perhaps, an overheard disagreement between a couple across the street, by the end of the poem, it becomes clear that such is not the case. The narrator and her husband are not just listening; they

DUHDFWLYHO\LQYROYHGLQWKHGLVFRUG7KHQDUUDWRUDVNV³$VIRUWKDWFRXSOHGLGZHHYHUILQGRXW who they were / and did we waQWWR",WKLQNZHNQRZ,WKLQNZHDOZD\VNQHZ´  7KH figures within this poem are precariously balanced between love and hate, happiness and unhappiness. Boland creates this domestic space as a troubled one, highlighting her conflict with nation as the overarching theme of the book: what shall her role be in a country that she loves but

5 Although the house is a commonly used metaphor for the nation, Helen Kidd argues that it is an especially SUHYDOHQWLPDJHLQ,ULVKZULWLQJ³+DXQWHGZLWKXQTXLHWJKRVWVLWLVIUHTXHQWO\GHSLFWHGDVDV\PSWRPRIFRORnial UHSUHVVLRQDQGFRQWUROLQYRNLQJWKH)DPLQHGLVSRVVHVVLRQGLVORFDWLRQSDUWLWLRQ´ .LGG 

67 with which she constantly quarrels6? Boland must deal with the significance of entering the patriarchal home and decide how submissive (and silent) she will be in response to it.

8OWLPDWHO\WKHQDUUDWRULQ³'RPHVWLF9LROHQFH´TXHVWLRQVKHURZQFXOSDELOLW\DVNLQJ³RYHUDQG over what else could we have done?´  $V+HOHQ.LGGDUJXHVWKHFRQFHSWRIWKHKRXVHRUWKH home relies upon the kinds of domestic silences that reside within the actual home and the home

DVDQDWLRQ .LGG :KLOHWKHFRXSOHEHJDQWKHLUGRPHVWLFUHODWLRQVKLS³VXGGHQO\RXULVODQG

EURNHRXWLWVROGVRUHVIRUDOOWRVHH´DQGWKHUHZHUH³NLOOLQJVNLOOLQJVNLOOLQJV´ -14).

However, with DOOWKHVHNLOOLQJV³QRWKLQJZHVDLG´FRXOGIXOO\FDSWXUHWKHPDJQLWXGHRI suffering or bring an end to it (14). The sadness that permeates nearly every stanza of this poem

VKRZVWKHQDUUDWRU¶VDZDUHQHVVRIKHURZQERXQGDULHVDQGWHQXRXVIRRWKROGRYHUGRmestic harmony. Her speech is equally disempowered in both domestic spaces, the public and the private one, and these verbal limitations trouble her.

Along with the manifold issues manifested by the nation-as-home, this homeland has also received the titOHRI³0RWKHUODQG´RU³)DWKHUODQG´DPDWHUQDORUSDWHUQDOSRZHUWKDW%RODQG interrogates. Such a familial name immediately genders the nation as either masculine or feminine, depending upon the job required of it at any specific moment. In time of violence, or national crisis, such as political unrest or war, those practices of engendering are only heightened. The state then calls for the citizen to demonstrate a familial loyalty to the nation, be it maternal or paternal, mother or father homeland. This gendering creates a troubling and unstable dichotomy that positions the nation-state as a bifurcated entity, while at the same time

6 As a self-SURFODLPHGIHPLQLVWKHUSRVLWLRQLVDGLIILFXOWRQHDV³IRUHDUO\WZHQWLHWK-century Irish feminists, the PDVWHU¶VKRXVHZDVWKHSDWULDUFKDOQDtion-state, and joining Irish nationalists meant walking back into that house, SXWWLQJRQWKHDSURQRIVHUYLWXGHORFNLQJWKHGRRUDQGWKURZLQJDZD\WKHNH\´ .LUNSDWULFN 7KXVWRGLVSOD\ nationalism just might be too much of an alliance with the domestic, too submissive a marriage.

68 attempting to define its relationship to the citizen. As Elizabeth Goldberg illustrates one such particular difficulty for the female citizen in Gender, Narrative, Human Rights,

woman has historically carried several tropic burdens in relation to nation,

LQFOXGLQJLQKHUFKDVWLW\V\PERORIWKHQDWLRQ¶VKRQRUDQGLQKHUPDWHUQLW\

culture-bearing for the nation. The tropolRJLFDOLPSOLFDWLRQRI³QDWLRQ´ contains

an implicit paradox, a paradox that relegates women and the nation to be in need

of masculine protection, but also that the nation must be male in its power

relations. (Goldberg 97)

When war is called for, or social structures destabilized, the citizen must be the feminized in need of protection, the loyal one at home, the domestic to be defended; the nation must be the masculine aggressor and protector. However, at the same time, the nation should be feminine, nurturing its citizens and doing maternal work. While this clearly troubles the position of the nation, and the role of nationalism in the maintaining of state power, this also unsettles the citizen. Boland illustrates this conflict for women especially, throughout Domestic Violence. In

³:LQGIDOO´IRUH[DPSOHVKHZLWQHVVHVDVPDOOIXQHUDO

This is the coffin of a young woman who has left five children behind. There will be no obituary. Words are required elsewhere.

We say Mother Nature when all we intend is a woman was let die, out of sight, in a fever ward. (42)

The brunt honesty of these lines begs the reader to pay attention to the nameless and

LPSRYHULVKHGZRPDQ%RODQGWKHQORXGO\DVVHUWV³1RZVD\Mother Ireland when all that you mean is / there is QRQHHGWRUHFRUGWKLVGHDWKLQKLVWRU\´ %RODQG $ZDUHRIZRPHQ¶V

WUDGLWLRQDOUROHLQKLVWRU\VKHLURQLFDOO\DVNVWKHUHDGHUWRFRQVLGHUKRZWKHLGHDRIWKH³PRWKHU´ has been one that functions only rhetorically, as a nationalist device, for when has the feminine

69 EHHQJLYHQYRLFHWRVSHDN"$WWKHVDPHWLPHLWLVIRUWKHVDNHRI³0RWKHU,UHODQG´WKDWFLWL]HQV¶

GHDWKVDUHGHPDQGHGDQGXOWLPDWHO\DFFHSWHG7KHGHDWKLVVDFULILFLDODQG³SDWULRWLF´DVLWLVIRU the national cause ± in the name of the nXUWXULQJ³PRWKHU´/LNHWKHZRPDQZLWKRXWDQRELWXDU\ who has been taken by Mother Nature, the citizen is taken by Mother Ireland. Both deaths are

VHHQDV³JRRG´DQG³QDWXUDO´%RWKGHDWKVDUHVLOHQFHGZRUGOHVVDQGXQUHPHPEHUHG

+RZHYHUZKLOH%RODQG¶VSRHPVUHFRJQL]HWKLVFRQIOLFWWKH\DWWKHVDPHWLPHH[SUHVV her natural desire for a home. She by no means discounts the need for individuals to feel this yearning; she rather cautions against the violence that such a situation can perpetrate. Indeed, she wants to know a home, to have that intimate relationship with place, a place that she understands and feels understood by in return. Many of the poems in this collection rely on such

