On the Blink

I’ve decided to study Christine de Pizan’s The Book of the City of Ladies. I’m participating in an online close read of this medieval text that will span the next 11 months. Christine de Pizan (1364-1430) received an exceptional education and published her own books, dedicating her work to royalty. She was widely read during and beyond her lifetime. I’ll be sharing my notes as I read City of Ladies here.

For now, I want to look at a poem Pizan wrote for her son. This poem was translated from Middle French by Frank Beck:

I have no great fortune, my son,

To make you rich. In place of one,

here are the lessons I have learned–

the finest things I’ve ever earned.

Before the world has borne you far,

try to know people as they are.

Knowing that will help you take

the path that keeps you from mistakes.

Pity anyone who is poor

and stands in rags outside your door.

Help them when you hear them cry!

Remember that you too will die.

Love those who have love for you,

and keep your enemy in view:

of allies none can have too many;

small enemies there are not any.

Never lose what the Good Lord gave

to this, our world, too much enslaved.

The foolish rush to end their lives;

only the steadfast soul survives.

As I read Christine’s words, I recalled Langston Hughes’ “Mother to Son”:

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

Listen to Hughes’ poem here:

What can Christine de Pizan, a Renaissance writer, say to Lnagston Hughes (1901-1967), a poet of the Harlem Renaissance? These mothers across centuries offer their sons candid life advice. Not just “do your best” but “ do your best because life will get hard.” Pizan tells her son that there are no “small enemies,” and reminds him that he, too, will die. Widowed at age 25, Pizan still had young children and extended family to support. Living in the perilous 14th century, she knew death and hardship. Even without a biography, we can understand that Hughes’ mother’s life had “tacks and splinters” in it. Crystal stairs existed but not for women of color in 20th-century America. The boards are “torn up…bare” and she continues to climb, turning corners in the dark.

Hundreds of years part these poems, but their writers echo the same urgency — and it’s advice we all need. Pizan reminds her son that “only the steadfast soul survives.” Hughes’ mother advises, “Don’t you fall now— / For I’se still goin’, honey,” In societies that can easily brutalize their boys, these mothers call for courage, kindness and light.