Hello, Poetry Friend
Welcome back to my occasional series, sharing poems inspired by reading and rereading Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter.
We are into book 2, “The Wife.” Kristin’s got her man and a bun in the oven. She’s got a grand manor that’s seen better days. She’s got a pack of wolves so frightening that even Erlend’s merry men are rattled.
But I noticed a moment on page 299, when she and Erlend are aboard a ship, bound for Husaby, when the abbot notices Kristin feeling queasy, but he doesn’t realize it’s from pregnancy, not seasickness.
“You look so somber, Kristin Lavransdatter. Haven’t you recovered from your seasickness yet? Or are you longing for you mother, perhaps?”
“Oh yes, Father,” said Kristin softly. “I suppose I’m thinking of my mother.”
It’s the second time this notion of “thinking of my mother” has come up. The other time was on her first day at the convent at Nonesetter, when the young women are listening to stories about pure maidens, and Kristin is thinking about all the trouble with Arne and Bentein, which caused her to go to the convent in the first place.
Sister Portentia says to Kristin, “Yes, I can imagine that you are longing for your mother.”
When Kristin is thinking about her mother, she’s actually thinking about sex. Which is extremely interesting, given the heart-to-heart conversations between her parents, Ragnfrid and Lavrans, at the end of book 1.
Thinking About My Mother,
Thinking About Sex
I am thinking about my mother
when I am trying not to, when
I am thinking about sex.
When I think about my father
I think about horses.
I don’t think about sex.
The nun read a story about a holy brother
who saved a saintly maiden. When she saw my tears,
I said I was thinking about my mother
But I was thinking about Bentein,
and Arne, and Simon.
I was thinking about sex.
After I met the man with the fine clothes
on the black horse with gentle eyes,
I never once thought of my mother.
This man — he was nothing like a brother.
I let him do what he wanted, what I wanted.
Is this what it means, to be thinking about sex?
Years later, carrying his child,
seasick on the ship bound to his home,
the abbot asked if I was longing for my mother.
“Oh yes, I suppose so,” I said.
I was thinking about my mother.
I was thinking about sex.
–Megan Willome
Happy poeming!
Megan