DNQRZLQJ)RUH[DPSOHVKHORQJLQJO\VWDWHVLQ³)DOOLQJ$VOHHSWRWKH6RXQGRI5DLQ´

³8QGHUVWDQGLQJZKHUH\RXOLYHLVILUVWRIDOONQRZLQJLWVQRLVHV´  7KLVUHIOHFWLRQEULHIO\ borders on nostalgia:

I loved small towns ± they seemed to come from a kinder time: shop blinds lowered on weekday afternoons, peaceful evenings with beds turned down,

shoes gathering two by two, under them and in the cellars of nearby farms. (57)

However, this reflection is fleeting. She immediately recognizes her recreation as fictional. In the very next lines, another truth reveals itself; not only does her diasporic experience with Ireland

7 I do not mean to suggest here that Boland desires the nation to be feminine. On the contrary, it seems clear that she argues against engendering the nation at all. However, the question is still raised: What are the implications of a QDWLRQWKDWFODLPVWR³PRWKHU´EXWUHIXVHVYRLFHWRIHPDOHFLWL]HQV"+RZVKRXOGZRPHQUHVSRQGWRSDWULDUFKDO rhetoric and ideologies?

70 alienate her, so does her sex. As a woman, Boland realizes that she can, historically, never truly

SRVVHVVDKRPH ODQG ³EXWWKHWUXWKLVWKHUHLVQRWUXWKLQWKLV,QHYHUOLYHGWKHUH´  

Ultimately, she rejects the idea of a naturalized homeland:

I know there never was a single place for me. I never lost enough to have one.

I want to lie where they refused to speak ± those first emigrants who never said where they came from, what they left behind.

7KHLUFRXQWU\ZDVDILQJHUWROLSVDFKLOG¶VTXHVWLRQVWRSSHG %RODQG

She feels disoriented, disconnected from place, which by no means decreases her desire for belonging. The displacement is heightened by an inability to verbalize what her place within the

FRXQWU\VKRXOGEH³EHKLQGWKHLUH\HVLQHHULHVLOHQFHZDVDQLVODQGLI\RXORRNHGIRULW bronze-JUHHQSHUFKLQDPXWHULYHU´  7KHUHSHWLWLRQRIVWLOOQHVVLQZRUGVDQGLPDJHVVXFKDV

³PXWH´DQG³HHULHVLOHQFH´DQGWKHFRQQHFWLRQRIWKRVHLPDJHVWRQatural ones of landscape, bring the separation once again into the foreground. Unable to say wherHVKH³FRPHVIURP´WKH

QDUUDWRUORRNVIRUUHFRJQLWLRQLQWKHVRXQGVRIQDWXUH

IURPVRXQGOHVVNLQGOLQJ5DLQIDOOLQJRQOHDYHVDQGLURQPDNLQJQRQRLVHDWDOO´  ,Q several other poems, she again returns to this wish for mutual recognition, even while being repeatedly rejected:

you might say my nation has become all but unrecognizable, but no,

I remember the way it was when I was young, wanting the place to know me at first glance and it never did, it never did. (Boland 65)

As a young adult who returned to Ireland after an approximately 8-year absence, her focus centers on her new environment and her place within it. She hopes to re-find the Ireland of her

71 memory and to belong to it (for it to lay claim to her). The desire and rejection are doubled, as the narrator circles EDFNUHSHDWLQJ³LWQHYHUGLG´ Here, the desire for domesticity persists, even while the poet is aware of the dangers of claiming a country. She rejects a naturalized home, both because of the violence she sees perpetrated by the state and her sense of marginalization as a

ZRPDQ%HFDXVHWKH³NQRZLQJ´LVXQDYDLODEOHWRKHUVKHVHHVWKDWWKHRQO\ZD\WRKDYHSRZHU

LQDPDVFXOLQHFRXQWU\ZRXOGEHWRKDYHFUHDWHGLWWRKDYH³FXW LWWRVL]H´  

While she does, of course, come to know her country after a fashion, the bond that connects them does not become any less fraught. In After Every War, Boland reflects on her experience with Irish nationalism and violence:

During the Troubles in Ireland, the political life of the island was endlessly on

view ± violent, oppressive and often cruel. Gradually, act by murderous act, a

country I had once known, once understood to have existed, disappeared. With

that disappearance, a world of familiar signs ± of memories and explanations ±

was displaced8. (5)

While she does seem to be equating the world of the familiar with positivity, simply recognizing

DQGSODFLQJRQH¶VPHPRULHVZLWKLQDFRXQWU\GRHVQRWPHDQWKDWLWLVDKRPHZLWKRXWGDQJer.

7KLVDSSUHKHQVLYHWRQHRIFRQVLGHUDWLRQZLWKQDWLRQDOLVPLVSHUKDSVVHHQEHVWLQ%RODQG¶VRZQ statement concerning her struggle. In Object Lessons, she recalls her experience with returning to

OLYHLQ,UHODQGDIWHUEHLQJDZD\IURPLWIRUPDQ\\HDUV³If I could not remember a country, I could at least imagine a nation. . . . By imagining a nation, I was beginning the very process, awakening the very faculty which would bring me into conflict with it. . . . I had returned home

8 0XFKRI%RODQG¶VZRUN DVZHOODVRWKHUV¶ FDQEHUHDGLQFRQMXQFWLRQZLWKWKH7URXEOHVLQ,UHODQG$GGitionally, this history has been largely influenced by the Catholic church and other state apparatuses. For a deeper look into how the Church influenced Irish cultural effects on women, see also Gender, Nationality and Cultural Representations of Ireland: $Q,ULVK:RPDQ¶V3ODFH and Irish Women Writers Speak Out.

72 (57). She does, clearly, envision Ireland as home, the site of the domestic, and she knows that her future position within it will not be an easy one to either define or accept. The violence that the nation will perpetrate, in the name of nationalism, will continue to situate and resituate her in a questionable location as both poet and woman.

