Anne Bradstreet’s "The Prologue," written around 1650, stands as a remarkably insightful poem that, on its surface, appears to engage with conventional notions of female authorship. However, beneath this veneer of deference lies a sophisticated and subtly subversive critique of the gendered expectations placed upon women, particularly those who dared to express themselves through poetry. Bradstreet skillfully employs irony and self-deprecation to expose the limitations imposed by a patriarchal society that undervalued female intellectual and creative contributions, ultimately asserting her own poetic voice and the legitimacy of her work.
The poem opens with Bradstreet seemingly acknowledging the perceived shortcomings of female poets, stating, "To maske my shame, with this I doe beginne, / To steale their Laurell from the Muses head." This initial framing suggests an act of theft or perhaps an unearned claim to poetic prestige. She further amplifies this by stating, "If for my sake some may arraigne me then, / And say, the women are too bold, too ill." These lines appear to anticipate and echo the very criticisms she might expect to face from a male-dominated literary establishment. The language of "shame" and being "arraigned" paints a picture of a precarious position, where female artistry is inherently suspect and subject to harsh judgment. Yet, the use of "steale" can also be read ironically; it implies that the "Laurell" of poetry is unjustly withheld from women, and their pursuit of it is not an act of arrogance but a reclamation of what is rightfully theirs.
Bradstreet's strategy becomes clearer as she continues to articulate the supposed limitations of her craft. She writes, "I am not sh'd to make the best of bad, / Nor bring forth more then can be borne," and "Yet if I can my owne defects but see, / My imperfections to the World impute." This feigned self-awareness serves to disarm potential critics. By admitting to "defects" and "imperfections," she pre-empts direct attacks on the quality of her poetry. The audience, conditioned to expect less from female writers, might find these confessions validating. However, this is precisely where her subversion operates: she is not genuinely apologizing for her abilities but cleverly navigating a landscape where any assertion of excellence from a woman would be met with immediate skepticism. She is, in essence, presenting a performance of humility to mask a profound confidence in her own poetic merit.
The poem’s turning point, or at least its most pointed commentary, comes with the lines: "To set forth more then men could truly write, / Or doe more then is meet for my degree." Here, Bradstreet directly confronts the implicit hierarchy that places men’s writing and actions above women's. The phrase "more then men could truly write" is a bold, albeit veiled, claim to superiority. She then immediately tempers it with "or doe more then is meet for my degree," which appears to reinforce her subordinate status. However, the juxtaposition is critical. By suggesting that women could write more than men truly could, she implies that men are perhaps less capable or less honest in their expression. The subsequent qualification about her "degree" acts as a safety valve, allowing her to voice this potentially dangerous assertion without appearing overtly defiant. It is a masterful rhetorical move, using the language of social constraint to highlight the artificiality of those constraints.
Finally, Bradstreet concludes by stating her intent: "So I must yield to their superior skill, / And though I can not write a true delight, / Yet I can tell you what is writ by might." This final statement reinforces the notion of her yielding, yet it also subtly shifts the focus. While she may "not write a true delight" – implying a certain kind of pleasure or artistic perfection perhaps only men can achieve – she can "tell you what is writ by might." This suggests an ability to interpret, to report, and to convey the weight and significance of literature, an intellectual act in itself. It signifies her engagement with the literary world not merely as a creator but as a discerning critic and commentator, a role that demands intellectual rigor and authority, irrespective of gender. "The Prologue" thus becomes a testament to Bradstreet’s acute awareness of her social and literary context, and her ingenious method of carving out space for female intellectual expression within it.