Remember the Women
Part poem, part essay, part folklore. If you're a woman, none of what I say will surprise you. If you're a man, well, this might be a big pill to swallow.
Day 8 Bradley Ramsey’s The Halls of Pandemonium
Prompt: Write a Story or Poem that combines 3 Genres.
I admit that I played fast and loose with this one. But as a seat-of-the-pants writer, this is where the muse took me. I still hope you enjoy. I combined my love for poetry, history, and folklore into this piece.
The earliest depictions of the female form are known as “Venus” figurines.
Round head
Hands placed upon
Large Breasts that hang
But sit quite nicely
Over a full belly perhaps
Indicating a well-fed woman
Or showing the extent a stomach
Grows with child pushing her body
To its physical limits
With full buttocks
And tiny
Forms
For her feet
The French scholar who coined the term never asked a woman what we should call these beautiful creations. And definitely not the women whose homes lay atop the ruins of the past. No.
It was men
Writing about art.
Men who dug up the
Secrets of the past
In the sun and sand
Pushing their ideas of what
Their ancestors thought
And behaved
With their biases unquestioned.
Lewis Carroll gave us Alice
In Wonderland. Basing her
Off a 9-year-old girl of his
acquaintance. He who said
The epitome of female bea
-uty, was the body of pre-
pubescent little girls.
But the people of the past
They depicted men as stick figures on walls
The hand prints we equate with “cave men”
Are small
Children’s hands.
Women’s hands.
And the figurines that have popped up
Throughout the sites of the prehistoric
“West”
Are women
If I could tell their stories
Of our earliest mothers
Grandmother’s
Aunts and cousins
I’d tell you about
How Children played
And watched each other
While the older women did the work
That kept their communities alive.
They who invented thread.
And figured out how to put holes in bones
And saw thread from sinew
To sew the “skins” we
Attribute to “cave men”
The women
Who made nets
For fishing and shoes from grasses
I’d tell you about how
Their artistry with bead work
Dying fibers
And weaving
Shows Us Women
Who were deeply connected
With their world.
They knew the
Leaves, flowers, and roots
The techniques to dry
Furs and create durable
Hide to make
Warm clothing
To
Survive.
Fashion isn’t important
Though.
Women’s work
Isn’t important.
Because once a woman touches it
Its value is lesser.
We say “Hunters and Gatherers”
Homo Sapiens
Is Latin for
“Wise Man”
Male
Is always the default.
In art.
In history.
In the framework
Of how we view the world.
If you would listen.
I’d tell you about the toe bones.
Of ancient women
Who ground flour
For their bread
Their toes permanently
Bent from
Their daily labors
To keep them
And their families fed.
And men would paint women in the nude
Depicting their trauma
For entertainment
To show their mastery of the human form.
During times when women could model
But not be a part of polite society.
Female painters
Often restricted
To painting landscapes
And still-life.
How could I convey to you
The amount of knowledge
And compassionate care
Women lost
When men decided to
Intervene
in childbirth
Ignoring
the knowledge of midwives
Who had been passing down their
wisdom and calming presence.
Men who were more worried about
The prestige of the smell of the
hospital on them than to do
something as small
And simple
as washing
their damn hands.
To make medicine
And overtaking care of
The very female experience
Of pregnancy
And birth
A path barred
From women
For many
Many years.
How do I tell you
To make you understand
That the “Great Men In History”
That we write books and films about
Who we celebrate
Whose work allowed us to progress
In technology
And science
And Literature
Wouldn’t have been able to do any of it.
Without the women
That cooked their meals
Washed their clothes
Cared for their children
Transcribed their words
Worked in their factories
Kept their secrets
Defended their homes
while they were away at war
And so much more.
Never to be credited
Or thanked
Because that
was always
expected of them.
I can’t make you care.
Any more than I can change
Your hair color by sheer will alone.
All I can do
Is ask you
Plead with you
To color in your
picture of the past
With women.
Picture them with
stories
and songs on their lips
Children, family, and friends at
their side. Knowledge of their world
being crafted and shared by their
skilled hands. Imagine them
as the foundation of their world that
held the fabric, the structure, the lives
of their loved ones upon their shoulders.
They were there making beautiful
Things. Carving themselves
Into stone as well
As embedding
their legacy
In our very DNA
Remember the women who put their hands on the walls in the caves. The women who made the bread for the workers who built the pyramids. The women who modeled for the great artists. The women who, even today, are sitting at a sewing machine, putting in the tags for the next garment you buy from a box store.
Remember the mothers who gave birth in those caves. Who taught their daughters the skills to keep themselves and their family alive. The grandmothers who shared their wisdom, passing down important knowledge from generation to generation. Remember the little girls who lost their fingers and hair in the early factories. Remember the women who wove the sails for ships that allowed men to explore.
Remember them.
Ask why they’re excluded from the history books.
Listen to your mother, your grandmother, or the important female figures you respect.
For a moment, take it upon yourself to recognize, Gentlemen, how very far humankind would have come if women truly were as absent from history as the textbooks would have you think.
And that is how centering text should be used! Perfect!
The loss of Asherah from El was a devastating moment in humanity.