Thus, the question becomes, overall: what is (and can be) woman in relationship to that

ODQG"%RODQGFOHDUO\TXHVWLRQVDQGH[SORUHVZKDWPDQ\KDYHFDOOHGWKH³PDWHUQDOLVWLFYHUVLRQRI citi]HQVKLS´ 6TXLUHV 0DQDVLFRQLFLPDJHRIWKHFRXQWU\VKRZVKLPVHOILQKLVUROHRI

SRZHULQWKHSRHP³,ULVK,QWHULRU´7KHPDQZDWFKHVWKHIHPDOHFKDUDFWHULQWKHSRHP

DSSDUHQWO\ERWKJXDUGLQJDQGLPSULVRQLQJKHU7KHZRPDQ¶VUROHLVLQKHUHQWO\domestic: silent caretaker for the wellbeing of the home. The man is positioned as guard and sentry:

The woman sits and spins. She makes no sound. The man behind her stands by the door. There is always this: a background, a foreground. This much we know. They do not want to be here. (Boland 25)

Although perhaps, within this poem, neither man nor woman wants to be situated in these roles and may resent them, the politics of gender place them there. Man and woman, although fulfilling distinct roles, merge into the Irish landscape. Their identities are problematized in this

1890 painting of an Irish couple. While the masculine is clearly the empowered of the two

ILJXUHVWUXO\WKHPDQDQGZRPDQDUHERWKSRZHUOHVVKDYLQJEHHQ³SDLQWHG´RUSODFHGLQWRWKeir

UHVSHFWLYHUROHV³VKHZRUNVLQRQHKHZHDYHVLQVLGHWKHRWKHU´  

7KLVORRNDWDSDVW³,ULVKLQWHULRU´VHUYHVDVDVHJXHLQWR%RODQG¶VDGGUHVVRIZRPHQ¶V current place in the realm of nationalism and nationalistic identity. She again dwells on where

ZRPHQKDYHEHHQDQGXVHVWKHSDVWDVDPRGHOIRUZRPHQ¶VVLPLODUSRVLWLRQLQJ,QLWLDOO\³,Q

2XU2ZQ&RXQWU\´EHJLQVZLWKWKHQDUUDWRUREVHUYLQJWHFKQRORJLFDO³SURJUHVV´LQ,UHODQG

We are here to watch.

73 We are looking for new knowledge.

They have been working here in all weathers tearing away the road to our village ± bridge, path, river, all lost under an onslaught of steel

[ . . . ]

Dragging, tossing, breaking apart the clay in which our timid spring used to arrive with our daffodils in a single, crooked row. (27)

/LNHWKHYLROHQFHSHUSHWUDWHGZLWKLQWKHKRPHLQ³'RPHVWLF9LROHQFH´ brutality against the land is illustrated in this poem,QWKLVIUDPHZRUN³WKH\´WKHRXWVLGHUVDUHSRVLWLRQHGDJDLQVW³ZH´ the natural and domesticated citizens. At first glance, this poem appears merely to bemoan the loss of tradition and a particular way of life. However, the poem quickly shifts, and the narrator turns the gazing eye away from the desolate landscape and focuses it internally. The citizens turn away and leave the scene. Identifying herself with the female citizen, the narrator matter-of- factly states:

We walk home. What we know is this (and this is all we know): we are now and we will always be from now on ± for all I know we have always been ±

exiles in our own country. (28)

While these final lines initially indicate that the change in Ireland is an equal change in the position of its citizens to Mother Ireland, the last two lines signify differently. The female citizen

KDVDOZD\VEHHQH[LOHG,QKHUGLDVSRULFSRVLWLRQLQJZLWK,UHODQG%RODQG¶VH[LOHLVWZR-fold: she has returned to her birthplace, but is no less exiled. Even though she now physically locates her body within the land, she cannot escape the exile of being woman. Later on, she repeats the same sentiment, in a more lamenting tone, asking the reader and women to reconsider what their

74 active role in creating the nation-state-KRPHPD\EH,Q³%HFRPLQJWKH+DQGRI-RKQ6SHHG´

Boland imagines being a cartographer, possessing the power to create division and boundaries:

How do you make a nation? How do you make it answer to you? How do you make its parts, its waterways its wished-for blueness at the horizon point take heed?

I have no answer. I was born in a nation I had no part in making. (Boland 64)

Noticeably, Boland acknowledges her silence and lack of influence in this patriarchal state; while the poem seems that it will, initially, provide an answer for the questions that she posits, ultimately, the poet cannot respond. Her lack of an answer is indicative of her silence as a mute,

IHPDOHFLWL]HQ7KHRQO\ZD\WREHFUHDWRULVWRSUHWHQG³VRPHWLPHVODWHDWQLJKWZKHQ,ZDQWWR imagine / what it was to be a part of it / I take down my book and then I am / the agile mapping

KDQGRI-RKQ6SHHG´  (YHQKHUIDWKHUDVDPDQLVJUDQWHGDFUHDWRU¶VUROHLQ³3DSHUV´WKH

QH[WSRHPLQWKLVFROOHFWLRQ³7KHVHDUHWKHQLQHWHHQWKLUWLHV7KLVLVDQHZQDWLRQKHKDVD hand in making. Say that WKHDJHVKDYHRSHQHGWKDWKLVWRU\KDVUHOHQWHG´  &OHDUO\VKHKDG no role in mapping the physical borders of Ireland, but as woman, she was denied an active role in its cultural construction as well.

Additionally, Boland specifically questions what the role of the poet (more expressly the

IHPDOHSRHW DQGZRPHQ¶VZULWLQJDVDZKROHFDQDQGVKRXOGSOD\LQH[DPLQLQJDQGFULWLTXLQJ

³WKHLQFUHDVLQJO\YDULHGIOXLGDQGUHODWLRQDONLQGVRILGHQWLW\LQ,UHODQG´ .LUNSDWULFN ,Q particular, she addresses what the role of the feminist, female poet should be in dealing with the

WURXEOLQJDQGFRPSOLFDWHGLVVXHVVXUURXQGLQJZRPHQ¶VUHODWLRQVKLSZLWKQDWLRQVDQG

QDWLRQDOLVPDVZHOODVWKHLPSOLFDWLRQVWKDWOR\DOW\WRRUFULWLTXHRIWKH³KRPHODQG´LQKHUHQWOy

75 bring forth9. She focuses on the experiences of women, namely experiences such as childbirth, mothering, housework, etc., that have either been ignored or mythologized by traditional masculine writers. She ³HQFRXUDJHVWKHZRPDQSRHWWR repoliticize and reinvent the poetic

WUDGLWLRQIURPZLWKLQ´DQGLVFRQFHUQHG³ZLWKWKRVHWHOOLQJGHWDLOVZKLFKKDYHRIWHQEHHQVHHQDV

XQGHVHUYLQJRISRHWLFHPSKDVLV´ (Meeker 213)10. For example, the female figure in the above-

PHQWLRQHG³,ULVK,QWHULRU´SDLQWLQJSHUforms a typical/traditional feminine activity by sitting and spinning, wearing her shawl, but her emotional response is by no means ordinary; the

FRQVLGHUDWLRQWKDWWKHZRPDQZRXOGQRWZDQWWR³EH>W@KHUH´EULHIO\SURYLGHVWKHZRPDQDYRLFH one that at least writes its sentiment, if it cannot be spoken.

