Larkin is not likely to be called aRomantic poet or even a Transcendental poet. I don't care for the anti-romantic poetry Larkin embraces. It is simply too cold, too hopeless and dreary. I believe that he does manage to bring a wisp of transcendent fragrance to the two poems that I have chosen. "Coming" and "An Arundel Tomb" are very different stylistically; however, each poem reveals a soft spot in Larkin's heart. You will find that Larkin has invoked Nature to bring about a childlike happiness in "Coming." He chose free verse for "Coming" and completes his poem in three sentences of different lengths that require close attention to punctuation to fully understand the description of the singing thrush and its location. On the other hand, "An Arundel Tomb" has an unusual rhyme scheme of A,B,B,C,A,C throughout the seven stanzas, giving it a more formal presentation. While "Coming" is a shorter poem with a simple theme, "Tomb" deals with loyalty and love. In both poems, Larkin reveals a desire to express a sentimental mood, even though in "Tomb" he has his cynical moments as well.
For the Transcendental writers, Nature was seen as the gateway to God. Man need only to immerse his attention in the works of Nature, the cycles of the seasons, the manifestation of life quite literally in its basic forms to achieve a heightened sense of awareness of the spiritual axioms upon which life existed. In "Coming" Larkin heralds the coming of Spring by way of a singing thrush surrounded by laurel (the sacred plant of poets) in a bare garden. The house nearby, having been personified earlier as having a forehead, now has its bricks "astonished" by the voice of the bird. Everything is alive! By repeating the line "It will be spring soon" we hear a chant that is almost child-like with excitement. Though he incorporates his own childhood described with such apathetic detail as "a forgotten boredom," he conveys the sense of wonder a child might have at an "adult reconciliation." Clearly Larkin cannot help himself as he interjects the grown-up world and something that is unfathomable by a child, but he delivers a sensational line regarding the unusual laughter that we can almost hear, and the realization that he starts to be happy. Simply put in three words: Nature evokes happiness.
Now we shift gears as we are taken to the Arundel Castle to observe the centuries-old stone carving of an earl and his countess lying together. Larkin painstakingly details for us their attire, as well as the fact that little dogs are under their feet: this is a symbolism of loyalty even though he describes it in a mocking tone. Next we are informed that the earl's hand is not in the left-hand gauntlet, but surprisingly enough, it is holding the hand of his countess. Note the alliteration Larkin uses in these two lines: "and/ One sees, with a sharp tender shock,/ His hand withdrawn, holding her hand." Why is the viewer shocked at this sight? Is there some custom being broken here that a Brit would respond in such a manner? I wouldn't know. Is Larkin's cynical attitude towards relationships threatened here? What is he saying about love? Notice how he juxtaposes "sharp" and "tender." Several stanzas of the poem recount what the statuary has endured through the years: onlookers, snow, birdcalls, and more onlookers. The last stanza, preceded by the line "Only an attitude remains:/" culminates in an interesting conclusion. First he declares that "Time has transfigured them into/ Untruth." Okay, this coming from a misanthropic poet could mean anything. He continues, "The stone fidelity/ They hardly meant has come to be/ their final blazon/." Larkin has taken great privilege here aspiring to tell us their commitment was "hardly meant." And yet he goes on to finish the poem ". . . and to prove/ Our almost-instinct almost true:/ What will survive of us is love." What an ending! By using the word "almost," and even repeating it, we sense that yearning Larkin seems to have toward what is sacred. He has immortalized love, and he has also immortalized the earl and the countess by writing a poem about them. This tomb and the castle where it is located is very rich in the history of Great Britain. Larkin has esteemed it by writing a very sophisticated poem in memory of it.
A sight to post my thoughts and respond to posed questions re: poetry read in Watson's senior seminar class.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Time, Tulips, and two Fists
"February" by James Schuyler was published in 1969 in his collection Freely Espousing. Gazing out the window (. . . wasn't he always?) he registers with paper and pen "A chimney, breathing a little smoke." Presumably he is in New York City, as his later reference to seeing a woman at the window leads me to believe he is, and with personification he brings a stack of bricks to life. The City is Alive. His attention is drawn to the late afternoon sky, in particular, the pink afterglow of sunset on the blue sky made by the sun "I cannot see." Using repetition, he writes of the pink "I can't quite see." Why does he point out this inability to see? Perhaps Schuyler's insecurities are up a bit at this time; maybe he is feeling impaired, inadequate, cut off from reality. It's February and in line six, using a very O'Hara-like style, he records the time and date: "at five P.M. on the day before March first." Now his focus is on the five tulips standing in a glass of water on his desk, and more importantly, the green of the stems and leaves "like something I can't remember," a similar repetition of inability only this time it is memory failure. And then he takes us back in time to December, a time when he was by the sea looking at temples when he notices a green wave that is movingin a violet sea . This poetry is full of colors! Striking colors! He references a violet sky. We are pointed to the sky again. The sound of trucks brings him back to the present; he describes them going over a hill on Second Avenue "into the sky." How grounded is he in his present condition one might ask. But then the cement of the poem is poured by the following lines: "I can't get over / how it all works together / like a woman who just came to her window /and stands there filling it / jogging her baby in her arms." What seems to be disjointed imagery, thoughts and memories is brought together by this "how it all works together". After all, it is just life. It is being here Now, in the Moment. "I can see the little fists" Schuyler relates to these little balled up hands. He can see them unlike the images in the beginning of the poem. The baby beyond his window is alive like the pink tulips in his room, like the heart beating in the poet as he pens his observations.
The night is falling. Schuyler closes with a list. It's the this, it's the that. He ends his poem with "It's a day like any other." Pure Schuylerean. It is the ordinary. He makes it beautiful and worthwhile.
The night is falling. Schuyler closes with a list. It's the this, it's the that. He ends his poem with "It's a day like any other." Pure Schuylerean. It is the ordinary. He makes it beautiful and worthwhile.
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