Thursday, May 9, 2013

'First Ladies,' A Poem By Eve Brouwer

First Ladies,   m. 1963—d. 1976

 By Eve Brouwer
(reprinted with permission)


We were the first ladies . . .
Kay, Diana, Sharon and I.
Ladies first—through doors, to be seated,
into aisles of theater seats. 
We were always ladies,
first, and foremost, and above all else.
We’d been dutiful daughters, and virgin brides,
and became good wives, and loving mothers. 
Yes, we were ladies first, and foremost, and above all else.

We were the first ladies
upon whom our husbands
bestowed their names,
the first ladies to whom they
plighted their troths.
A place of honor was given us.
We knew our place and kept to it.

We supported husbands
earning degrees
and, by degrees,
their masculinity,
husbands who came
—and went—
with impunity.
We stayed still, in ladylike passivity.
In still nights we stayed
—and waited—
loosed our chignons, our French twists
—and stopped. 
Frozen in an earlier time.

The world turned and skewed, and,
through curious eyes,
we viewed askance
political revolutions.
Through amazed eyes,
we read, titillated
by a sexual revolution.
With guilty consciences, we stood in line,
signed the children into pre-school.

Minute cracks in our polished veneer
let longings in,
let the Ms.’s hook their fingers toward us,
let the Ms.’s beguile us thus.
They kept their own names,
Wrote their own vows,
Took their own bows.

Looking back, are those our new “sisters”
marching on DC?
Is that us, sitting still, still sitting,
watching on TV?

Yes, and then . . . the husbands left.
Yes, and then . . . we fell
into the abyss.
Some to sink, some to swim,
most to flounder, betrayed
by our mothers’ voices,
our husbands’ vows,
our sisters’ visions,
our own ambitions.

Swept away, footloose, we lost our bearings,
doubted our instincts.
A toe
touched a rock here
A hand
reached for a branch there.
We loosened the weights dragging us down.
Then grabbed them back to our maternal breasts.

We emerged alive, to find
that women had put away
their feminine touches
—their pill-box hats, their white gloves, their recipe collections—
had relegated their children to others’ care,
were pursuing degrees, careers, orgasms galore.

Through it all, even as we
threw off the fancy hats,
drew on more appropriate gloves,
entered the no-holds-barred fray,
it never felt right.

Behind it all, under it all,
we were still
ladies who waited
for their men to return.
And waited, for a long time
after they'd finally gone for good. 

Yes, the first ladies in those husbands' lives
were merely the first in their series of wives.



Eve Brouwer
Photo by Donald G. Redman
Eve Brouwer lives and writes in Covington, Louisiana. An author and poet, her published works have been recognized by the New Orleans Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society and by Louisiana Inklings. She is the 2012 St. Tammany Parish Literary Artist of the Year and she serves on the board of the Northshore Literary Society.











Copyright Eve Brouwer. All rights reserved.
Illustration by Donald G. Redman

Finding Art In The Ordinary


 An Interview with Author/Poet Eve Brouwer

by: Donald G. Redman

Eve Brouwer
Photo by Donald G. Redman
Eve Brouwer’s thousand-watt smile and effervescent personality lights up any room she enters. The former manager of the national Chia Pet television campaign – yes, that Cha-Cha-Cha Chia Pet – Eve has been a professional writer since 1980, first as a newspaper reporter then later as a writer for public relations and advertising firms. Today, she resides in Covington, Louisiana, where she continues to write, this time for art.

Her published works include short stories and poetry which have been recognized by the New Orleans Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society, and by Louisiana Inklings. Eve was recently named as the 2012 St. Tammany Parish Literary Artist of the Year and she serves on the board of the Northshore Literary Society and helped organize Poets Alive!. She earned her B.A. at Loyola University in Chicago and her Master of Liberal Arts at the University of Chicago.

The Redman Writing Project recently caught up with Eve for an interview...

RWP: What were your earliest writing experiences? Did you write for the high school newspaper and did you keep a journal? Did you enter any writing or poetry contests in school? What did you do to foster the writing bug?

Eve Brouwer:  I think I’ve always had a strong creative instinct.  I don’t know if that’s something that’s inherited or acquired.  My father was an artist:  he played acoustical guitar, painted, and wrote.   My mother is a voracious reader.  My sister and I could not help but love art, music and literature, especially literature, anything to do with words—talking, reading, writing, acting. Anything I did to “foster the writing bug” was inadvertent, merely a natural, everyday activity.  

RWP: At what point did you decide you wanted to be a writer? Was there one teacher, one influence or was it just an accumulation of events?