,Q³5HYLVLRQLVW&DUWRJUDSK\WKH3ROLWLFVRI3ODFHLQ%RODQGDQG+HDQH\´.DWLH&RQER\

GUDZVRQDVWDWHPHQWRI%RODQG¶VFRQFHUQLQJZRPHQDQGQDWLRQDOLVP

To some extent, women writers have been paralyzed by a tradition of imagery

that, LQ%RODQG¶VZRUGVFUHDWHGDQ³association of the feminine and the national ±

and the conVHTXHQWVLPSOLILFDWLRQRIERWK´ Women have, in other words, been

put in their place and kept therHDQGWKHLUVKDVQRWEHHQWKH³SODFHRIZULWLQJ´

(Conboy 193)

$OWKRXJKWKLVWUHQGLVFKDQJLQJZLWKWKHLQIOX[RIPDQ\QHZYRLFHVLQZRPHQ¶VSRHWU\ historically, the most well-known Irish poets have been male poets along the lines of Yeats,

9 ,QDQLQWHUYLHZZLWK0DULO\Q5HL]EDXP%RODQGHODERUDWHVRQZKDWVKHVHHVDVWKHZRPDQSRHW¶VWURXEOLQJ UHODWLRQVKLSWRQDWLRQ³,KDGWRUHZRUNVRPHNLQGRIUHODWLRQVKLSWKDW,FRXOGOLYHZLWKEHtween my sense of being a woman poet and a national poet ± it was very slow and hand to mouth. And certainly in the end, I could put the two together by feeling that my Irishness and my womanhood were metaphors for one another and did stand in metaphorical relationship to one another as oppressive and potent identities that I lived within and did not want to OLYHRXWVLGHRI´   10From Object Lessons: ³7KHWUXWKVRIZRPDQKRRGDQGWKHGHIHDWVRIDQDWLRQ"$QLPSUREDEOHLQWHUVHFWLRQ">@, began to think there was indeed a connection, that my womanhood and my nationhood were meshed and linked at some root. It was not just that I had a womanly feeling for those women who waited with handcarts, went into the sour stomach of ships [ . . . ] It was more than that. I was excited by the idea that if there really was an emblematic UHODWLRQVKLSEHWZHHQWKHGHIHDWVRIZRPDQKRRGDQGWKHVXIIHULQJRIDQDWLRQ´  

76 Heaney, and Kavanagh. So, then, in other worGVKRZPXVWWKHQHZVSDFHRIZRPHQ¶VSRHWU\ navigate the tricky spaces of women and the nation? Dealing with a poetic tradition that invokes the woman as the muse, the domestic, and the nurturing nation, how can the poet avoid simply reifying and recreating those sexist and delimiting tropes? How, Boland asks, can the female

SRHWRYHUFRPHWKHPDVFXOLQHGLVHPSRZHULQJWUDGLWLRQIRUDVVKHVWDWHVLQ³7KH1LQHWHHQWK-

&HQWXU\,ULVK3RHWV´³ORRNLQJEDFN,WKLQNWKH\ZHUHSRLVRQHG± / every word they used coQWDPLQDWHGE\WKHRQHLWZDVQRW´ %RODQG )RU,ULVKIHPDOHSRHWV³what it is they left us

[is] tKHWR[LFO\ULF7KHSRHPIRUZKLFKWKHUHLVQRDQWLGRWH´ %RODQG 

The focus then becomes, in other words, largely centered around the silencing of the woman and, more specifically, the woman artist. How can the female poet overcome that poem

³IRUZKLFKWKHUHLVQRDQWLGRWH´"(VVHQWLDOO\ZRPDQ¶VGLOHPPDZLWKWKHKRPHDQGWKHQDWLRQLV

VLPXOWDQHRXVO\WKHSRHW¶VGLOHPPDZLWKWKHVDPH,Q³6LOHQFHG´WKe poet becomes Philomel, placed within the domestic space where the nation silences her. As explored earlier, nation and home can be synonymous terms; therefore, gendered domestic spaces are also conflated. In

³6LOHQFHG´DV3KLORPHOOLYHVWKURXJKWKHSRet/woman, and vice versa, she is violently silenced in the same way that the nation has historically silenced woman. Boland writes of Philomel,

KHUVLVWHU¶VKXVEDQG7HUHXVJLYHQWRYLROHQFH raped her once

and said he required her silence forever. When she whispered but he finished it all and had her tongue cut out.

Afterwards, she determined to tell her story another way. She began a tapestry. She gathered skeins, colors. She started weaving. [. . . ]

An Irish sky was unfolding its wintry colors slowly over my shoulder. An old radio

77 was there in the room as well, telling its own unregarded story of violation. (Boland 21)

When Philomel attempts to utter a word of protest, to resist sexual oppression and exploitation from Tereus, the masculine figure, he punishes her by proving his power over her, making silence her penultimate fate. The connection between violence and silence is symbolically and linguistically linked through their end-line placement in the first two stanzas above. The two words flow together as half-UK\PHVVPRRWKO\OLQNHGE\WKHVLPLODUVRXQGRI³RQFH´ Indeed, many of the lines end in half-rhymes, woven LQWR3KLORPHO¶VWDSHVWU\SRHP6RLWLVIRUWKH female citizen; traditionally removed from language, given no voice in society, the woman-poet must find another way to speak, to be heard. This personal domestic history intersects with history, and the poet and the weaver intersect as well. Their violations are equally disruptive and invasive, the poet beLQJPHWDSKRULFDOO\UDSHGE\KHUFRXQWU\ERWKZRPHQ³RUGLQDU\JLUO>V@´

(21). Searching to find a way to express herself and communicate, Philomel becomes the representation of women oppressed by the domestic nation, her tongue ripped from her body by the patriarchal power. $V%RODQGWHOOV3KLORPHO¶VVWRU\VKHWHOOVKHURZQDWWKHVDPHWLPH situating herself in the same room with Philomel. She critiques the mythologizing of the woman, employing Philomel as a subversion against a picture of the submissive feminine. As Philomel weaves her tapestry, resolutely imparting her story through images her loom creates, Boland

VLPLODUO\ZHDYHVDSRHPGHWHUPLQHGWRWHOOKHURZQVWRU\DQGWRLQVLVWWKDWZRPHQ¶VYRLFHVEH heard11. Significantly, this poem illustrates a slowly emerging, powerful female art that is removed from the spoken word.

