When a Woman Critiques a Man

“When a Woman Loves a Man” by David Lehman

So sometimes I get bored and read random things on poets.org. And I was doing that today instead of paying attention to what I ought to have been, and I came across this poem. And I hated it. It is shockingly sexist. Indeed, the sexism isn’t even covert, it’s blatant and apparent. Tracing the anti-women tropes was almost fun, except for how it was gross.

When a Woman Loves a Man
David Lehman

When she says margarita she means daiquiri.

She’s drinking girly drinks? And she wants a drink girlier than the girly one she’s already asked for? And she’s too dumb to know what she really wants? Or doesn’t even remember the name of the drink she likes? Okay.

When she says quixotic she means mercurial.

She uses words she doesn’t know the meaning of, so she must be stupid. And of course, “mercurial” describes her quite well if his assertions against her in this first stanza are true.

And when she says, “I’ll never speak to you again,”
she means, “Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window.”

Oh, those darn women, never saying what they mean. Of course, a tiny act of affection from the mister will be enough to soothe even this huge anger in the missus.

He’s supposed to know that.

Women expect men to read their minds when they don’t say what they mean. And we never say what we mean.

When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia

City man, country girl?

or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,

Men are creators, women are consumers. And there are those anti-Boston sentiments from a New Yorker.

or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he is raking leaves in Ithaca

Women are defined by what they wear. Men are defined by the manly things they do.

or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

Men do stuff while women wait for them to come home, and are unhappy about it.

When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning

The inconvenient timing of ladies’ love?

she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade

Ah ha! He does something stereotypical. Though why this is happening at one ten in the morning is a bit unclear.

and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.

You knew it was coming: women are defined by their passive bodies.

When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.

This is the long-form version of “women always take hours to get ready.” It also implies that women are unreliable and can’t complete tasks on time.

When she says, “We’re talking about me now,”
he stops talking.

A few options are possible. She may be asserting that the conversation has covertly changed from a conversation about ‘us’ to a critique of ‘her,’ and by stating it she is attempting to oppose it. Alternately, the narrator of the poem is accusing women of talking about themselves too much. And he has nothing to stay about ‘her,’ despite this being a love poem.

Her best friend comes over and says,
“Did somebody die?”

Again, twofold. One, women detect changes in mood rapidly (because we’re all about feelings). Two, the narrator is hating on the ‘sisterhood’ of women who defend each other. Those women and their friends, they always gang up on you.

When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream

If she loves him, she’ll get naked in public with him.

on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle

Yes, someone is certainly laughing.

of water rushing over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.

I mean, I think I see here the idea of things not seeming so far away and foreign, or that maybe, somehow, men and women might not seem alien to each other. But even using ‘alien’ in this poem, with its heavy relationship context, just brings up the old men-are-from-Mars-women-are-from-Venus trope. The situation here, naked swimming, isn’t about the kind of unity found in deep conversations, it’s about the oxytocin-swapping snuggly-feel-goodiness of a pleasant shared experience, which doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with actual compatibility or happiness.

Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?

‘Sup, allusion to Eve, the quintessential bad woman.

When he says, “Ours is a transitional era,”
“that’s very original of you,” she replies,
dry as the martini he is sipping.

Women are insulting shrews. Even when he says something worth insulting.

They fight all the time
It’s fun
What do I owe you?
Let’s start with an apology
Ok, I’m sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying “Laughter.”
It’s a silent picture.

Domestic arguments are funny because of reasons. #trufax

“I’ve been fucked without a kiss,” she says,
“and you can quote me on that,”
which sounds great in an English accent.

The content of what you say is not important, the sexiness of how you say it is important.

One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it another nine times.

WELL THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL TOGETHER?

When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the airport in a foreign country with a jeep.

Men do exotic things and women show up to hang out with them.

When a man loves a woman he’s there. He doesn’t complain that
she’s two hours late
and there’s nothing in the refrigerator.

Women should provide food, and men who don’t complain about women not providing food or not having impeccable timing and control of airline schedules are saints.

When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She’s like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn’t want the day to end.

Women like to spend time with men! But they’re childish, you know.

When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.

Men don’t like to spend time with women, they just like to look at them. If midnight = where the moon best fits, then sleeping = where women best fit. So basically, ladies, shut up and hold still so we can stare at you without you staring back. This is what it takes to be loved.

A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.

P.S. Here are some nice romantish images so you can tell I really love her no matter how much we fight.

I apologize for trolling this poem the flip tone of my analysis. My husband sometimes has a hard time reading feminist writing, because the writing can be very dismissive of attempts at alternate claims. But sometimes there’s really nothing else to do. I’m disappointed that poets.org has posted this poem, because some kid who doesn’t know better is going to see this poem and think it might actually be good. Part of me would like to imagine that Lehman doesn’t mean it, that these images are so clichéd that they’re meant to be ironic. But the irony seems so bitter it must go around the corner and be earnest again. So, if I do take this poem seriously, I’m confronted with the horrifying idea that a man (or every man) thinks that all of the stereotypes about women are true, and that in order to con this man into loving me (“When a Woman Loves a Man”), I’ve got to embody those stereotypes. Of course, embodying those stereotypes will also make this man resent me. So what’s the point? Let’s just not be in love at all.