by Trudie Goodlitt-Ustanny<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n Trudie Goodlitt-Ustanny is a Jamaican-born resident of Hartford with a love for learning and writing. Trudie wrote this exploration piece for Professor Jeffrey Partridge’s literature class at CT State Community College Capital in spring 2026.<\/em><\/p>\n When I first visited Hartford in July 2022, I remember feeling more confused than impressed. Staying downtown, I expected noise, crowds, traffic, and the constant movement associated with most cities. Instead, everything felt strangely quiet. The streets seemed\u00a0almost too\u00a0clean, and there were only a few people walking around. At certain times of the day, it even felt as though everyone\u00a0disappeared\u00a0at once.\u00a0I kept wondering what it would be like to actually live there.\u00a0At the time, I thought Hartford lacked energy and personality. It felt like a city hiding from itself.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Over the course of the Hartford Literary Journey, however, that\u00a0perception\u00a0gradually changed. Through literature, historical spaces, museums, performances, archival materials, and conversations, Hartford began unfolding before me in layers. Writers such as Mark Twain, Lydia Huntley Sigourney, Ann Plato, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Isabella Beecher Hooker, Mary-Ann Tirone Smith, and Wallace Stevens became guides\u00a0through\u00a0the city. Their works taught me that Hartford could not be understood through appearances alone. It required patience, attention, and\u00a0a willingness\u00a0to\u00a0observe\u00a0beyond the surface. As I adjusted my literary lens throughout the semester, I came to understand Hartford not as an empty or uneventful city, but as a place shaped by imagination, activism, grief, resilience, and artistic expression. The physical journey through Hartford and the textual journey through its literature continuously intersected, transforming both the city itself and my understanding of it.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n My first shift in perspective came through the writings of Mark Twain, Lydia Huntley Sigourney, and Wallace Stevens. What stood out to me immediately was how much I related to Twain\u2019s reaction to Hartford. He describes the city by emphasizing what is absent: \u201cno smoking, no drinking saloons, no swearing, no chewing of tobacco, nobody drunk\u201d (Twain). Those details resonated with me because they mirrored my own expectations of what a downtown city should feel like. Like Twain, I initially viewed Hartford through the lens of what it lacked rather than what it contained. His humor, especially when discussing the Charter Oak, also reflected a certain distance from Hartford\u2019s historical weight, a feeling I understood because I had not yet connected emotionally to the city myself.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Sigourney\u2019s \u201cFall of the Charter Oak,\u201d however, shifted the mood entirely. Referring to the tree as the \u201cpilgrim fathers\u2019 pride\u201d (Sigourney), she transforms it into a symbol of memory and collective identity. What struck me most was the way she showed the Charter Oak carrying meaning across generations and communities. She writes not only of settlers, but also of \u201cthe roaming Indian who prized its canopy of shade\u201d (Sigourney). Even children mourned its fall without fully understanding why. Reading this made me realize that history often survives emotionally before it survives intellectually. People can feel the weight of a place without always being able to explain it.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Wallace\u00a0Stevens\u2019 \u201cOf Hartford in a Purple Light\u201d\u00a0ultimately had\u00a0the greatest impact on my\u00a0perception\u00a0of the city. Stevens suggests that Hartford\u00a0possesses\u00a0as much beauty and significance as anywhere else in the world because the same light that reaches distant places also reaches Hartford. The poem elevates the ordinary, transforming the city from something provincial into something layered and interconnected. Stevens made me reconsider the possibility that Hartford was never truly boring;\u00a0perhaps its\u00a0beauty simply required patience and attention to recognize. Looking back, I realized that my first impression of Hartford had been shallow because I was only seeing its surface.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n That changing perspective deepened when I visited the Mark Twain House & Museum. Walking through the home felt less like entering a museum and more like stepping into a warm and loving household. It felt lived in rather than staged, filled with traces of family life and creativity. I especially loved the library. The dark green walls, the rich furniture, and the adjoining conservatory created an atmosphere that seemed warm in every season. I could imagine snow falling outside while the family gathered by the fire, or summer light pouring through the windows while the children played nearby. The room balanced intimacy with imagination. Knowing that Twain told his daughters bedtime stories there made the space feel deeply personal.