11 Here, it is also interesting to examine the idea of speechlessness as it relates to trauma. One can argue that the trauma women face as a result of oppression further removes them from language. According to Benjamin, after one suffers trauma, the individual is rendered speechless. These acts of trauma are, in their intensity, literally and figXUDWLYHO\³XQVSHDNDEOH´%HQMDPLQDUJXHVWKDW³WKHWUDXPDWL]HG± the subjects of history ± are deprived of a

78 Additionally, however, there are obvious problems with the female poets increasing

LQIOXHQFHDQGYRLFH³WRWHOOWKHVWRU\RIZRPHQ¶VZULWLQJLQ,UHODQGLVWREHFDXJKWXSLQWKH same conflicts that Irish women themselves have faced in getting their stories told . . . [for]

WUDGLWLRQUHSOD\VZRPHQ¶VH[FOXVLRQIURPOLWHUDU\KLVWRU\E\FRQVWUXFWLQJDPDVWHUQDUUDWLYHWKDW

VLOHQFHVGLVVRQDQWYRLFHV´ .LUNSDWULFN &OHDUO\3KLORPHO¶s voice was a dissonant one that

FKDOOHQJHGWKHSDWULDUFKDQGVKHZDVFRQVHTXHQWO\SXQLVKHG0RUHRYHU³6LOHQFHG´HQGVZLWK

3KLORPHOLQ³WKHWHUULEOHIRUHJURXQGVKHLVSXOOLQJRXWFULPVRQWKUHDG´  .HHSLQJWKDWLQ mind, then, essentially, the female poet has the uneasy and indefinable task of carefully avoiding a simple recreation of traditional masculine rhetoric and tropes (and violence). In Object

Lessons, Boland expresses what she sees as the essential disconnect between the project of the pRHWDQGWKHSRHW¶VKRPH³2QWKHRQHKDQG,NQHZWKDWDVDSRHW,FRXOGQRWHDVLO\GRZLWKRXW the idea of a nation. Poetry in every time draws on that reserve. On the other, I could not as a woman accept the nation formulated for me by Irish poetry and LWVWUDGLWLRQV´  $VWDWHPHQW

WKDWKHDUNHQVEDFNWRWKHODVWOLQHVRI³,Q2XU&RXQWU\´WKHDERYHTXRWHFRGLILHV%RODQG¶VDQG

Domestic Violence¶VYLVLRQRIWKHSRHW¶VUHODWLRQVKLSWRWKHQDWLRQ$V1DWDQLD0HHNHUSRVLWVRI

%RODQG¶VZRUN³KHUSRHPVmight be described as marked by a struggle to find a place for her writing as a woman poet within a national literary tradition, which has often depicted women as

µPHWDSKRUVDQGLQYRFDWLRQVVLPLOHVDQGPXVHV¶UDWKHUWKDQDVDXWKRUV´ %RODQGLQ'HODPRWWH

Meeker, Barr 212).

Thus, in order for Boland and her poetry to reach a conclusion over their places and situations within the larger construction of literature, she must first recognize the cultural identities that women must overcome in regards to the ways that they have been created and

ODQJXDJHLQZKLFKWRVSHDNWKHLUYLFWLPL]DWLRQ7KHUHODWLRQEHWZHHQKLVWRU\DQGWUDXPDLVVSHHFKOHVVQHVV´ )HOPDQ 213).

79 represented by the patriarchal nation12&UDIWHGWRIXOILOOWKHQHHGVRIWKHQDWLRQZRPHQ¶VSODFH in the nation has served a rhetorical and symbolic function. The problem has been longstanding for women; as they are both culture-bearers for the nation, carrying the responsibility of reproduction and forced into roles as nurturers, and they are also expected to fulfill certain tropes and myths that align them with beauty, nature, and the supernatural. In Domestic Violence, the

SRHW¶VSHUVSHFWLYHLVRQHRIPRWKHUGDXJKWHUFLWL]HQDQGPXVH6KHH[DPLQHVHDFKRIWKHVH

UROHVORRNLQJIRUD³QHZNQRZOHGJH´WKDWZLOOJLYHZRPHQDFFHVVWRWKHLUYRLFHV  Along with their political and social silencing, women have been further voiceless, like Philomel, as culture does, indeed, mythologize them into statue-like figures of representation. For Ireland

VSHFLILFDOO\³WKHWUDGLWLRQDOLPDJHRIZRPDQLQ,ULVKFXOWXUHOLHVDWWKHKHDUWRIWKHSUREOHPDQG the expressions and ramiILFDWLRQVRIWKDWLPDJH>DUH@GHHSO\HPEHGGHGLQWKH,ULVKSV\FKH´

(Haberstroh 13).

0DQ\RIWKHVHUDPLILFDWLRQVDUHVHHQWKURXJKWKHQDWLRQ¶VUHTXLUHPHQWVIRUFLWL]HQV

1DWLRQDOLVPGHPDQGVWKDWLWVFLWL]HQVSDUWLFXODUO\ZRPHQGHPRQVWUDWHDQ³HWKLFRIFDUH´WKDW

³LVKHOGWREHGLVWLQFWO\IHPDOHZKHWKHULQGHWHUPLQLVWWHUPVRIELRORJLFDOPRWKHUKRRGRU± more commonly ± LQFRQVWUXFWLRQLVWWHUPVRIVRFLDOO\VSHFLILFIRUPV´ 6TXLUHV 13. As national and gender roles are merged, the rhetoric surrounding eaFKJURZVPRUHDQGPRUHSHULORXVIRU³WKH mutually constitutive identities of gender and nation position women and men in particular ways:

IRUH[DPSOHUHQGHULQJZRPHQWKHEHDUHUVRIµWUDGLWLRQ¶DQGQDWLRQDOFXOWXUHDQGPHQWKH protectors of the faith/natiRQDQGLWVSURSHUW\´ *LOHVDQG+\QGPDQ 

12 )RUPRUHRQ%RODQG¶VZork with nation, gender and colonialism, as well as similar issues faced by other women ,ULVKSRHWVVHH3DXO.HHQ¶V³7KH'RXEOHG(GJH,GHQWLW\DQG$OWHULW\LQWKH3RHWU\RI(DYDQ%RODQGDQG1XDOD1L Dhomhnaill. Additionally, these statements are not meant to assume that men must not also overcome gendered renderings of their role within the nation; however, it is women who have traditionally been silenced. 13 )RUDPRUHFRPSOHWHH[DPLQDWLRQRIWKHUKHWRULFVXUURXQGLQJWKH³HWKLFRIFDUH´VHH6DUDK$KPHG¶VThe Cultural Politics of Emotion.

80 7KXVWKH³PDVFXOLQH´UHFHLYHVSRZHUWKURXJKWKHVWDWHWRHQDFWYLROHQFHLQWKHQDPHRI nationalism, or, in other words, in the perceived best interest of the nation. Clearly, these spaces are particularly pertinent for a country so fraught with religious and social turmoil as Ireland has historically been. Haberstroh adequately summarizes the niche that women have been forced to

RFFXS\DVZHOODVWKHVSDFHVIURPZKLFKWKH\KDYHEHHQGHQLHGIRFXVLQJRQ³WKHinvisibility of women writers but also the sentimentalized, unrealistic, and often negative portrayals of women in Irish literature: from the passive victim, Mother Ireland, to the idealistic Cathleen Ni

Houlihan; from the devouring female to the all-suffeULQJDFFHSWLQJPRWKHU´ +DEHUVWURK 

Additionally, Karen Zivi remarks that nationalism mandates that good female citizens will be the

PDWHUQDORQHVSRVVHVVLQJ³WKHFDSDFLW\WRIHHOFRPSDVVLRQ>@WKHVHOIOHVVFRQFHUQ>@WKDW good mothers arHVXSSRVHGWRHPERG\´ )HUJXVRQDQG0DUVR 7KHQDWLRQGHPDQGVWKDWWKH feminized citizen should gladly sacrifice herself for the greater good of the country as a whole.

