Complete Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Page 187
He makes the guns and sells them; again and yet again
There die, to his advantage, our armies of young men.
Not for hate or vengeance, or quarrel of his own
He kills, but just for business, for profit his alone.
Murderer of millions, by him our wars are made;
Thug — assassin — gunman — thriving at his trade.
HIGH SOVEREIGNTY
I like to see my little dog
Hop round me on the floor,
Unnaturally vertical
As dogs were not before.
It is no earthly use to him, —
No earthly use to me, —
But I delight in it because
It proves my sovereignty.
I like to seem him hold a lump
Of sugar on his paw,
And never dare to eat it up
Till I lay down the law.
I watch his slow disjointed meals
With pleasure most refined —
It shows how powerful I am
To make the creature mind.
God made him on four legs to run,
No doubt with purpose good;
But I can make him hop on two,
And go without his food!
THIS IS A LADY’S HAT
(A TRIO OF TRIOLETS.)
This is a lady’s hat —
To cover the seat of reason;
It may look like a rabbit or bat,
Yet this is a lady’s hat;
May be ugly, ridiculous, that
We never remark, ’twould be treason.
This is a lady’s hat,
To cover the seat of reason.
* * *
These are a lady’s shoes,
Ornaments, curved and bended,
But feet are given to use,
Not merely to show off shoes,
To stand, walk, run if we choose,
For which these were never intended.
These are a lady’s shoes.
Ornaments, curved and bended.
* * *
This is a lady’s skirt,
Which limits her locomotion;
Her shape is so smooth-begirt
As to occupy all the skirt,
Of being swift and alert
She has not the slightest notion;
This is a lady’s skirt,
Which limits her locomotion.
MRS. NOAH
These ladies so slender and stark,
Whose garments surround them like bark,
May be fair in the face,
But for outline and grace
They are like Mrs. Noah of the ark.
THE CRIPPLE
There are such things as feet, human feet,
But these she does not use;
Firm and supple, white and sweet,
Softly graceful, lightly fleet,
For comfort, beauty, service meet —
These are feet, human feet,
These she doth with scorn refuse —
Preferring shoes.
There are such things as shoes, human shoes,
Though scant and rare the proof;
Serviceable, soft and strong,
Pleasant, comely, wearing long,
Easy as a well known song —
These are shoes, human shoes,
But from these she holds aloof —
Prefers the hoof!
There are such things as hoofs, sub-human hoofs,
High-heeled sharp anomalies;
Small and pinching, hard and black,
Shiny as a beetle’s back,
Cloven, clattering on the track,
These are hoofs, sub-human hoofs,
She cares not for truth, nor ease —
Preferring these!
A PROTEST
O mother! mother! cried the babe,
Why must I lie so warm?
With woolens thick
That clog and stick
All round my feeble form?
I want to stretch and feel myself
I want to wiggle there —
Why don’t you pull
This heap of wool?
Why don’t you warm the air?
O mother! cried the little maid,
Why must my dress be fine?
While brother goes
In knicks and hose,
Why are these ruffles mine?
I want to run and roll and climb,
To play, perhaps to fight!
He tumbles down,
Unblamed, in brown —
Why must I mince in white?
His cap is easy on his head,
Alert and free his face —
Why must I wear
O’er eyes and hair
This cauliflower of lace?
Why trail these yards of lengthening skirt
By his brief trouser line?
If I’m so weak
O mother, speak!
Why must the weight be mine?
The mother answered never a word,
But from her eyes shone through
The primal pride
Of the savage bride
In a veil of rich tattoo.
No mercy had she on herself,
No mercy on the child;
As gods to her
Are plume and fur,
By beads is she beguiled.
PIKERS
“Sit in! Sit in!” cry the Nations,
“Sit in to the greatest game
That ever was played
Since man was made
For Progress & Peace and Fame!”
“We play against War and Famine,
Pestilence, Ruin and Shame —
We stake our best
With all the rest —
Sit in! And play the game!
