I entered the Evanston Public Library and was greeted by, most likely, the second youngest individual there, after me. He asked, “Can I help you?” “I’m looking for an event about the poet E...” I said. “Elise Cowen! Over here,” he replied. Projected on the screen that seemed unusually distant for such an intimate setting was a black and white photo of Elise Cowen, a whose absence in literature’s history is less mysterious than her character itself. Tony Trigilio, the director of the Creative Writing/Poetry program at Columbia College, the co-editor of the poetry magazine “Court Green,” as well as a published author, took his place in front of the distant screen. His long, wavy, grey hair placed him right alongside Cowen. His devout interest in her as a literary scholar presents itself as an emotional investment of his that grew whilst editing the book “Elise Cowen: Poems and Fragments,” and, perhaps, is in part due to his 1960’s and 70’s presence in present day.
Elise Cowen was born in 1933 in Long Island, NY to a middle class Jewish family. She attended Barnard College and graduated in 1951. Apart of the Beat Generation of poets, Cowen participated in a literary community and generation that far surpassed writing style: it was a lifestyle. Cowen’s parents were in denial of her thoughts, behavior, and direction, which included drug-use and sexual activity with both men and women. Thus, upon her death — a suicide in which she jumped out of a closed window — her parents burned her writing notebooks as a “favor” to her.
At Barnard, a professor of hers introduced her to Allen Ginsberg, a fellow Beat poet who is well known and celebrated, which Trigilio would argue is not given to Cowen because of her identity as a woman. Ginsberg visited a psychoanalyst whom he confided in, stating he was gay, and the psychoanalyst encouraged him to to date women in an effort to “cure” his homosexuality. Thus, Ginsberg dated Cowen as a heterosexual experimentation, and while they loved each other, Ginsberg eventually ended the relationship, maintaining that he was homosexual and wanted a platonic relationship with Cowen. Cowen’s relationship with Ginsberg has been written in history as the archetypal “unrequited love” narrative that is tainted with sexism. Cowen is portrayed as the “mad girlfriend,” a play into the association of mental illness with women. According to Trigilio, this type of narrative is a cultural projection of our fear of the female artist and her creativity.
Upon her suicide on February 27, 1962, many news sources and magazines romanticized her death, furthering the public’s misunderstanding of Cowen’s literary contributions and historical significance. One such news source said that by jumping through a closed window she was “reaching for a microphone,” as if the community were unaware of her depression. However, it is true that, as a woman, her poetry and frankness about the psyche were often repressed. A different source, a magazine, did a feature on female writers who committed suicide, including Cowen. In the feature, they described the dress/clothing the women were wearing upon their deaths with a store attributed to the attire for readers to buy similar articles. This disgusting minimization of women reminded me of the campaign that took place surrounding the Oscars: #AskHerMore. The campaign sought to prompt interviewers/paparazzi to ask the women more than just who designed their dress.
Women are often forgotten in our history. Creative, daring women are almost always forgotten. Cowen’s legacy, and Trujillo's dedication to restoring it in the public’s mind, serves as a reminder of the need to eradicate the stigmas surrounding female audacity and impact.
No comments:
Post a Comment