Standing tall, smiling, waving, joyous for what was, and no longer will be, is the work of a politician and their spouse. To do so stolidly is a work of art and graciousness that few achieve in its fullness. For all that, she stands and waves, plays the part, while the show goes on.
Earlier this year, I finished reading Hardy's Collected poems, and yet, what you say about always discovering something you had missed is true of me too. It is not just that he wrote a lot of verse, but how much of what he wrote is distinguished. What struck me in this poem is also how he uses phrases and even metaphors, which could very well be cliches (and with alliteration to boot), but don't at all sound stale.
"Balcony" interests me. It has almost a Romeo-and-Juliet vibe, I think, almost, connecting with the sorrowful-romantic pen-portrait, the beautiful woman waving goodbye because (the implication is) the boorish electorate have foolishly dismissed her husband, and therefore her -- the husband doesn't matter, but this lovely woman, with her elegant white-gloved hand, does. Nowadays we would say "hustings", but that's actually a really ancient English term, older than "balcony" (which comes from the Italian in the late Renaissance): it is, in Old English, equivalent to "house + thing". But this poem isn't really about the "house" (or the House, of Commons) but of some romantic balcony encounter.
I'm also a little puzzled by the last two lines. The wave of the hand, mentioned earlier in the poem, is a gesture, a movement of a hand through space; but "[a wave] of chestnut hair" refers to the *shape* of hair, its cut and curliness. Perhaps the last line is only referencing the hair, for its handsomeness, rather than carrying on the reference to "wave" in the previous line, but I don't know. The end of the poem seems to pair the stoic wave of the lady's hand, and the beauty of the title-character's wavy hair, and that's strange. Or am I over-reading this?
On "balcony," I hadn't thought of the clever implication of the Romance word (some late-18th-century class-distinction in how it is to be pronounced, as I recall) — although it would be interesting to learn what around 1906 the locals called that construction on the county hall, which Hardy would have known well.
On the last two lines, however, I think you may be over-reading, Adam. The duplicated "that" — "With *that* wave of her white-gloved hand, / And *that* chestnut hair" — breaks the hair grammatically from the wave and connects it back to the "With," doesn't it?
Standing tall, smiling, waving, joyous for what was, and no longer will be, is the work of a politician and their spouse. To do so stolidly is a work of art and graciousness that few achieve in its fullness. For all that, she stands and waves, plays the part, while the show goes on.
A wonderful piece and apt for the time.
Earlier this year, I finished reading Hardy's Collected poems, and yet, what you say about always discovering something you had missed is true of me too. It is not just that he wrote a lot of verse, but how much of what he wrote is distinguished. What struck me in this poem is also how he uses phrases and even metaphors, which could very well be cliches (and with alliteration to boot), but don't at all sound stale.
at the roar
As of surging sea
And the throng in the street will thrill
stand
In the sunshine there,
"Balcony" interests me. It has almost a Romeo-and-Juliet vibe, I think, almost, connecting with the sorrowful-romantic pen-portrait, the beautiful woman waving goodbye because (the implication is) the boorish electorate have foolishly dismissed her husband, and therefore her -- the husband doesn't matter, but this lovely woman, with her elegant white-gloved hand, does. Nowadays we would say "hustings", but that's actually a really ancient English term, older than "balcony" (which comes from the Italian in the late Renaissance): it is, in Old English, equivalent to "house + thing". But this poem isn't really about the "house" (or the House, of Commons) but of some romantic balcony encounter.
I'm also a little puzzled by the last two lines. The wave of the hand, mentioned earlier in the poem, is a gesture, a movement of a hand through space; but "[a wave] of chestnut hair" refers to the *shape* of hair, its cut and curliness. Perhaps the last line is only referencing the hair, for its handsomeness, rather than carrying on the reference to "wave" in the previous line, but I don't know. The end of the poem seems to pair the stoic wave of the lady's hand, and the beauty of the title-character's wavy hair, and that's strange. Or am I over-reading this?
On "balcony," I hadn't thought of the clever implication of the Romance word (some late-18th-century class-distinction in how it is to be pronounced, as I recall) — although it would be interesting to learn what around 1906 the locals called that construction on the county hall, which Hardy would have known well.
On the last two lines, however, I think you may be over-reading, Adam. The duplicated "that" — "With *that* wave of her white-gloved hand, / And *that* chestnut hair" — breaks the hair grammatically from the wave and connects it back to the "With," doesn't it?
Yes, I think you're right: I'm overreading there.
In the noise and surging of the poem's characters and scenes, Hardy gives us quiet, poise and grace all in a gesture.