Beginning Gabriela Mistral’s Madwomen, I was admittedly intimidated. Often I find it difficult to decipher and fully understand poetry or prose. Part of the reason, I think, is because poetry condenses so much information in so few words – it feels like not a single article or punctuation can escape me lest I completely miss the message. Surprisingly, however, I found myself easily falling into Mistral’s poetic rhythm and found it difficult to put the text down. The language was so captivating, it was almost hypnotic; I think this is a fitting reaction given Mistral’s invocation of folkloric imagery.

What I enjoyed most about Madwomen was Mistral’s frequent allusions to Greek mythology. The introduction, written by Randall Couch, hinted to this initially saying, “Greek tragedy depicted prophets without honor in their own countries – a role with which [Mistral] came to identify” (18-19). Mistral speaks to this rejection from her home country, Chile, in the first stanza of her second poem “The Abandoned Woman,” describing Chile as a “sour country” whose love she is going to unlearn. Later in this same poem she describes peeling her “skin like a pomegranate,” which is considered the fruit of the dead in Greek mythology, commonly associated with Persephone, queen of the underworld (35). Being interested in Greek mythology since childhood, other language stood out to me as originating from this epoch: “nor the wind, shaker of sails” (Zeus), “and once more take up the world” (Atlas), “a medusa lifted on the waves” (Medusa) (43; 49; 51).

My favorite Mistral passages came when she assumed the perspective of an all-powerful goddess, like in “The Anxious Woman.” She writes, “How could he not arrive, if the elements / I’m pledged to bring him to me?” invoking the omnipotence and divinity of an immortal god. Interestingly, in this way, Mistral is demonstrating that despite the power and immortality of the gods, they still suffer. I believe this could be allegorical of Mistral’s own life: despite being at the height of her career and influence, she still contended with “madness” and anguish. Another similar instance came in “Electra in the Mist,” in which Mistral writes, “In the ocean mist I wander lost, / I, Electra, fingering my garments,” embracing the identity of the goddess of storm clouds (109).

But above all, my favorite passage of this kind came in the form of “Clytemnestra,” known as the wife of Agamemnon, king of Mycenae. In Greek mythology, Agamemnon brutally sacrificed his daughter to please the gods and improve the Greeks’ chances in the Trojan War. In “Clytemnestra,” Mistral captures the maddening agony and torment of a mother without her daughter, sacrificed at the hands of a proud, arrogant man. Being one of the last poems in the collection, reading it, I felt I could almost hear the chorus of howls from this congregation of “mad women,” driven to insanity by grief or injustice. I expect there are hundreds of gems in Madwomen I still need to discover and I hope to return to this text again and again.

Question for discussion: Do you like Greek mythology? Which fable is most vivid for you?