Great and small came the nations
Over the earth’s expanse
Small and great
Piled state on state
To play for the world’s advance.
But one — God pity the pikers!
One was afraid to play!
We might lose, they said,
If we went ahead,
We might have to fight — or pay!
Forty-three others are willing,
Forty-three others share,
For the common need
They forget their greed,
But we — God pity the pikers! — we do not dare!
WOMEN OF 1920
On the Women of 1920
So newly freed —
Hangs the fate of a nation —
The pride or shame of a nation —
God guide their deed!
Will the women of 1920
Drink party hate
Sink to the grade of a party —
Believe the cant of a party —
Forget the world for a party
And repent — too late?
Will the women of 1920
Hear the world’s appeal?
Forty three nations together
Ask us to join together
With them and stand together
For the common weal.
On the women of 1920
The choice must fall.
Shall we join in with the others
Dare and bear with the others
Or stand apart from the others
Shamed before all?
O Women of 1920
This is your home!
On you hangs your country’s honor —
World safety, Peace and honor
You have the choice and the home
You have the power!
MORE FEMALES OF THE SPECIES
(AFTER KIPLING)
When the traveller in the pasture meets the he-bull in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside;
But the milch cow, thus accosted, pins the traveller to the rail —
For the female of the species is deadlier than the male.
He will sometimes not destroy him, even if the man don’t shoot;
But the mare, if he should meet one, makes the bravest cowboy
pale —
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When our first colonial settlers met the Hurons and Choctaws,
They were burned and scalped and slaughtered by the fury breathing squaws;
’Twas the women, not the warriors, who in war-paint took the trail —
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man’s timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say
As to women, lest in speaking he should give himself away;
But when he meets a woman — see him tremble and turn pale —
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Lay your money on the hen-fight! On the dog-fight fought by shes!
On the gory Ladies Prize-fight — there are none so fierce as these!
See small girls each other pounding, while their peaceful brothers wail —
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
So in history they tell us how all China shrieked and ran
Before the wholesale slaughter dealt by Mrs. Genghis Khan.
And Attila, the Scourge of God, who made all Europe quail,
Was a female of the species and more deadly than the male.
Red war with all its million dead is due to female rage,
The names of women murderers monopolize the page,
The pranks of a Napoleon are nothing to the tale
Of destruction wrought by females, far more deadly than the male.
In the baleful female infant this ferocity we spy,
It glares in bloodshot fury from the maiden’s dewy eye,
But the really deadly female, when you see her at her best,
Has two babies at her petticoat and a suckling at her breast.
Yet hold! there is Another! A monster even worse!
The Terror of Humanity! Creation’s direst curse!
Before whom men in thousands must tremble, shrink and fail —
A sanguinary Grandma — more deadly than the male!
THE SPEAKER’S SIN
It was a lovely lady
With manners of the best;
She was finely educated
She was exquisitely dressed.
With a topic philanthropic
She arose to fill her place
In the program which was builded
For to elevate the race.
She arose with highest purpose
Her noble best to do —
There were seven other ladies
Who were on the program too.
The lady read her paper
Till her hearers wore a frown;
The chairman was a lady
And she would not ring her down;
And when the chairman hinted
That her limit long was o’er
The lady with the paper
Asked for just a minute more!
The hearers were all ladies,
What could the hearers do?
There were seven other ladies
Upon the program too!
And those seven other ladies
Had to summon grace sublime
To smile and wait in silent state
While the speaker stole their time.
Eight speakers in a two hour space
Gives each a fair amount,
Could not the lady read the score
Of those who also claimed the floor?
Could not the lady count?
Did she imagine that her theme
Was the only subject there?
Or that her treatment was the best
And no one wished to hear the rest?
Was it that she forgot their feeling
Who had to lose what she was stealing?
Or that she did not care?
THE LOVE OF HUMAN KIND
O fast we hold to those we love
And clutch them to our hearts
But still the soul desires the whole —
And what are these but parts?
