I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth, -- the two are one;
We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
Emily Dickinson |
2 comments:
As I said earlier, I have not been able to like or enjoy Emily Dickinson. I know the Gringos del Norte like her- 'such subtle thoughts in such simple rhymes'- as they say, but to me she sounds like Patience Strong when she did her serious work after a hard day making verses for Hallmark.
So, for contrast, here is, as I said, one of the hardest poems in English. Pour la petite histoire, the poet, Gerard Manley ('men, men, men, menly men' as is deeply inappropriate for him- look back to his name Kerridah-) Hopkins was a Catholic priest in 19 century. The Church forbade him to publish his poems. Because he had a serious conscience he went to work in Smethwick (that's pretty much the next borough to Chris Quarry's, and worse)
I cannot tell you what the poem MEANS. I could tell you a little bit about what the poem FEELS like. I find it easier to read when I don't think too much about the speech marks and when I remember that he was trying, in some ways, to reproduce Old English verse, which was alliterative rather than rhymed, and when I recall he was a heavy duty Christian
To what serves Mortal Beauty?
TO what serves mortal beauty ' -- dangerous; does set danc-
ing blood -- the O-seal-that-so ' feature, flung prouder form
Than Purcell tune lets tread to? ' See: it does this: keeps warm
Men's wits to the things that are; ' what good means -- where a glance
Master more may than gaze, ' gaze out of countenance.
Those lovely lads once, wet-fresh ' windfalls of war's storm,
How then should Gregory, a father, ' have gleanèd else from swarm-
ed Rome? But God to a nation ' dealt that day's dear chance.
To man, that needs would worship ' block or barren stone,
Our law says: Love what are ' love's worthiest, were all known;
World's loveliest -- men's selves. Self ' flashes off frame and face.
What do then? how meet beauty? ' Merely meet it; own,
Home at heart, heaven's sweet gift; ' then leave, let that alone.
Yea, wish that though, wish all, ' God's better beauty, grace.
As I said, it's pretty well incomprehensible. I've repunctuated it and left it some place easy for you to find. And I've put a couple of his comprehensible poems on my blog for you....
I like it tho I can't really say I understand more than about a quarter of it.
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