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The visit also reshaped how I understood Twain himself. Reading excerpts from\u00a0<\/span>A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur\u2019s Court<\/span><\/i>, I began noticing similarities between Twain and Hank Morgan. Both\u00a0possess\u00a0confidence and ambition before eventually discovering how fragile success can be. Merlin\u2019s declaration, \u201cYe were conquerors; ye are conquered!\u201d (Twain), captures how quickly power can reverse itself. Twain\u2019s own failed investments mirrored Hank Morgan\u2019s downfall through his inventions. This connection revealed Twain\u2019s humanity. His work no longer seemed detached from his life; instead, it reflected his ambitions, disappointments, and anxieties.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Twain\u2019s humor also remained surprisingly relatable. In \u201cA Literary Nightmare,\u201d when he describes his \u201ctongue\u2026 doomed to wag forever to the jingle of that remorseless rhyme\u201d (Twain), I\u00a0immediately\u00a0understood the irritation of being trapped by a catchy phrase or song. Yet Twain could also weaponize humor to expose absurdity. In \u201cSpeech in Honor of Cornelius Walford,\u201d his comment that there is \u201ca charm about a railway collision that is unspeakable\u201d (Twain) transforms tragedy into satire, revealing society\u2019s strange fascination with danger and spectacle.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Before learning about Nook Farm, I had no\u00a0idea that it existed. What I discovered was that it was not just a location connected to Mark Twain, but a community where writers, reformers, and thinkers\u00a0lived\u00a0close to one another and exchanged ideas regularly. What struck me most was how personal those conversations must have been. People gathered in physical spaces,\u00a0often by fireplaces,\u00a0and\u00a0spoke\u00a0through disagreements and ideas in real time. Charles Dudley Warner writes that \u201cone never knows exactly what he does believe until he is warmed into conviction by the heat of attack and defense\u201d (Warner). That idea stood out to me because it feels\u00a0very different\u00a0from how communication works now. Online, conversations often feel more fixed, like people\u00a0arrive\u00a0already decided\u00a0to support one side of the conflict. In contrast, Nook Farm seemed like a space where thinking was still happening\u00a0out loud, in front of other people.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hartford\u2019s literary culture, however, extended beyond intellectual conversation into political activism and social reform. The more I explored Hartford\u2019s literary history, the more I realized that many of its writers were not simply storytellers, but activists using literature to challenge injustice and reshape public thought.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Harriet Beecher Stowe\u2019s\u00a0<\/span>Uncle Tom\u2019s Cabin<\/span><\/i>\u00a0confronts readers with the cruelty and moral contradictions of slavery through emotional storytelling. Eliza\u2019s escape across the icy river, where \u201cwith one wild cry and flying leap, she jumped right over the turbid current\u201d (Stowe), forces readers to experience the terror and desperation of a mother trying to save her child. Meanwhile, Charlotte Perkins Gilman\u2019s \u201cThe Yellow Wallpaper\u201d reveals the psychological consequences of denying women autonomy and self-expression. When the narrator confesses, \u201cThere comes John, and I must put this away, he\u00a0hates to have me write a word\u201d (Gilman), the act of writing itself becomes an act of resistance.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Isabella Beecher Hooker approached activism differently, relying on legal and constitutional reasoning to argue for women\u2019s voting rights. Together, these writers revealed Hartford not only as a literary city, but also as a city deeply connected to reform, resistance, and social transformation. Their works forced me to see literature as something capable of influencing both individual consciousness and public life.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The workshop on Lydia Sigourney and Ann Plato deepened my understanding of how literature preserves voices across generations. Although the event took place inside our campus library, it felt as though I was walking directly through historical Hartford alongside my classmates. The archival materials spread across the tables no longer looked like fragile, pristine documents; instead, I began to see them as physical traces of people\u2019s lives. They were\u00a0contracts, handwritten letters\u00a0and records that pointed back to real decisions and lived experiences. The experience reinforced the idea that literature is not simply entertainment or academic study, but also a form of legacy.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Before the workshop, I had little knowledge of Lydia Sigourney and therefore no real impression of her work or her role in Hartford\u2019s literary history. Learning about her became a process of discovery rather than reevaluation. Seeing her archives, contracts, and personal materials for the first time made it clear that she was both a literary figure and a woman actively shaping her professional life within the constraints of her time. Her professional negotiations revealed someone who clearly understood her own value. In a society that restricted women to domestic roles, Sigourney insisted upon professional recognition and financial compensation for her work. That discovery changed the way I read her poetry because it revealed intentionality behind her public image. She was not merely passive or emotional; she was strategic.