"A Phenomenon Upon This Hill"

As I was about to turn 40 years old I woke up to the idea that I had possibly already lived half of my entire life on this earth. The questions that followed were then inevitable: Had I lived my life to the fullest? Or was I still in wanting?

As I explored my past passions and paths I did not take, I started to look for tattoo ideas and to covet Corvettes. As attractive as those ideas were for me, I was reminded that there was something that moved me even more than cool machines or colorful designs on my skin: 18th century poetry.

It had been 20 years since I sat in my English Literature classes in College, completely love-struck by Poetry. I had long separated myself from that part of me that lived in constant summer and was deeply moved by Lord Tennyson and his elm trees, or Wordsworth and his sailing boats. That part of me now laid quietly inside... voiceless.

My 1500-page Corvette arrived two days after I ordered it, yet it took me a whole month to create enough courage to open it. In the solemn hour I had reserved for this task, I armed myself with a pencil and the hope I would find my voice again.

I flipped through the pages of the massive anthology on authors of Romanticism, looking for the spark that had ignited my passion once before. As I smiled at the familiar names and lines, one name jumped in front of me: Ann Yearsley. I was familiar with other women writers of the 18th century, but I could not remember Ann Yearsley or her work. As I read through “Addressed to Sensibility” I could feel her heart and her passion alive in front of me. Over 260 years later, her voice spoke to mine and I danced to my freshly awakened music.

The short biographical note that preceded her section of the anthology included a letter published in Gentleman’s Magazine dated 30 November 1784. My eyes could not keep up with the words in front of me: ”We have a phenomenon upon this hill: a poor woman...who has led hitherto the painful life of a milkmaid..mother of 5 children... in the midst of laborious and anxious a life, her passion for books...has enabled her to show a taste in poetry, particularly in blank verse….”

I felt a warmth fill up my chest as I realized our impossible similarities bridging together a world of cultural differences across different centuries: I too have lived a painful, laborious and anxious life in a world in which I do not belong. However, instead of silencing her heart, she gave it a passionate voice. And in getting to know her heart, 200 years later, I hope to be reconciled with mine.

As I embark on this journey to delve into Ann Yearsley's poetry and life, I am not looking to create a literally study of her work, nor do I have the authority or expertise to do so. My sole intent is to remain as close to my heart as I possibly can. As I breath her poetry day by day, all I really want is to find the woman behind the words, hoping to mend the woman inside of me.