Tags
early feminism, Elaine Stirling, free love, Mary Wollstonecraft, medieval French poetry, triolet
What tenderness has caused in me
to flee the streams of love divine?
Appropriate to destiny
what tenderness has caused in me.
Our hearts though bruised can well define
the shortest paths to harmony
what tenderness has caused in me
to flee the streams of love divine.
“Weakness may excite tenderness and gratify the arrogant pride of man, but the lordly caresses of a protector will not gratify a noble mind that pants for and deserves to be respected.” Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1798) Portrait by John Opie
I care no more for his caress;
it lords from him with subtle guile.
He gathers women to impress,
I care no more for his caress.
Grown weary of his morbid style,
what need have I of loveless stress?
I care no more for his caress;
it lords from him with subtle guile.
Now those of us with noble mind
we tumble free and sweet in bed!
Our waking hours by joy refined,
now those of us with noble mind
we have no fear of what is said
in confidence again we find,
now those of us with noble mind
we tumble free and sweet in bed!
© Elaine Stirling, 2012
You can learn more about triolet, the medieval French poetry form, here.
Oceantics 
As with many of your poems Elaine, the reader can count on getting a bonus. Not only is the bonus of this one the introduction to an obscure but quiet influential literary figure but to a rarely executed poetry form. What a complex and very delicate rhyme scheme that you have used not once but thrice to good end in showing us the attitudes of Mary. If all poets were as diligent as you about learning to write using traditional forms there would be far fewer wanna bes and more real poets around.
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Calligraphy of the mind is how these triolets felt in the writing, Russel. I’ve shied away from small poetic form because they seemed cramped…and so many people use them, IMHO, to whine. Then I read of Mary’s tempestuous life. To be the mother of the author of Frankenstein and mother-in-law to Shelley…that her widow would remarry and his next daughter would take up with Lord Byron! The opportunity to write in traditional forms and to share them in these modern venues–what a privilege!
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A must try! 🙂
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In the river the rocks sink
but the good wood floats.
even when filled with ink
In the river the rocks sink…
When I started to drink
and sow deep my wild oats
In the river the rocks sink
but the good wood floats!
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Trioletic replies float the boat
of the poet who hopes her wood
will soak…oops, she fell out of the boat!
Thank you, Gavriel, for the rollick from your river. Good message, there! 😉
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