My friends, writer's block can be a B, I'll tell you that much! I've been struggling for some time to come up with poetry and simply couldn't find get anything done.
Yesterday, however, I was thinking of writing a creative piece on Vashti, the wife of the Persian king Ahasuerus who was vilified and deposed, stripped of her crown and status because she refused to submit to her husband's demands and be objectified before the court.
Vashti's story is mentioned in the book of Esther in the Holy Bible, and I thought that hers was an interesting story given the completely opposing cultural responses to the stance she took.
In some quarters, Vashti's resilience and independence as a mark of female empowerment has been applauded, while from another perspective, one may be flabbergasted and appalled by what her seemingly blatant disrespect for the authority of her husband, who needed to command not only her respect as his wife but also the respect of his court and kingdom.
There have been many debates on this topic which I do not propose to join in on. Nevertheless, I was thinking of Vashti's story and one thing led to a next, and then I was writing poetry, not about Vashti necessarily, but rather about a quote ascribed to playwright, William Congreve who, in the 1697 play, the Mourning Bride, wrote: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned..., a quote which is often repeated today.
Suffice to say, my position on this quote in the general context of its use, is that depravity is not the domain of any gender. There are countless examples to demonstrate that both men and women have sunk to flabbergasting lows, committing egregious acts when relationships have soured. So, simply put, the statement in and of itself is sexist and inaccurate.
Nevetherless, in the context of this quote as it is often used today, I wrote the poem titled, Maybe He Got It Wrong, and it explores some contradictory comments ascribed to men in different pieces of texts over the years. I hope you enjoy it- men and women alike.
Maybe He Got It Wrong
Hell, said a man,
Hath no fury like a woman scorned.
And females, we latched on
And suckled on the insult-
Classic Stockholm Syndrome-
Finding validation
In the words of a man
Who would that women were smaller.
A wise man
Who prayed for a discerning heart
To know the difference between right and wrong
Had much to say about nagging women
And then turned around in his wisdom
And kept a harem,
Not wives, concubines, he called them,
All the more women to know them.
Hell, said a man,
Is temptation-
The sin, a woman’s allure
And not a man’s inability to control his carnal inclinations.
A woman is tasked with the responsibility to think
And proactively prevent a man’s baser instinct.
It’s simpler for a woman to cover and hide,
Than to expect a man to keep his hands at his side,
After all, man tells us, she was made for him.
Hell, said a man,
Is the woman who questions
And refuses to accept a man’s domination.
That woman, he condemns, strips of her title, brands her a demon,
Writes her out of the story of creation,
Replaces her oils and pastels
With a water colored concoction,
Another who, for the honor of the prize
Of saying she’s made from a man’s side,
Is given an apple that’s spoilt on one side
For she’s seen as the cause for man’s fall from paradise.
It was her tempting,
Her cajoling,
Her sighs…
And not man’s inability to keep his zip
Up over his fly.
Hell, says a man, is a woman.
But this is a theory that I, a woman, oppose
And rather than accept a man's theory about a woman's sinfulness,
I propose-
Maybe hell is a man who’s been curved.
Maybe hell is a man who thinks that a woman is his property
And her place is to serve.
Or maybe, just maybe, a few influential men got it all wrong
Because it’s heaven many men seek and find in the arms of a woman.
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