She should accept her position as muse, gratefully serving the nation in her mute capacity.

+RZHYHUDVLOOXVWUDWHGHDUOLHUWKHQHZSRHW¶VSRVLWLRQLQFRQVDQJXLQLW\ZLWKWKHVH maternally mythological stereotypes must go beyond a simple recreation or otherwise risk only, though perhaps accidentally, furthering patriarchal rhetoric. ThoPDV)RVWHUVWDWHV³LQRUGHUWR rescue women from male mythologies, the poet must first rescue the image of the female within

WKHSRHP´  $OWKRXJK)RVWHU¶VVHQWLPHQWVHHPVWRKDYHDZHOO-meaning purpose behind it, the rhetoric clearly re-solidifies the same issues that women have faced: they need to be rescued.

Foster relocates the woman back within the same patriarchal rhetoric in which she has always been placed. The poet, masculinized through his ability to save and protect, must rescue the helpless woman from her marginalization within poetry. The image of the woman-in-distress leaves her no choice but to attempt to speak within those confines, and so she can go no further

81 in escaping mythological barriers. Boland challenges that notion of disempowered woman, largely by re-writing and examining myth.

7KHZD\WKDWWKHP\WKRIWKHZRPDQEHFRPHVWKHFRXQWU\FDQFOHDUO\EHVHHQLQ³+RZ,W

:DV2QFHLQ2XU&RXQWU\´+HUHZRPDQEHFRPHVWKHFXOWXUHRIWKHQDWLRQDFXOWXUHWKDWH[LVWV simultaneously with and alongside violence. The narrator examines a blue china plate,

LPDJLQLQJWKHFRORUWREHWKH³VRUWRIXQGHU-wave blue / a mermaid could easily dive down into

DQGHQWHU´ %RODQG ,PPHGLDWHO\DIWHUVKHLQYRNHVWKHLPDJHRIWKHPHUPDLGWKHQDUUDWRU

LPDJLQHVWKHPRXWKRIDQ,ULVKKDUERUZKHUHWKHPHUPDLG PDGHRXWRI³GHDG-HQGP\WK´ PD\ leave the plate and enter the realm of the real. As woman/myth blends with the land, the space of her body disappears; she is literally absorbed into the place, merJLQJLQWRKHU³KRPH´

Consider the kind of body that enters blueness, made out of dead-end myth and mischievous whispers of an old, borderless H[LVWHQFHZKHUHWKHERG\¶VPHDQLQJLVERWKPRUHDQGOHVV

Sea trawler, land siren: succubus to all the dreams land has of ocean, of its old home. She must have witnessed deaths. Of course she did. Some say she stayed down there to escape the screams. (18)

The woman is the muse, the siren, the bitch, the virgin, and she is all of these things at once here;

VKHLVWKHGHPRQLFVSLULWDQGWKHEHDXWLIXOVLUHQ7KLVNLQGRI³ERG\´FDQEHQRWKLQJHOVHEXWD creative one, for its existence is an impossibility. To be such a figure would make one

³ERUGHUOHVV´DQGERG\-OHVVDVWKHERG\¶VERUGHULVOLWHUDOO\left dangling at the end of the line.

Domestic Violence challenges those depictions and the old tradition created by male poets that

³VLPSOLILHGZRPHQPRVWDWWKHSRLQWRILQWHUVHFWLRQEHWZHHQZRPDQKRRGDQG,ULVKQHVV>@

The nation as woman; the womDQDVQDWLRQDOPXVH´ %RODQG 7KHP\WKRORJL]HGZRPDQ¶V

ERG\LVD³GHDG-HQGP\WK´RQHWKDWPD\JRQRZKHUHDQGPHDQQRWKLQJEH\RQGDUKHWRULFDO

82 gesture. Her function has been to recreate the domestic space for nationalistic goals and to inspire loyalty and sentimentality in citizens towards the homeland. Boland shows how if this

FUHDWHGERG\ZHUH³UHDO´LWZRXOGWKHQDEVRUEDQDWLRQ¶VHQWLUHKLVWRU\DQDEVRUSWLRQVR

RYHUZKHOPLQJWKDWLWFRXOGGRQRWKLQJEXWUHPDLQDWWKHERWWRPRIWKHRFHDQWR³HVcape the

VFUHDPV´ ZKLFKDUHSHUKDSVODUJHO\KHURZQ 

Iris Young expresses the interaction between gender and nation particularly well, as she argues,

the gendered logic of the masculine role of protector in relation to women and

children illuminates the meaning [ . . . ] [of a] state that [ . . . ] expects obedience

and loyalty at home. In this patriarchal logic, the role of masculine protector puts

those protected, paradigmatically women and children, in a subordinate position

of dependence and obedience. . . . These citizens come to occupy a subordinate

status like that of women in the patriarchal household (Young 116).

The female citizen is limited to the threshold of the home, shown through gendered rhetoric that mandates the retaining of the s\PEROLFVSDFHRI³ZRPDQ´ This space is inherently violent, as it mirrors a troubled domestic relationship. Perpetrated by the state, violence becomes sanctioned through this engendering of the homeland: the masculine and feminine binary is seen as neceVVDU\IRUPDLQWDLQLQJRUGHUDQG³ZKLOHµKRPH¶ZDVRQFHGHPDUFDWHGDVDµSULYDWH¶VSDFH beyond the purview of public responsibility, violence [ . . . ] is increasingly understood as part of

EURDGHUVRFLDOSROLWLFDODQGHFRQRPLFSURFHVVHV´ *LOHVDQG+\QGPDn 2). As shown in above paragraphs, state violence and the homeland merge through the reification of the nation as

IDPLOLDO³LIWKHQDWLRQLVDQH[WHQGHGIDPLO\ZULWODUJHWKHQZRPHQ¶VUROHLVWRFDUU\RXWWKH tasks of nurturance and reproduction. [. . . ] Nationhood has been recast in these WHUPV´ *LOHV

83 and Hyndman 10)14. Thus, the family, or the nation, is given an allowance of violence, endorsed through its need for patriotism.