Eve Brouwer:  It was an uncomfortable event that put me on the path to writing.  In seventh grade, in the Chicago Public School system, I had a wonderful teacher who was enthusiastic and kind and sincere.  When our standardized test scores came in, she was thrilled to see that two of her students had scored literally off the chart in the verbal section of the standardized test the CPS system was using at that time.  She singled us out, Loretta and me, and, in front of the whole class, asked us what we wanted to do when we grew up.  The question had never before occurred to me.  Loretta said she wanted to be a lawyer.   All I liked to do at that time was read, so, thinking of the great literature I was just beginning to discover, I said I’d like to be a writer.   Later in life, when I found myself wishing I had pursued less nebulous and more lucrative goals, I thought it would have been wise if I’d just copied Loretta’s answer and followed her into law!

RWP: How did you get your first start? What was your first published piece?

Eve Brouwer: I submitted a piece, “No, I’m Not Dutch,” to a national, religious magazine, The Banner.  The article was about the experience I’d had as a student, in the 1960’s, at a private, suburban, faith-based high school that had been founded by immigrants from the Netherlands.  Chicago at that time was—and perhaps it continues to be—comprised of ethnic groups who insulated themselves, were definitely not part of America’s “melting pot” mystic:  my parents—he of German descent, she of Italian—had in large part broken free of their ethnic bonds and expanded our family’s horizons; but my sister and I were being raised in a small Italian enclave on the city’s west side and she and I towered, although we were each only about 5’4” tall, over most of the neighborhood’s Neopolitans; it was a shock, then, on the first day of high school, to find myself suddenly short . . . and dark!  But I was, in fact, a shrimp in a sea of tall, fair, blue-eyed, very curious students who, it appeared from their questions, could not believe a non-Dutchman had entered their midst. As you would expect, the point of the article addressed the meatier differences underlying these superficial ones.   

RWP: Tell us about your poetry:

Eve Brouwer:  My sixth-grade teacher accused me of plagiarism when I wrote this poem about autumn:
The falling leaves, colored leaves,
Floating to the ground in a frolicking breeze,
Covered with brown, red and gold,
Making way for the winter cold.

Of course I had not copied it.  But I felt bad that I was accused.  So now, as I’m answering your questions, I’m thinking maybe that experience soured me on writing about nature.  But perhaps I’m being melodramatic here.  Still, in any case, I don’t write about nature.

I write about the metaphors in the objects and in the activities of our ordinary, day-to-day lives.   Although I attempt to create layers of meanings, my goal is for the pieces to be understood and enjoyed at any level, perhaps merely as stories, perhaps as stories with meaning.

 “The Tarantella,” for instance, while ostensibly recounting a day in the lives of a multi-generational family, is actually speaking of the challenges we all face in trying to balance and blend traditional values and customs with the relatively-new freedoms and opportunities to be found in contemporary society: 

As the hours passed,as we workedthat March dayin that hot kitchen,the matriarch told stories,told tales,of a long ago sister-in-law who . . .did not like to cook!Who would rather work in her garden!!Or write poems!!!Or paint pottery!!!!Or go to parties!!!!!Than prepare meals for her family.“Hmmmm,” we three murmured,eyes assiduously averted,hands occupied,mincing garlic into submission,focusing energies,funneling talents.Hot tomatoes concentratingin and onthe contents of the pots.

Another poem of mine, “First Ladies,” a narrative piece, tells the tale of four friends, each of whom was married in 1963 and divorced in 1976.  But it places their personal events in the larger context of the upheavals of those tumultuous years:

The world turned and skewed, and,
through curious eyes,
we viewed askance
political revolutions.
Through amazed eyes,
we read, titillated,
by a sexual revolution.
With guilty consciences, we stood in line,
signed the children into pre-school.

Minute cracks in our solid veneer
let longings in,
let the Ms.’s hook their fingers toward us,
let the Ms,’s beguile us thus.
They kept their own names,
Wrote their own vows,
Took their own bows.


RWP: Most writers will tell you that there is a particular time of the day they feel they are most creative and do most of their writing. When do you do the bulk of your writing?

Eve Brouwer: I write in the morning, when I’m the most alert and fresh.  I keep paper and pen on my nightstand and write my first drafts in longhand.   Sometimes I rewrite and rewrite and rewrite in longhand but usually I’ll key an early draft into the computer and continue on from there.

RWP: What is the most difficult aspect of writing for you?

Eve Brouwer: Wondering if my work is effective, if it has a style of its own, if it’s too naïve or too obscure, if I should be doing it at all.

RWP: Is there a person you turn to for support or to critique your writing before publication?

Eve Brouwer: I have to mention what a great support my husband, Randy Cronk, is.  What I especially value is that he reads everything I write and makes comments and even re-reads subsequent drafts.  
As you can imagine, this hands-on type of encouragement is invaluable.  Having someone believe in you and in your talent is good.  Then when they actually put in this kind of time and effort, it's fantastic! 

