’s Works Essay, Research Paper
Peter. Schlong. Richard. Big Jim. Are any of
these words more than mildly offensive? My contention is
that, although they aren’t a part of my regular speech,
they are only mildly unpleasant, if at all. Some forms
of the word “penis” even evoke a sense of power. A
man’s worth is sometimes said to be measured by the
girth of his package. In relation to the previously
started discussion, does the word “vagina” roll off
one’s back as easily? The common answer would be no.
Forms of the word “vagina” are even thought of as some
of the most gut-wrenching curse words, especially to a
man. With her poem, “In Celebration of My Uterus,” Ann
Sexton is sure to raise a few eyebrows and evoke a few
gasps. Those who succomb to the cultural pressures of
our paternal culture are not surprisingly outraged. To
those of us who try to swim against the proverbial
current, however, the frank manner in which Sexton
presents a body part that we find so sacred is
refreshing. When thinking of the uterus, the first
association one makes is that which includes the
menstrual cycle. This thought makes most people, men
and women alike, uneasy. Men are taught to avoid
menstrual blood, while women have aquired the automatic
need to complain about it. The second association
related to the uterus is that which ties it to
child-bearing, which, although it is known as the
miracle of life, is easily passed off as a curse in this
age of condoms, the “morning after,” pill and abortion.
The outrage that this poem ellicits is the same type of
outrage that accompanied the fight for womens’ voting
rights and equality in the work place. Sexton
pres
uterus is “the soil of the field” (line 18) that
“cover(s and) does contain” (line 17) the “roots” (line
19) of the “commonwealth” (line 23). Not only does the
uterus house the roots when conception occurs, but it
also contains the shell of every seed that is sown.
“There is enough here to please a nation”(line 21). If
you count up the number of cycles awoman has in her
lifetime and consider that as the number of eggs her
body contains, the numbers are astounding. This is a
constant that has nothing to do with class or race or
religion. There are echoes of this gift in every woman
from the “one (who) is at the toll gate collecting”
(line 31) to the “one (who) is straddling the cello in
Russia” (line 33), and even more obviously in the “one
(who) is wiping the ass of her child” (line 38).
In the days of Ani Difranco and the “Vagina Monologues,”
this poem seems rather censored, but falls into the same
category of those brave women who use the shock value of
their strength to make a political, and, perhaps,
humanitarian statement. This poem ends with a list of
occupations that women could be called to, some
stereotypical, some not. Regardless of the occupation
chosen, it is the right to choose and the strength that
accompanies that right that is being celebrated, not
simply but loudly. This poem creates outrage because it
is rooted in outrage. This outrage is disguised by all
womens’ forced silence. Outrage in poetry is a healthy
and change provoking element, as long as it is correctly
aimed. So let us all not be afraid to “sing for the
supper, for the kissing, for the correct yes” (lines
57-61).