"An Apology" by Anne Bradstreet - Sunday #Poem

Good evening, or good morning, good noon, or good midnight, whenever and wherever you're watching this. Welcome to the Sunday Poem. Today it's a poem by the first published writer in England's North American colonies and therefore America's first published poet, N. Bradstreet. N. Bradstreet was born in 1612 to a wealthy Puritan family in Northampton in England. She was married at the age of 16 and migrated together with her parents to America at about the time of the founding of Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1613. She was a well-read scholar, a mother of eight children and the wife and daughter of public officials in New England. Both Anne's father and her husband were instrumental in the founding of Harvard University in 1636 and two of her sons were graduates. Next to all her duties, she was also a very prolific writer. As a Puritan who also wrote about her belief, her struggles with the Puritan society and her religion, she was sort of a bit of a rebel during her time. She faced the most criticism because she was a woman. In the 17th century, writing was not considered to be acceptable for women. A prominent critic of this practice, Connecticut colony governor Edward Hopkins, mentioned in his journal that writing and reading should only be for men, quote, whose minds are stronger. Didn't really attest to his own mind and intellect, did it? But not only men criticized her, but also and specifically women did. Bradstreet continued to write though and she became one of the most important and most influential early American writers. In 1650, her book, The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America, was published in London, making Anne the first female poet ever published in both England and the so-called New World. In 2021, her 14th great-granddaughter, Katie Munday Williams, wrote in her book, Poet Pilgrim Rebel, the story of Anne Bradstreet, America's first published poet, Anne's accomplishments are incredible for any writer of her time, but especially so for a woman. Today, I'll read her poem, Anne, Apology. To finish what's begun was my intent, My thoughts and my endeavors thereto bent, Essays I many made, but still gave out, The more I mused, the more I was in doubt, The subject large, my mind and body weak, With many mo' discouragements did speak, All thoughts of further progress laid aside, Though oft persuaded, I as oft denied, At length resolved, when many years had passed, To prosecute my story to the last, And for the same I hours not few did spend, And weary lines, though lank, I many penned, But for I could accomplish my desire, My papers fell a prey to the raging fire, And thus my pains, with better things I lost, Which none had cause to wail, nor I to boast, No more, I'll do, sith, I have suffered rack, Although my monarchies their lacks do lack, Nor matter, ist this last, the world now sees, Hath many ages been upon his knees.