Anne Bradstreet’s now famous poem “Prologue” was written as a preface to her 1650 collection of poetry, which was notable for being the first book of poetry published by an American, male or female. It is the only collection that Bradstreet produced; a revised volume was published with additional poems in 1678. 

As one can see from the collection’s full title—The Tenth Muse, lately Sprung up in America, or Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning, Full of Delight, Wherein especially is Contained a Complete Discourse and Description of the Four Elements, Constitutions, Ages of Man, Seasons of the Year, together with an exact Epitome of the Four Monarchies, viz., The Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Roman, Also a Dialogue between Old England and New, concerning the late troubles. With divers other pleasant and serious Poems, By a Gentlewoman in those parts—Bradstreet’s subjects varied from science and history to domestic life, love, and motherhood. 

“Prologue,” which is autobiographical, shows the conflict between Bradstreet’s status as a Puritan woman and her aspirations to create worthwhile poetry. Its female speaker, while claiming to uphold and cede to the superiority of male writers, asserts the importance of female expression. The poem also addresses themes of the composition of art, the position of artists in history, and the tension between aspiration and greatness. 

Poet Biography

Anne Bradstreet was born Anne Dudley in Northampton, England, on March 8, 1612, to Dorothy Yorke and Thomas Dudley, a steward to the Earl of Lincoln. She was one of the couple’s five children, who also included Samuel (1608), Patience (1616), Sarah (1620), and Mercy (1621). Due to Dudley’s position, his children had access to a large library; Anne’s education in religious studies, history, and literature was encouraged.

In 1628, Anne married Simon Bradstreet, eight years her senior, who worked alongside her father. Two years later, the Bradstreet/Dudley families sailed to America with John Winthrop’s fleet as Puritan emigrants. When they arrived in Salem, Massachusetts, the Bradstreets and Dudleys shared a household and lived in austere conditions. Still, they were among the most prominent people in the Bay Colony. Dudley worked hard to establish Winthrop as governor. Both were devout Puritans who opposed religious views that did not conform with their own. 

In 1630, the family moved from Salem to what is now Cambridge, Massachusetts. Two years later, Dudley was given a position of deputy governor under Winthrop; Dudley later served as governor of the Bay Colony. Historians have mixed opinions on Dudley’s tenure. In 1635, when the colony was split over Anne Hutchinson discussing religious tracts (See: Further Reading & Resources), Dudley sided with Winthrop and worked to banish Hutchinson. Two years later, however, he helped establish the institution that became Harvard University. Dudley was a significant presence in his daughter’s life and supported her writing.

In 1632, Bradstreet was severely ill and wrote her earliest extant poem, “Upon a fit of Sickness, Anno. 1632.” A year later, she gave birth to Samuel, the first of her many children. Although she wrote privately, much of Bradstreet’s time was devoted to motherhood as three more children were born: Dorothy (1635), Sarah (1638), and Simon (1640). When she was pregnant with Dorothy, the family followed Dudley to Ipswich, the most remote township in the Bay Colony. However, by early 1642, Bradstreet, pregnant with her sixth child (Hannah), moved to Andover, a less remote locale. 

The early 1640s contained several events of importance for Bradstreet. Her mother died in 1643, and her father remarried in 1644. In 1645, Bradstreet’s daughter Mercy was born. Around this same time, Bradstreet’s sister Sarah Dudley Keayne became embroiled in a public scandal and was excommunicated (See: Further Reading & Resources). Bradstreet had been writing poems for her family and other loved ones. In 1647, her brother-in-law John Woodbridge traveled to England on business, taking her poetry manuscript with him. There, he found a publisher, and in 1650, The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America was published in England to great acclaim. Bradstreet was the first American poet ever to be published, although she had to downplay her achievement to be accepted within her Puritan community. 

Later in life, Bradstreet developed tuberculosis, and her health began to fail. She died on September 16, 1672, at age 60 in Andover. The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America was republished five years later with previously unpublished poems that were generally dated from 1645. Although the exact location of her grave is unknown, there is a memorial marker for Bradstreet in the Old North Parish Burial Ground in North Andover, Massachusetts.

Poem text

To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings, 

Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun, 

For my mean Pen are too superior things; 

Or how they all, or each their dates have run, 

Let Poets and Historians set these forth. 

My obscure lines shall not so dim their worth. 

But when my wond’ring eyes and envious heart 

Great Bartas’ sugar’d lines do but read o’er, 

Fool, I do grudge the Muses did not part 

’Twixt him and me that over-fluent store. 

A Bartas can do what a Bartas will 

But simple I according to my skill. 

From School-boy’s tongue no Rhet’ric we expect, 

Nor yet a sweet Consort from broken strings, 

Nor perfect beauty where’s a main defect. 

My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings, 

And this to mend, alas, no Art is able, 

’Cause Nature made it so irreparable. 

Nor can I, like that fluent sweet-tongued Greek 

Who lisp’d at first, in future times speak plain. 

By Art he gladly found what he did seek, 

A full requital of his striving pain. 

Art can do much, but this maxim’s most sure: 

A weak or wounded brain admits no cure. 

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue 

Who says my hand a needle better fits. 

A Poet’s Pen all scorn I should thus wrong, 

For such despite they cast on female wits. 

If what I do prove well, it won’t advance, 

They’ll say it’s stol’n, or else it was by chance. 

But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild, 

Else of our Sex, why feigned they those nine 

And poesy made Calliope’s own child? 

So ’mongst the rest they placed the Arts divine, 

But this weak knot they will full soon untie. 

The Greeks did nought but play the fools and lie. 

Let Greeks be Greeks, and Women what they are. 

Men have precedency and still excel; 

It is but vain unjustly to wage war. 

Men can do best, and Women know it well. 

Preeminence in all and each is yours; 

Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours. 

And oh ye high flown quills that soar the skies, 

And ever with your prey still catch your praise, 

If e’er you deign these lowly lines your eyes, 

Give thyme or Parsley wreath, I ask no Bays. 

This mean and unrefined ore of mine 

Will make your glist’ring gold but more to shine.

Bradstreet, Anne. “Prologue.” c. 1645-1650. Poetry Foundation.

Summary

The poet begins by acknowledging that, as a woman, she may be too meager a mind to write about government, history, military conflict, or royalty. She suggests that this should be left to “Poets and Historians” (Line 5), who, at this time, would have been men. 

However, she does admit that when she reads the works of Guillaume du Bartas, a 16th-century French poet, she envies his ability to compose poetry and his lauded stature; she wishes that the Greek muses had given her some of his talent. Bartas and male poets are given leeway to write what they wish, but the female poet must play to her smaller skillset. 

The speaker compares her work to other weaker forms of communication, such as a boy learning and a broken instrument being played. She has only the craft that her “blemished Muse” (Line 16) has given her. She admits that she doesn’t have the perseverance of the Greek orator Demosthenes, who was able to overcome a speech impediment to achieve eloquence. 

The speaker nevertheless rallies from melancholy to note how she resents those who say that she should stick to sewing and other household chores. Moreover, even if she were to write successful poems, the public would imply that they were accidental or plagiarized since no woman could write poetry of a high caliber. She argues that the Greeks obviously respected women enough to create nine goddesses—the Muses—who protected and inspired the arts. She acknowledges, however, that her contemporary critics will see the Greeks as liars. 

She feels that men assume superiority. However, the poet asks for at least a tiny bit of approval and appreciation. At the end, she pleads with poets, past and present, to give her, if not the highest praise, at least some recognition, as her small verses could make theirs even greater by comparison.