Eve Ensler and Empowerment

(The following was submitted to my college poetry class in which we were learning to read and analyze various poetry pieces. There are a lot of identifications that were required, so it may seem a little choppy in places. Full poem text is included at the end.)

Eve Ensler’s reading of “I Was There in the Room” as part of her performance piece and book titled The Vagina Monologues was impassioned. The nuances and emotion of this personal and vividly worded piece were brought out in her use of dramatic pauses and vocal variety. “I Was There in the Room” is written in open form as the line length varies throughout the poem, and it doesn’t follow a regular rhythm nor rhyme scheme. It is a narrative in which the writer uses symbols and imagery to imply a message of tribute to the awe-inspiring and exhausting experience of giving birth. In the printed version, Ensler uses white space and random end-stopped lines to strengthen the likelihood that the reader will pause at certain places while reading the text.

The author relates her story in a way that brings a deeper meaning to the moment she’s taken part in. She accomplishes this, for example, in lines 16 to 21 by using diction (“a shy sexual hole”; “an archaeological tunnel”; “a sacred vessel”; “a Venetian canal”) and alliteration (“vagina,” “vessel,” “Venetian”; “shy,” “sexual,” “sacred,” “stuck,”; “inside,” “vessel,“ “rescued”).
         I was there when her vagina changed
         from a shy sexual hole
         to an archaeological tunnel, a sacred vessel,
         a Venetian canal, a deep well with a tiny, stuck
                   child inside,
         waiting to be rescued. (16 – 21)
These words delve into the role of the vagina as presented in this poem and venerate it as an amazing provider of life by comparing it to the more ubiquitous depiction of it as a baser object solely of desire fulfillment. Those lines indicate a morphing of the vagina from something that is average, into something of greater historical and reverent importance. Also, there is friction in some of the words in said stanza that are cacophonous by nature of the “k” sounds in the following words: “sexual,” “archaeological,” “sacred,” “stuck,” “rescued.” It is actually amusing to see the words “sacred” and “sexual” said in nearly the same breath. I think that Ensler intentionally put words like that together in order to bring another level of friction into this piece. Childbirth, being a very taxing and difficult task, is full of various levels of friction, therefore, this is a clever way to convey that feeling.

There is also a usage of metaphor to convey her message in line 21. She likens the child in the womb to a child trapped in a well, hoping to be saved. It’s difficult to discern if it is just metaphor or if there is also symbolism employed in the line in question. Another great use of metaphor is in the following lines:
         and there as her vagina became a wide operatic
         mouth
         singing with all its strength; (49 – 51)
Here, Ensler likens the vagina to an opera singer’s mouth, which is a vivid image and makes for a great symbol of female empowerment, as opera singers are known to have really loud, boisterous voices. In fact, Ensler uses that sort of voice as she reads this piece, and really drives home the importance of the experience and what it meant to her.

In conclusion, I feel that although “I Was There in the Room” is well-written, Eve Ensler’s reading of it really is the appropriate and preferable way to take in this piece. She emphasizes certain words as she reads them, and since they are from her personal experience, she knows which ones are most important to her. The overall message in the full text of the poem, in my opinion, is about the paradox of the beauty as well as the monstrosity of the birthing process, and, more importantly, the empowerment inherent in changing the view of the female reproductive organs as more than just naughty little bits nobody likes to talk about. I feel this piece having been written and performed opens up an important dialogue of female empowerment with regard to their bodies. The colorful use of metaphor, diction and performance of this piece really makes for a great way to breach that subject.

(c) MSP 11/5/04

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(The following was written by Eve Ensler for her daughter in-law Shiva and granddaughter Coco. Also, it's important to note, Eve adopted, so she never had experienced childbirth first-hand herself. Eve's daughter in-law invited her to experience it with her.)

I Was There in the Room
By Eve Ensler

I was there when her vagina opened.
We were all there: her mother, her husband,
         and I,
and the nurse from the Ukraine with her
         whole hand                    5
up there in her vagina feeling and turning with
         her rubber
glove as she talked casually with us ––– like she was
         turning on a loaded faucet.

I was there in the room when the contractions                    10
made her crawl on all fours,
made unfamiliar moans leak out of her pores
and still there after hours when she just
         screamed suddenly
wild, her arms striking at the electric air.                    15

I was there when her vagina changed
from a shy sexual hole
to an archaeological tunnel, a sacred vessel,
a Venetian canal, a deep well with a tiny, stuck
         child inside,                    20
waiting to be rescued.

I saw the colors of her vagina. They changed.
Saw the bruised broken blue
the blistering tomato red
the grey pink, the dark:                    25
saw the blood like perspiration along the edges
saw the yellow, white liquid, the shit, the clots
pushing out all the holes, pushing harder and
         harder,
saw through the hole, the baby’s head                    30
scratches of black hair, saw it just there behind
the bone ––– a hard round memory,
as the nurse from the Ukraine kept turning and
         turning
her slippery hand.                    35

I was there when each of us, her mother and I,
held a leg and spread her wide pushing with all
our strength against her, pushing
and her husband sternly counting, “One, two,
         three,”                    40
telling her to focus, harder.
We looked into her then.
We couldn’t get our eyes out of that place.
We forget the vagina, all of us
what else would explain                    45
our lack of awe, our lack of wonder.


I was there when the doctor
reached in with Alice in Wonderland spoons
and there as her vagina became a wide operatic
         mouth                              50
singing with all its strength;
first the little head, then the grey flopping arm,
         then the fast
swimming body, swimming quickly into our
         weeping arms.                    55

I was there later when I just turned and I faced
         her vagina.
I stood and I let myself see
her all spread, completely exposed
mutilated, swollen, and torn,                    60
bleeding all over the doctor’s hands
who was calmly sewing her there.

I stood, and as I stared, her vagina suddenly
became a wide red pulsing heart.

The heart is capable of sacrifice.                    65
So is the vagina.
The heart is able to forgive and repair.
It can change its shape to let us in.
It can expand to let us out.
So can the vagina.                    70
It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us
and bleed and bleed us in to this difficult,
         wondrous world.
So can the vagina.
I was there in the room.                    75
I remember.