Carol Ann Duffy (1955-)
Mrs. Tiresias (1999)
All I know is this:
he went out for his walk a man
and came home female.
Out the back gate with his stick,
the dog;
wearing his gardening kecks,
an open-necked shirt,
and a jacket in Harris tweed I'd patched at the elbows myself.
Whistling.
He liked to hear
the first cuckoo of spring
then write to The Times.
I'd usually heard it
days before him
but I never let on.
I'd heard one that morning
while he was asleep;
just as I heard,
at about 6 p.m.,
a faint sneer of thunder up in the woods
and felt
a sudden heat
at the back of my knees.
He was late getting back.
I was brushing my hair at the mirror
and running a bath
when a face
swam into view
next to my own.
The eyes were the same.
But in the shocking V of the shirt were breasts.
When he uttered my name in his woman's voice I passed out.
* * *
Life has to go on.
I put it about that he was a twin
and this was his sister
come down to live
while he himself
was working abroad.
And at first I tried to be kind;
blow-drying his hair till he learnt to do it himself,
lending him clothes till he started to shop for his own,
sisterly, holding his soft new shape in my arms all night.
Then he started his period.
One week in bed.
Two doctors in.
Three painkillers four times a day.
And later
a letter
to the powers that be
demanding full-paid menstrual leave twelve weeks per year.
I see him still,
his selfish pale face peering at the moon
through the bathroom window.
The curse, he said, the curse.
Don't kiss me in public,
he snapped the next day,
I don't want folk getting the wrong idea.
It got worse.
* * *
After the split I would glimpse him
out and about,
entering glitzy restaurants
on the arms of powerful men —
though I knew for sure
there'd be nothing of that
going on
if he had his way —
or on TV
telling the women out there
how, as a woman himself,
he knew how we felt.
His flirt's smile.
The one thing he never got right
was the voice.
A cling peach slithering out from its tin.
I gritted my teeth.
* * *
And this is my lover, I said,
the one time we met
at a glittering ball
under the lights,
among tinkling glass,
and watched the way he stared
at her violet eyes,
at the blaze of her skin,
at the slow caress of her hand on the back of my neck;
and saw him picture
her bite,
her bite at the fruit of my lips,
and hear
my red wet cry in the night
as she shook his hand
saying How do you do;
and I noticed then his hands, her hands,
the clash of their sparkling rings and their painted nails.
Comments (2)
amattox said
at 2:44 pm on Apr 2, 2009
At the end of line 3, "and came home female":
According to certain Greek myths, Tiresias, who is most famous as the blind seer in the "Odyssey," came across two mating snakes and struck them with his staff. The snake itself is a loaded symbol in Greek, in fact in many of the world's mythologies, both for embodying the apparently oppositional characteristics of life and death/the afterlife (as both a superterranean and a subterranean organism), and of health and sickness (the ancient Greek word for both "venom" and healing "medicine" is "pharmakon"). Because of this action, Hera transforms Tiresias into a woman, which he remains for seven years, until he comes across the same pair of serpents and strikes them again and is changed back into a man. After these event, Hera and her husband Zeus ask him, since he has had the unique experience of being both male and female, for which gender is sexual intercourse better. Both deities argued that the opposite sex got more pleasure from the act. For some reason, when Tiresias affirms that the woman has it better (biologically defensible, since a woman has more nerve endings in her clitoris than a man does in the head of the penis, or at least, the female's is the only organ whose biological function is solely for pleasure), Hera is scandalized (I personally don't get the logic) and makes him blind. Zeus compensates by giving him the gift of prophecy, for which he becomes a famous mythological figure. Anyway, all this background is pertinent to this sexually-charged poem. Alison Mattox
Kyuhee (Ginny) Chae said
at 10:50 pm on Apr 2, 2009
End of Line 9
Throughout the poem, there are single lines that are separated from the rest of the stanzas. This serves to emphasize the importance and connotations of each action, and ultimately helps get across the main message. The first line, "Whistling", is initially seen as a random detail, but in relation to the rest of the poem shows the ignorance of Tiresias. The act of whistling usually implies a carefree manner, but at the same time Mrs. Tiresias points out that she "usually heard [the first cuckoo of spring]/days before him", showing that Tiresias is blithely unaware of his ignorance. This is magnified when Tiresias becomes a woman, as he is unable to truly know what it is to live as a female since he is too weak to deal even with the physical pain of menstruation. The lines "Life has to go on" and "Then he started his period" are connected, since the stanzas following each line describe how while Tiresias learned to learn to do his hair and wear women's clothing, his immaturity with dealing with menstruation stopped his growing realization of how it is to be a woman. After Tiresias goes as far to demand a paid work leave during his menstruation, a sign of his ignorance, "It got worse". These single lines, which structurally halts the poem and so shows the curt and biting mood of the speaker due to her husband's ignorance, do not appear in the last stanza. Once the speaker has found a female lover, she is able to somewhat leave behind the problems she had with her husband, as there are no more single lines that point out troubling actions. Ginny Kyuhee Chae
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