A Rare Pro-life Post: Two Poems, a Lamentation, and a Conclusion

the mother

by Gwendolyn Brooks

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers who never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?--
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.

This is one of two poems that I read as an undergraduate that broach the subject of abortion--both of which I find haunting. The second is written by a male poet, Richard Katrovas, a former teacher of mine, who nevertheless attempts in some way to account for the feelings of the woman who has been betrayed by her former lover (or who feels betrayed; it is not quite clear to me whether he has betrayed her or if she feels betrayed because she is estranged from him and yet pregnant--betrayed by her own body, if you will). In this case, the reader's sympathy falls squarely with the male character in this contemporary "dithyramb"; perhaps this is because he (in spite of the refrain, "Yippi-yi-yay, another roll in the hay!") is portrayed less stereotypically than the woman, who fears loss of control and the relegation of her body to the status of mere "meat."

from "Eat What You Kill" by Richard Katrovas

Male Chorus Leader:

Vaguely repentant, even ashamed, I lunged
from one false enthrallment to another,
my affection like a blight of locusts,
though more voracious, quiet, and complete.
Yet when she starved herself to kill the child,
then reported the deed as liberation,
I did not know who or what was free of what
or whom, and cried alone in voiceless dread.

A page or two later, the Male Chorus intones, in an echo of Dionysus's "rescue" by Zeus from the pride of his mother, who wanted to see the true divine face of Zeus:

And the brutal father tore half-formed flesh
from the new charred corpse of its foolish mother,
then stashed the thing inside.

(As, of course, the Male Chorus Leader could not choose to do.) This poem is poignant, but perhaps doomed to obscurity because of its unpopular representation of male opinion in the matter. (I would be naive if I suggested that I did not know that there are many cases in which male opinion in the matter facilitates--even forces--rather than prevents abortion. . . I have known of women whose partners or husbands tried to coerce them into committing the act, and I have also read my Adrienne Rich.) The poet in question would have been fully aware of the danger of representing male opinion as more valuable than female opinion in the matter, and yet he has done so. He further would have known of the danger of representing a female perspective on the subject, yet this he has done as well. . .

Female Chorus Leader:

I am innocent, yet wholly culpable,
and offer no apology or excuse
for self-denial that siphoned another life.
It was my legal right to purge myself.
The termination was not violent,
was not achieved by artificial means.
The thing began as passionate affection;
an assumption of good faith marshaled it
from that crowded zone of nothingness and bliss.
But tenderness recalled became a hell,
and I, alone yet not alone, contained
the literal essence of a bloody lie.

. . . . .

I feel sympathy for mothers who have actually experienced abortion, though I harbor no such emotions (or kind regard) for those individuals in any kind of authority--even the authority of a role model--who promote the process as necessary. I don't believe that anyone (myself included) who has not been in the situation and made and carried out the decision to abort a child can truly understand the mindset of the mother who has taken this action toward her child, any more than one can understand the thoughts of an individual who has just committed suicide. Either action represents a psychological revolt against the innate will to survive. I like the line in Gwendolyn Brooks' poem, "even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate." I can only imagine with difficulty the feelings of desperation that must accompany such an act--though I do not doubt that other feelings may be present also, and that other feelings must for some be present for the individual to cope with such an act. What saddens me, however, is the way that the act is seen as a legitimate "way out" of a difficult situation, and the way that even intelligent, rational women overlook the fact that while this action--the act of carrying and bearing a child, or the act of aborting that same child--impacts their bodies, it impacts the body of someone else as well. But I stand by my thought, above, that to commit the act is the very essence of despair--it is the failure to see hope. And in Catholic thought at least, despair--the failure to see hope--is a denial of God.

I also stand by my belief that where there is life, there is hope. Hence, I must promote life.