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Learning about Sigourney\u2019s connection to Augustus Washington also added another layer to my understanding of Hartford\u2019s literary and social history. Her decision to sit for a portrait by a Black photographer felt significant, especially during a period shaped by racial hierarchy and exclusion. Whether intentionally political or not, the photograph suggested a quiet challenge to social expectations by recognizing Washington\u2019s artistic legitimacy and professional skill.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n At the same time, the workshop revealed a deeply personal side of Sigourney through her\u00a0consolation\u00a0poetry. Knowing that she endured the deaths of several children transformed the emotional weight of poems such as \u201cDeath of an Infant.\u201d When Sigourney describes \u201cthe murmuring sound \/ With which the babe would claim its mother\u2019s ear\u201d (Sigourney), grief becomes lingering and inescapable. Yet she also frames loss through spiritual comfort, emphasizing the child\u2019s final \u201choly\u201d smile. Her poetry therefore acknowledges both suffering and emotional endurance. Rather than abstract sentimentality, her writing\u00a0emerged\u00a0from lived experience.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Ann Plato\u2019s presence within the workshop felt quieter but equally powerful. In many ways, the absence of extensive archival material surrounding her life emphasized the larger issue of whose histories are visibly preserved and whose gradually fade.\u00a0Despite these gaps, Plato\u2019s writing continues speaking clearly across time.\u00a0I was especially struck by the fact\u00a0that she published her work while still a teenager despite the racial and social barriers surrounding her. Her persistence reflected remarkable intellectual confidence.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Her poem \u201cThe Natives of America\u201d particularly stayed with me because of how dramatically its tone evolves. The poem begins with harmony and collective identity before shifting into displacement, violence, and grief. Plato allows readers to\u00a0witness\u00a0colonization emotionally rather than simply describing it historically. As I read the poem, I unexpectedly thought about the film Avatar because both works depict communities living in balance with their world before outside forces destroy that harmony. Although the comparison is modern, it helped me visualize the emotional devastation Plato conveys.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Reading Plato alongside Sigourney also revealed\u00a0important differences\u00a0in perspective. Sigourney often emphasizes the irony of Indigenous displacement while Native names\u00a0remain\u00a0attached to the land itself,\u00a0almost as\u00a0hollow memorials. Plato, however, focuses more directly on the emotional and human consequences of that displacement. Together, their works created a layered conversation\u00a0abou\u00a0t memory, colonization, and historical erasure. Hartford\u2019s literary history therefore became increasingly complex to me,\u00a0containing\u00a0not only celebration and preservation, but also critique and loss.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Wallace\u00a0Stevens\u2019 \u201cOf Hartford in a Purple Light\u201d continued echoing throughout the second half of the course as I\u00a0encountered\u00a0Hartford\u2019s darker histories. Stevens describes the city as \u201ca region full of\u00a0intonings\u201d (Stevens), a phrase that gradually became central to my understanding of Hartford itself. The city began to feel filled with hidden emotional layers beneath its quiet exterior. What once seemed empty now appeared saturated with voices, memories, and unresolved histories.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n This became especially clear during our exploration of the Hartford Circus Fire through the\u00a0play\u00a0<\/span>Circus Fire<\/span><\/i>\u00a0and the writings of Mary-Ann Tirone Smith. The tragedy transformed my\u00a0perception\u00a0of Hartford by showing how collective trauma can remain embedded within physical spaces long after public attention fades. I had traveled through Barbour Street many times without fully understanding why the area\u00a0always seemed to carry\u00a0a strange emotional heaviness. After learning about the fire, that feeling no longer seemed imagined, but connected to something historical that still quietly echoed through the neighborhood.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Several moments from\u00a0<\/span>Circus Fire<\/span><\/i>\u00a0remained haunting long after the performance ended. Mildred Cooke\u00a0witnessing\u00a0a child drown\u00a0earlier in\u00a0the day before later losing her own daughter in the fire created a devastating sense of inevitability. The repeated complaints about the oppressive heat also became deeply unsettling in retrospect, functioning\u00a0almost like\u00a0warnings preceding catastrophe.