A re-invocation of the opening poem of Domestic Violence illustrates the conflation of this loyalty with state-sanctioned violence:

In that season suddenly our island Broke out its old sores for all to see. We saw them too. We stood there wondering how

the salt horizons and the Dublin hills, the rivers, table mountains, Viking marshes we thought we knew had been made to shiver

[ . . . ] And killings, killings, killings

nothing we said not then, not later, fathomed what it is is wrong in the lives of those who hate each other. (Boland 13-14)

ThHSRHWLQWKLVSRHPZLWQHVVHVWKH³NLOOLQJVNLOOLQJVNLOOLQJV´WKHPXOWLSOHDQGUHSHDWHG

YLROHQWDFWVSHUSHWUDWHGLQWKHQDPHRIQDWLRQDOLVPEXWVKHVD\VQRWKLQJ/DWHULQWKHSRHP¶V

ILQDOIHZSKUDVHVVKHUHDOL]HVKHUSRVLWLRQDVDZRPDQVKH³KDWHV´WKHYLROHQFHRIWKHVWDWH even while being drawn to the state itself. Here, in her silence and inaction, she has been

FRPSOLFLWLQWKHVWDWH¶VEUXWDOLW\%HORQJLQJWRDFRXQWU\WKDWGHPDQGVKHUVLOHQFHDVWKHSULFHRI loyalty and citizenship, she can do little more than question the future of such a relationship. In

³/HWWHUVWRWKH'HDG´VKHDVNV

How many daughters stood alone at a grave, DQGWKRXJKWWKLVRIWKHLUPRWKHUV¶OLYHV" 7KDWWKH\ZHUH\RXQJLQDFRXQWU\WKDWKDWHGDZRPDQ¶VERG\

14 Although there is no room for it here, such a study also begs a larger exploration of those attributes commonly associated and forced upon maternal citizenship and its relationship with assumed characteristics of biological motherhood (specifically critiqued in works by Butler and Kristeva).

84 ThaWWKH\JUHZROGLQDFRXQWU\WKDWKDWHGDZRPDQ¶VERG\ %RODQG

+HUGLVWUHVVRYHUWKHZRPDQ¶VLPSRUWLQ,UHODQGLVFOHDUZRPHQ³GDXJKWHUV´RIWKHQDWLRQKDYH been born and have died within a country that viewed them as property and refused them speech.

7KLVSRHPKHDUNHQVEDFNWRDQHDUOLHUSRHP³:LQGIDOO´ZKHUHDQRWKHUPRWKHUKDVSDVVHG

DZD\%RWKRIWKHVHGHDWKVDUHLJQRUHGH[FHSWE\WKHZRPHQ¶VFKLOGUHQZKRVWDQGRYHUWKH silent graves and mourn.

Then, for Boland, it seems that a significant measure of her relationship to place involves and is found within the expression of grief and mourning. This mourning entails more than just the stereotypical grief that the nurturing mother should display; it suggests a move to lament and then oppose future violence by the state. Of course, grief is not without its dangers, as it can also serve to support state-sanctioned violence when public mourning is encouraged by the political sphere. On the subject of grief and mourning, Judith Butler argues that

it is not that mourning is the goal of politics, but that without the capacity to

mourn, we lose that keener sense of life we need in order to oppose violence.

And though for some, mourning can only be resolved through violence, it seems

clear that violence only brings on more loss, and the failure to heed the claim of

precarious life only leads, again and again to the dry grief of an endless and

political rage. [. . . ] and some forms of public mourning are protracted and

ritualized, stoking nationalist fervor. (Butler xviii-xix)

Although Butler refers to a male-centered and public grief that refers to a national trauma, personal grief is often a result of national and political grief, as Boland illustrates above.

Additionally, nationalism seeks to controOJULHIE\FKDQQHOLQJPRXUQLQJWKURXJK³SURSHU´RU traditional mediums. Women have been wounded and scarred through multiple violent

85 oppressions that serve to force them into domestic, submissive situations. Those oppressions leave damaging marks, upon both the body and mind, but women must be careful not to respond to their oppressors in ways that will reify violence. Boland explores the gaping holes that are left within those wounds, expounding upon both her personal interaction with alienation, as well as

WKHIHPDOHFLWL]HQDVDZKROHVKHXVHVKHUZRUNDVIRUFHWKDWLQWHQGVWR³HODERUDWH>H@>RQ@WKH images of wounding and scarring, implying that the wound of exile, while it heals, leaves its

PDUNRQWKHLQMXUHGSDUW\´ &RQER\ ,Q³$QG6RXO´%RODQd speaks of the death of a mother much in the same way that she laments being exiled from home and language:

mother and I drove on and although the mind is unreliable in grief, at the next cloudburst it almost seemed they could be shades of each other, the way the body is of every one of them and now they were on the move again ± fog into mist, mist into sea spray and both into the oily glaze that lay on the railings of the house she was dying in as I went inside. (Boland 36)

Again, the domestic is conflated with the land: the mother seems to almost merge with damp and dreary natural elements. The familial relationship between the physical mother and daughter is the same relationship between the female citizen and the nation. Natural elements from the land

DUH³RQWKHPRYH´LQWHUWZLQLQJWKHPVHOYHVZLWKWKHPDWHULDOFRQVWUXFWLRQRIKHUKRPH¶V

IRXQGDWLRQWKH³UDLOLQJVRIWKHKRXVH´DQGERWKDUHG\LQJ± the mother and the land. However, while she conflates her mother with Ireland, BolaQGDYRLGVVLPSO\UHSURGXFLQJWKH³0RWKHU

,UHODQG´P\WK7KHPRWKHUSUHVHQWHGKHUHLVQHLWKHUPXVHQRUQXUWXUHU7KHPRWKHULVDERG\ and through death, she is returning to nature.

Consequently, as the poet grieves for her voice, part of the grief is for the nation. In

³9LROHQFH$JDLQVW:RPHQ´VKHDGGUHVVHVWKHQDWLRQDVDEHLQJ6KHDVNV,UHODQGZKDWLWKDV

86 done to its women, interrogating the nation for its part in mythologizing woman. She also questions why the nation would seek to create illusions of delicate women who are essentially

QRWKLQJPRUHWKDQILJXUHV³XQUHDOZRPHQ´ZKRSHUIRUPPHDQLQJOHVVWDVNV:KLOHLQHDUOLHU passages, the mythologized woman is one of more national and patriarchal constructs, Boland maintains that the end result is the creation of women who are disconnected from the reality of experience:

O empire and the arranged relations, So often covert, between power and cadence, Tell me what it is you have done with The satin bonnets and the pastel sun, with The women gathering their unreal sheep Into real verse for whom no one will weep? (Boland 76)

She moves beyond her personal experience with exile and diaspora, into a wider scope of

ZRPHQ¶VVXIIHULQJ,PPHGLDWHO\EHIRUHDGGUHVVLQJHPSLUHVKHDVNVDUWWKHVDme questions;

ZKDWKDYH\RXGRQHZLWKDQGWRWKH³UHDO´ZRPDQ"6KHWDNHVWKHWRROVDYDLODEOHWRKHUDQG

³PRYHVEH\RQGUHFRUGLQJWKHKXUWRIZRPHQ¶VKLVWRULFDOH[FOXVLRQWRVHL]LQJWKHZHDSRQ± language ± DQGZLHOGLQJLWWRLQIOLFWSDLQ´ &RQER\ 7KHpain she attempts to inflict through her poetry seems to be directly aimed at national violence and nationalism. Thus, while

%RODQG¶VSRHPVPD\KDYHVRPHYLROHQWLPDJHU\ZLWKLQWKHPLWEHFRPHVFOHDUWKDWWKHIHPDOH

SRHW¶VJRDOLQDomestic Violence is to recognize, mourn, and grieve over her voicelessness, but