RWP: What are your interests?

Eve Brouwer:  Conversation and culture. I like sitting around in restaurants, drinking wine, talking interminably, growing wittier by the glass. I also love movies, especially foreign and independent films.  St. Tammany Parish Library is a wonderful resource.  And I like opera.  I appreciate the simulcast productions that the NY Met makes available to us at the Stadium 14 movie theater in Covington.  

RWP: What are you writing today?

Eve Brouwer:  Aside from a number of individual poems and a few short stories, I’m working on two projects:  selling my novella, My Grandmother Danced, and co-writing a nonfiction book, with my sister, based on correspondence between our parents during World War II. 
o       My Grandmother Danced is about how we reach out to the world, how we celebrate or shape or bury significant events, perhaps as wonderful memories, perhaps as deeply-held secrets that we will forever keep hidden, even from ourselves. More specifically, it’s the story of the repercussions that follow when a naïve, exuberant bride happily accepts her father-in-law’s invitation to dance with him at her wedding reception.   However, the structure of My Grandmother Danced is rather unusual, perhaps, I worry, too unusual:  each chapter is a poem, which, for marketing purposes, I’m no longer identifying as poems but am now describing as “brief, lyrical chapters.”  This terminology change is primarily due to responses similar to that of an agent who, upon hearing the word poem, refused to look at even the first page and said something like, “I never read poetry.  I didn’t study it in college.  I don’t understand it.”  I was shocked.  Aren’t nursery rhymes our very first literary love! 
o       The second project is the book I’m co-authoring with my sister, Phyllis Pals, who is also a writer:  our father was second-generation American, but he’d learned German from his grandparents and so found himself assigned to the POW camps in Fort Collins, Colorado.  His letters are fascinating as a unique window into the psyche of the Nazi prisoners and also as an incisive commentary on the cultural and societal norms of the 1940’s.  We’d like to include photos of paintings done by one of the prisoners and given to my father.  A particular favorite is of me, copied from a photo my father carried with him.  My understanding is that the prisoners made their own paints using vegetable oil that they colored with substances found in nature.   As is obvious, we are still researching our facts.

RWP: What advice would you give to novice writers or even those unpublished writers still slugging it out?

Eve Brouwer:  Interact with writers as much as possible.  Listen to others and also tell others about your craft.  Whether you’re published or not, identify yourself as a writer.  Join literary groups and attend conferences:  in the St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana, area, I especially recommend the Northshore Literary Society and the local chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and Covington’s Poets Alive!

List five of your favorite poets and or authors:
o       James Thurber
o       Thomas Hardy
o       Marcel Proust
o       Ha Jin
o       Emily Dickinson
o       Jon Krakauer

List ten books you’ve read that you’ll never forget:
o       Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
o       The Ox Bow Incident, Walter Van Tilburg Clark
o       Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
o       When the Crocodile Eats the Sun, Peter Godwin
o       Berlin Diaries 1940-1945, Marie Vassiltchikov
o       Edie: American Girl, Jean Stein
o       Blooming, Susan Allen Toth
o       As Always, Julia, ed. Joan Reardon
o       War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
o       One Writer’s Beginnings, Eudora Welty
o       The Little Red Guard, Wenguang Huang
o       Herself Defined:  H. D. and Her World, Barbara Guest

Oh oh, maybe that’s more than ten!

RWP: What are you reading right now?

Eve Brouwer:  Well, I have followed my own advice and have joined the type of social and study groups where I meet a good number of writers.  That said, I also am a person who wants everyone to like me and wants to please everyone . . . so, I’m currently very busy trying to catch up and read books of authors I know.  I want to be able to say, when I run into these authors, “I read and enjoyed your book!”  These are some of them (and I really did like them!):  Cuba onMy Mind by Katie Wainwright; Davenport’sVersion by John Gery; Unless a LoveBe Free by Jerilyn Willin; Dancing onGlass by Pamela Ewen Lott; The Beachat Herculaneum by Susan G. Muth; AmySigns by Rebecca Willman Gernon; Mattersof the Heart by Mary Culver.  And I’m just now starting two more: Mercury Falls by Robert Kroese and Finding Faith in theCity Care Forgot by Teena Myers.  

RWP: Where can people find your work and where can they follow you?

Eve Brouwer:  Two of my pieces—a poem, “The Tarantella,” and a short story, “Gloria,” are included in Louisiana Inklings: A Literary Sampler, an anthology that is available electronically through Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
A non-fiction book I especially liked contributing to is The Mad Cow Crisis: Health and the Public Good, edited by Scott Ratzan.

RWP: Thank you.


Copyright 2013 Donald G. Redman. All rights reserved.