Anne Bradstreet

The Author to Her Book

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,

Publication without consent

Bradstreet's book was published in London in 1650 without her knowledge or approval by her brother-in-law. She's addressing a physical object that exists in the world against her will.

Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, exposed to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).

Printing errors unchanged

The printer didn't correct mistakes before publication. 'All may judge' means readers will see the errors—they're permanent and public now.

At thy return my blushing was not small,

Maternal shame, not pride

She calls the book her 'brat' and feels embarrassed it's in print under her name. This inverts the typical maternal pride trope—she wants distance from this child.

My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,

Revision as futile labor

Each attempt to fix the text ('washed thy face,' 'rubbing off a spot') creates new problems. The metaphor shifts from maternal care to impossible housework.

And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,

Poverty as explanation

She claims poverty forced her to publish—'homespun cloth' is all she has to dress the book in. This is a legal/social excuse: a poor woman couldn't afford better.

But nought save homespun cloth, i' th' house I find.
In this array 'mongst Vulgars may'st thou roam.
In critic's hands beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known;
If for thy Father asked, say thou hadst none;

Disowning the work

The final instruction tells the book to deny its authorship entirely. She's asking it to lie about parentage to protect her reputation.

And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Politics of Publication

CONTEXT Bradstreet's *The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America* (1650) was the first book of poetry published by a woman in the English colonies. But it was published in London without her permission—her brother-in-law sent the manuscript to a printer. This poem, added to the second edition (1678), is her response to that violation.

Bradstreet uses the metaphor of a deformed child to describe her published book, but she's really describing loss of control. The book is no longer hers; it belongs to readers and critics. She calls her friends 'less wise than true'—they thought they were helping by publicizing her work, but they betrayed her by making it public. Notice she never thanks them or claims credit. Instead, she disowns the book entirely in the final lines, telling it to deny her as author.

The poem works as a legal defense of her reputation. By claiming the book was published against her will and blaming poverty for its poor printing, she protects herself from accusations of ambition or impropriety. A woman publishing poetry was already suspect; a woman who *wanted* to publish would be scandalous. This poem lets her have it both ways: the book exists, but she's not responsible for it.

The Metaphor's Breakdown

Bradstreet starts with a maternal metaphor—the book is her 'offspring,' her 'brat.' But the metaphor fractures as the poem continues. A real mother can't wash away her child's flaws; she accepts them. Here, Bradstreet keeps trying to fix the text ('stretched thy joints,' 'rubbing off a spot'), but each correction makes things worse. This isn't maternal love—it's frustrated labor.

The shift matters because it shows why she's angry. She's not rejecting the book because mothers reject children. She's rejecting it because she's been forced into the position of defending something she never wanted to defend. The 'homespun cloth' she mentions is poverty—not just literal poverty, but the poverty of resources available to a colonial woman. She couldn't afford a better printer, better paper, or better access to the printing process itself. The book's flaws aren't her fault; they're the result of a system that excluded her from control.