\u00a0Perhaps most\u00a0horrifying was the description of a\u00a0mother\u2019s fingers\u00a0remaining\u00a0attached to her child even after death. That image captured a bond that refused to separate even through unimaginable tragedy.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Another moment that stayed with me was the investigator\u2019s reflection after the convictions connected to the fire. Although he was praised for helping hold people accountable, he still felt no real sense of accomplishment. His reaction revealed that some tragedies cannot truly be resolved through punishment because nothing can restore what was lost. Hartford\u2019s history therefore began to feel less like a series of isolated events and more like emotional residue carried through generations.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n At the same time, Mary-Ann Tirone Smith\u2019s\u00a0<\/span>Girls of Tender Age<\/span><\/i>\u00a0presented Hartford through fragmented childhood memory rather than public spectacle. Smith reveals how trauma often exists indirectly through confusion, embarrassment, silence, and incomplete understanding. Her recollections of classmates mocking her autistic brother or her inability to fully understand certain experiences within her own household\u00a0demonstrate\u00a0how children absorb emotional realities they cannot yet explain.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When Smith writes, \u201cI feel myself choke up but I\u00a0don\u2019t\u00a0cry\u2026 I crush down the whimpering that tries to come out of my throat\u201d (Smith), she captures a quiet emotional restraint that feels painfully authentic. She also portrays childhood\u00a0misunderstanding\u00a0with subtle humor, such as when students wearing sweatshirts labeled \u201cHOOKER SCHOOL\u201d\u00a0fail to\u00a0understand why adults laugh at the name. These moments make her perspective feel deeply human because the reader often understands more than the child narrator herself.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Unlike the immediacy of\u00a0<\/span>Circus Fire<\/span><\/i>, Smith\u2019s writing portrays trauma as something quieter and more internalized. Even her nightmares reveal emotional tensions she cannot fully articulate. When she screams \u201cStop, stop!\u201d during the night, the reader senses fears extending beyond the specific incidents she consciously describes. This contrast between public tragedy and private emotional experience deepened my understanding of\u00a0how\u00a0\u00a0Hartford\u2019s\u00a0histories continue existing in both visible and invisible ways.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The tour of the former G. Fox Building further connected these literary experiences to Hartford\u2019s physical spaces. Walking through the building made history feel tangible rather than abstract. I found myself imagining the routines, conversations, and anxieties that once filled the store, especially on the day of the fire. At the same time, I also thought about the joyful moments Smith describes, such as riding the elevators with her brother.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Learning about G. Fox\u2019s\u00a0relatively progressive\u00a0hiring practices, where Black employees were hired in visible positions, revealed Hartford as a city simultaneously shaped by inequality and attempts at social progress. The store itself became symbolic of Hartford\u2019s complexity: modern yet historical, commercial yet personal, public yet deeply tied to private memory.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Jacques Lamarre\u2019s reflections also resonated with me personally. Hearing about Lamarre\u2019s journey from Rome to Hartford reminded me that life paths do not always unfold in straight or predictable ways. Like him, I find myself navigating uncertainty while slowly trying to discover where I fit, what matters to me, and what direction my own life may eventually take.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n This connection made Hartford feel less distant and more personal to me. The city was no longer simply a place I\u00a0observed\u00a0from the outside; it became a place where questions about identity, purpose, memory, and belonging could unfold.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Wallace Stevens\u00a0ultimately became\u00a0the writer who most fully transformed the way I viewed Hartford. Learning that Stevens was considered a \u201clate bloomer\u201d in poetry resonated with me because it challenged the idea that creativity belongs only to youth. His life suggested that personal growth and artistic discovery can\u00a0emerge\u00a0at any stage of life. Unlike many writers whose work focuses heavily on political conflict or social collapse, Stevens often directs attention toward ordinary experiences: walking through Elizabeth Park, drinking tea on\u00a0a cold day, or quietly\u00a0observing\u00a0the physical world. His poetry does not avoid complexity; rather, it challenges readers to think more carefully about what already surrounds them.