O fast we hold to those we love
As we would drink them dry —
But still our hearts are not sufficed
And still for hunger cry —
Sweet is the love of man and maid —
The mother for the child
But there’s a love more tender far;
More passionate and wild.
Close is the love of one for one
But there is larger worth
In the dear love of human kind
All over the green earth.
We need not lose the little love —
So easy, old, and dear
But we must find the larger kind
That holds all others here.
ANOTHER CREED
Another creed! We’re all so pleased!
A gentle tentative new creed. We’re eased
Of all those things we couldn’t quite believe
But would not give the lie to. Now perceive
How charmingly this suits us! Science even
Has naught against our modern views of Heaven;
And yet the most emotional of women
May find this creed a warm deep sea to swim in.
Here’s something now so loose and large of fit
That all the churches may come under it,
And we may see upon the earth once more
A church united — as we had before!
Before so much of precious blood was poured
That each in his own way might serve the Lord.
All wide divergence in sweet union sunk —
Like branches growing up into a trunk!
And in our intellectual delight
In this sweet formula that sets us right;
And controversial exercises gay
With those who still prefer a differing way;
And our glad effort to make known this wonder
And get all others to unite there under —
We, joying in this newest, best of creeds,
Continue still to do our usual deeds!
THE FOOL KILLER
O Executioner long sought on every side!
Thou hast arrived at length
And mowest down the proud fool in his pride
The strong fool in his strength.
The weak fool in his weakness so immense,
The old fool in his age,
The young fool in his downy innocence —
The pen-fool in his page.
We knew not Justice even now had found us
In wisdom wide —
The fool is dying everywhere around us —
By suicide.
He dieth by slow poison — he will eat it!
No man may save him nay;
He seeketh death and goeth out to meet it —
O Death — meet him half way!
KITCHEN WOMEN
A shallow creature, empty-minded, weak:
Given to foolish pleasures like a child;
Eager for presents, not ashamed to ask;
Glad of each holiday and idle hour;
And flirting with a shy self-interest
With the young master — that may chance to be: —
But what can you expect of kitchen maids?
Sordid and narrow! valuing a man
By what he brings to her of clothes and food;
By his ability to pay the bills,
And willingness to listen to her talk
Of the small interests in a narrow life;
His patience with her failures, and his praise
Of her crude labors and attempts to please.
No knowledge of his business, and no help
In troubles and temptations of his work: —
But
what can you expect of kitchen wives?
Anxious and weary, fretful, overstrained,
Telling the clinging child to “Go away —
Mother is busy!” Busy all the time,
With labors that leave nothing for the child
Of a glad mother’s rich companionship,
Of a wise mother’s well-adjusted care,
Of a strong mother’s ever-ready help: —
How can these come of kitchen motherhood?
Then, being freed of labor for themselves
Beggars on horseback, merciless and proud,
How harsh they are to women they command,
(Servants of servants — masters always hard!)
How savagely they decorate themselves
With skins and feathers and all shining stones,
And hang their houses with crude ornament,
The flaunting foliage of a fruitless tree —
Senseless expression of a soul unused
To speak through channels worthy of mankind!
Still superstitious and conservative,
Prejudiced, timid, cruel as the grave
To those who sin against their little creed;
Swayed easily by every passing breath
Of fashion, with no thought to govern it;
And still their utmost wish to lavish all
The labor they can buy upon the House,
Table, and Body they have served so long.
Unhappy world, that struggles to be great
Be wise, be true, be daring and be free!
These kitchen-minded women keep it back.
THE HOUSEWIFE
Here is the House to hold me — cradle of all the race;
Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear —
Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place;
Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here?
Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night;
Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight;
Duty older than Adam — Duty that saw
Acceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw.
Food and the serving of food — that is my daylong care;
What and when we shall eat, what and how we shall wear;
Soiling and cleaning of things — that is my task in the main —
Soil them and clean them and soil them — soil them and clean them
again.
To work at my trade by the dozen and never a trade to know;
To plan like a Chinese puzzle — fitting and changing so;
To think of a thousand details, each in a thousand ways;