WKHQWRPRYHSDVWLW7KHJULHIEHFRPHVLPSRUWDQWEHFDXVHLWILQDOO\UHFHLYHVDWWHQWLRQ³,WQHYHU mattered that there was once a vast grieving: // trees on their hillsides, in their groves, weeping ± a plastic gold dropping // through seasons and centuries to the ground ± XQWLOQRZ´ %RODQG 

At the same time, Boland is hesitant to wield the weapon of language violently, for, as stated earlier, her relationship with Ireland is a conflicted one. Similar to the conflict discussed

87 DERYHZKHUHWKHSRHW¶VGHVLUHIRUDKRPHODQGFRQIOLFWVZLWKKHUVkepticism for it, she sees her

³KRPH´ as oppressor but also as a beloved place, or landscape:

And if the provenance of memory is only that ± remember, not atone ± and if I can be safe in the weak spring light in that kitchen, then

why is there another kitchen, spring light always darkening in it and a woman whispering to a man over and over what else could we have done? (Boland 14)

Once again re-LQYRNLQJWKHQDWLRQDVDVHPEODQFHRIGRPHVWLFVSDFHWKHSRHWZKLVSHUV³RYHUDQG

RYHUZKDWHOVHFRXOGZHKDYHGRQH´6KHDVNVRIKHUVHOIDQGWKHUHDGHUZKHWKHUWKH\FRXOG have taken steps to avoid the pitfalls of nationalism and its devastating, violent results. She frames this domestic vision of Ireland by returning to Ireland and Irish women, ultimately

DGGUHVVLQJWKHQDWLRQDQGOHDYLQJLWZLWKDILQDOPHVVDJHLQWKHERRN¶VILQDOSRHP³,Q&RPLQJ

'D\V´

The rag-taggle of our history will march by us.

They will hardly notice two women by the roadside.

I will speak to her. Even though I know she can only speak with words made by others

I will say to her. You were betrayed. Did you know that?

[. . . ]

We loved the same things, I will say ± Or at least some of them. Once in fact, long ago,

Yes! Ireland shall be free, From the center to the sea.

I almost loved you. (Boland 79)

88

The nationalistic toll on women has taken its form in more than just emotional and

PHQWDOVFDUULQJRQJHQGHUHGVXEMHFWV:RPHQ¶VVLOHQFHKDVOHIWWKHPZLWKRXWSK\VLFDO belongings and thus without power. Boland must look at what will be passed from woman to

ZRPDQIURPJHQHUDWLRQWRJHQHUDWLRQ,Q³,QKHULWDQFH´WKHSRHWODPHQWV

I have been wondering what I have to leave behind to give my daughters.

No good offering the view between here and Three Rock Mountain, the blueness in the hours before rain, the long haze afterwards. The ground I stood on was never really mine. It might not ever be theirs. (Boland 39)

She, again, realizes that as a woman, regardless of citizenship, she has no rights to the country

DQGLWVODQGQRKRPHHYHQWKRXJKLWFODLPVKHUDVLWVGRPHVWLF+HURZQVWDWXVDVD³GDXJKWHU´

WR³0RWKHU,UHODQG´LV unremarkable, meaningless even, for Ireland claims to own her but gives

KHUQRIUHHGRPV7KXVVKHFDQ³DOPRVWORYH´LWDQGEHORYHGLQUHWXUQDVDQRIIVSULQJEXWWKDW desire will be unfulfilled as well. These lines should also be read in the particular voice of the

IHPDOHSRHWZKDWOHJDF\FDQWKHIHPDOHSRHWOHDYHWKDWZLOOIXUWKHURWKHUIHPDOHSRHWV¶ ownership of their lands and writings? She dwells on the desire to leave a legacy, one of

EHORQJLQJWRRQH¶VSURJHQ\VWDWLQJ³7KLVLVDQLVODQGRIZDters, inland distances, / with a history of want and women who struggled / to make the nothing which was all they had into

VRPHWKLQJWKH\FRXOGOHDYHEHKLQG´ %RODQG 

The goal of Domestic Violence seems not to be advocating for a simple divorce of the citizen from the homeland, or creating completely separate spheres for male and female poets to

LQKDELWIRULWVSRHPVLOOXVWUDWH³WKDWDGRSWLQJDVHSDUDWLVWVWDQFHPD\LQYROYHVXEVWLWXWLQJRQH

RYHUVLPSOLILFDWLRQIRUDQRWKHU´ +DEHUVWURK $SRHPVXFKDV³,QKHULWDQFH´LOOXVWUDWHVKRZ

89 ERWKPHQDQGZRPHQDUHDIIHFWHGE\JHQGHUUROHVIRU³QRWKLQJEHORQJVWRWKHPEXWWKLV

PHORG\DQGW\UDQQ\DQGKRSHOHVVQHVV´  5DWKHULWV³VWUXJJOH>LV@WRUHVLVWWKHZD\LQZKLFK access to political representation DQGWKHSXEOLFVSKHUHLWVHOIKDVRIWHQEHHQOLPLWHGWRPHQ´ while it, at the same time, seeks to rethink the ways in which the nation has engendered the subject and co-opted women, through poetry and nationalism, for its own end (Meeker 206).

Thus, for WKHIHPDOHFLWL]HQLQ,UHODQG³FHQWUDOWRWKHSURMHFWRIUHUHDGLQJDQGUHZULWLQJ,UHODQG have been the issues of nationhood and gender, played out most vividly perhaps in cultural

UHSUHVHQWDWLRQVRI,UHODQGDQG,ULVKQHVV´ 6WHYHQV%URZQDQG0DFODUDQ). Cultural

UHSUHVHQWDWLRQVRIZRPHQZLWKLQ0RWKHU,UHODQG¶VOLWHUDWXUHDQGIRONORUHPD\GHVHUYHWKHPRVW attention in their struggle against the powers of nationalistic movements. At the same time, such a poetic study of feminine oppressions is also invaluable to women in cross-cultural situations and other nations, such as the United States. American women poets have long fought for acceptance within a masculine poetic tradition and for the ability to step outside restrictive feminine stereotypes within poetry. Entrenched in culture, those conceits of feminine figures are difficult to dislodge, and even more difficult to discard. Perhaps, as Haberstroh once again

LOOXVWUDWHV%RODQGZLVKHVWRXVHKHU³SRHP>V@DVDUHIOHFWLRQRIDZRPDQ¶VH[SHULHQFHDQd to

XQFRYHUKRZZRPHQZULWHUVDUHRIWHQVXEYHUWLQJSDWULDUFKDODVVXPSWLRQVDQGVRFLHWDOFRGHV´

(Haberstroh 17). Her poems reflect an ability to de-throne the myth of the female muse, reclaim a voice for women, and refigure the dangerous and limiting domestic spaces of nationalism.

90 Works Cited

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92