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The introductions by Glen MacLeod helped guide my understanding of Stevens without limiting interpretation. I appreciated MacLeod\u2019s approach. Rather than offering fixed explanations, he poses questions that encourage reflection. Stevens\u2019 poetry often feels intentionally open-ended. In \u201cTea,\u201d for example, MacLeod emphasizes the personal tone of the poem, but what stood out most to me was its warmth. Stevens transforms something as ordinary as drinking tea into an imaginative retreat from the cold, allowing the mind to wander toward warmth and distant places.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The poem unexpectedly connected me to my own childhood memories of growing up on a tropical island. I loved watching rainstorms and imagining raindrops bouncing along the pavement like tiny people playing in the rain. When Stevens writes that \u201cthe leaves on the paths \/ Ran like rats\u201d (Stevens), I\u00a0immediately\u00a0returned\u00a0to those memories. His imagery allowed me to merge my past experiences with Hartford\u2019s colder environment. Living in Connecticut has often made me nostalgic for the warmth of home, especially during long winters and cold springs, so the poem\u2019s movement between\u00a0cold weather\u00a0and imagined warmth felt deeply familiar.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The exhibit\u00a0<\/span>Drawn Here: Stories from Hartford\u2019s North End<\/span><\/i>\u00a0similarly expanded my understanding of Hartford as a city shaped by overlapping histories and communities. The exhibit\u2019s focus on migration, resilience, and cultural diversity reminded me of Stevens\u2019\u00a0\u201cAnecdote of the Jar.\u201d In the poem, the jar becomes a focal point that transforms the surrounding wilderness simply through its presence. Likewise, the North End\u00a0emerged\u00a0through the exhibit as a defining cultural presence within Hartford itself.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When Stevens writes,<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThe wilderness rose up to it,<\/span> I began thinking about the historical evolution of Hartford\u2019s North End, from Indigenous land associated with the\u00a0Saukiog\u00a0and\u00a0Poquonocks\u00a0to a neighborhood shaped by generations of immigrants and working families. Despite hardships, including tragedies such as the Hartford Circus Fire and economic struggles over time, the North End continues standing with dignity and visibility. Like Stevens\u2019 jar, it \u201ctook dominion everywhere\u201d by asserting its presence within Hartford\u2019s broader cultural landscape.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Visiting Elizabeth Park while studying Stevens\u2019 poetry created one of the strongest intersections between the physical and textual aspects of the course. Walking through the park allowed me to imagine Stevens\u00a0observing\u00a0the same landscapes across changing seasons. His poems \u201cThe Plain Sense of Things\u201d and \u201cThe Snow Man\u201d became especially meaningful because they reflected my own experience\u00a0encountering\u00a0winter for the first time.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n In \u201cThe Plain Sense of Things,\u201d Stevens writes,<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAfter the leaves have fallen, we return<\/span> At first, I struggled to articulate why winter felt so visually striking once I experienced it firsthand. When the trees lost their leaves and snow covered the landscape, the environment around me changed in ways I had not\u00a0anticipated. Areas that had once been shaded or partially hidden suddenly became visible, and the brightness of the snow made everything feel exposed and unfamiliar. Stevens reflects on noticing that the greenhouse needed repair and that the chimney stood crooked within the winter landscape. For both Stevens and me, the world around us suddenly became visible in ways we had previously overlooked, especially during warmer seasons when foliage concealed imperfections.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As I reflected further on the poem, I realized that it extends beyond winter itself and explores the\u00a0imagination\u00a0confronting reality. \u201cThe Plain Sense of Things\u201d became a bridge connecting me to my changing\u00a0perception\u00a0of Hartford. I was beginning to see the city more directly, without the assumptions and expectations that had once shaped my judgment.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n This idea becomes even clearer in \u201cThe Snow Man.\u201d Stevens refuses to remain trapped within despair. The poem challenges readers to confront winter honestly rather than\u00a0resist\u00a0it emotionally. \u201cOne must have a mind of winter\u201d (Stevens), he writes, encouraging acceptance of reality as it exists rather than as we wish it to be.\u00a0I\u00a0then u\u00a0understood\u00a0that the wind blowing through winter trees is\u00a0ultimately the\u00a0same wind that moves through every other season. Winter itself was not attacking me; it simply existed. Stevens\u2019 poetry taught me to\u00a0observe\u00a0rather than\u00a0immediately\u00a0judge.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The final line of \u201cThe Snow Man\u201d particularly stayed with me:<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNothing that is not there and the nothing that is\u201d (Stevens).<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n At first, the line seemed abstract and difficult to grasp. Yet\u00a0reading it repeatedly,\u00a0I realized it connected directly to my experience of Hartford throughout the semester. When I first arrived in the city, I focused too heavily on what I thought was missing: crowds, noise, movement, excitement. I viewed Hartford through absence. Stevens gradually taught me to stop searching for what I expected the city to be and instead pay attention to what was\u00a0actually there. Once I did, Hartford slowly came into focus.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n By the end of the semester, Stevens\u2019 work had fundamentally reshaped my understanding of Hartford and of literature itself. When I first began this journey, I expected Hartford to reveal itself through dramatic landmarks or obvious excitement. Instead, Stevens taught me that meaning often exists within quiet observation and careful attention. Poetry does not always\u00a0require\u00a0grand historical events or spectacular scenery. Sometimes it simply asks us to look more carefully at the ordinary world before us.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As I reflect on the Hartford Literary Journey as a whole, I realize that adjusting my literary lens afforded me a multidimensional view of the city.\u00a0Through Hartford\u2019s writers, historical spaces, museums, performances, and archives, I learned that places contain emotional and historical layers invisible at first glance.\u00a0Hartford became a city of overlapping voices: Twain\u2019s humor, Sigourney\u2019s grief, Plato\u2019s resistance, Stowe\u2019s activism, Smith\u2019s fragmented memories, and Stevens\u2019 meditative reflections all continue echoing through its streets.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n What once appeared silent to me now feels layered with memory, creativity, grief, resilience, and historical presence. The journey\u00a0ultimately taught\u00a0me that cities are not understood through\u00a0spectacle\u00a0or movement alone, but through attention. Hartford itself did not change over the semester; rather, I learned how to see it differently.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n By the conclusion of the journey, I no longer saw Hartford as an empty city hiding from itself. Instead, I saw what Stevens described all along: \u201ca region full of\u00a0intonings\u201d (Stevens).<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Works Cited<\/span><\/b>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Gilman,\u00a0Charlotte Perkins. \u201cThe Yellow Wallpaper.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 18 Apr. 2026,\u00a0<\/span>https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=385<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hooker, Isabella Beecher. \u201cThe Constitutional Rights of the Women of the United States.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 18 Apr. 2026,\u00a0<\/span>https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=75<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n MacLeod, Glen. \u201cWallace Stevens (1879\u20131955): Giant of 20th Century Poetry.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 10 May 2026,\u00a0<\/span>https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?page_id=234<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Plato, Ann.\u00a0<\/span>Essays; Including Biographies and Miscellaneous Pieces, in Prose and Poetry<\/span><\/i>. Introduction by James W.C. Pennington, Printed for the Author, 1841.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Plato, Ann. \u201cThe Natives of America.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 26 Apr. 2026,\u00a0<\/span>https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=494<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Sigourney, Lydia Huntley. \u201cFall of the Charter Oak.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 5 Apr. 2026,\u00a0<\/span>https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Sigourney, Lydia. \u201cDeath of an Infant.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 26 Apr. 2026,\u00a0<\/span>https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=503<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Smith, Mary Ann Tirone. \u201cFrom Girls of Tender Age.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>Hartford Literary Project<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0accessed 2 May 2026,\u00a0<\/span>Exploring Twain, Sigourney, and Stevens at The Wadsworth<\/span><\/h6>\n
Twain and Warner at Hartford’s Nook Farm Neighborhood<\/span><\/h6>\n
More Nook Farm Neighbors: Stowe, Gilman, and Hooker<\/h6>\n
Watkinson Library Archives: Sigourney and Ann Plato<\/h6>\n
Hartford’s Circus Fire: Mary-Ann Tirone Smith and Jacques Lamarre<\/h6>\n
Elizabeth Park and CT Museum of Culture and History: Wallace Stevens<\/h6>\n
\nAnd sprawled around, no longer wild\u201d (Stevens),<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
\nTo a plain sense of things\u201d (Stevens).<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n