The dual lines of "if though wilt" and "haply I may", provide such a sense of freedom, permission, of what will be will be, and I on the opposite side will see. Neither remembering or forgetting, what was or will be.
That's a good observation --- there is that kind of give-and-take there, and permission, and openness. It's really a generous-hearted poem, and a courageous one.
Thank you for posting this poem and the commentary - and the paintings by her brother - great to see the nineteen year old shining through! I do sense hope (or the hope to hope) against the loneliness of the grave in the poem, esp. in "Be the green grass above me..." but I am always looking for those little sparks and sometimes find them in spite of the poet's intention.
That line about grass is really strange, when you think about it. Is it an imperative, just telling him to imagine himself as no more important to her than the insensible grass, wet with the rain which is not tears, but just natural and uninvested with feeling? Green is hopeful, you're right, so it's not like the world is going to go dark altogether. But will she see that green? It is the world going on, but will she have any consciousness of it (and would it be more or less painful if she did)?
Or is it more like a subjective: "Let the grass be green above me," and let that be enough?
I don't know what she intended! But it's an odd line, that really could point in multiple directions at once.
Yes, very strange line! I took it as an imperative, parallel to "Plant no..." and "Sing no..." and saw it as more hopeful than those commands because instead of negating an action, she is telling him, "Be..." and perhaps "to be" the grass dripping with showers and dew is her wanting some tears to be shed. But as I said, I fear the loss of heaven and the pain of hell (for the poet and by extension myself) so much that I am likely reading too much hope into her bleak vision. :(
Ordinarily--though my tiny sample of poems defining the ordinary were written after this one, probably--ordinarily the green of the grass represents the dead who live on in the natural world. As Hardy says in "Transformations" (a lovely poem!), "A ruddy human life / Now turned to a green shoot."
Without really thinking about it, I understood the line to mean, as our gentle host indicates, "Let the grass be green above me." Thanks to you both for suggesting other, more interesting possibilities.
I first came across this poem in a performance by the Kruger Brothers, originally from Switzerland (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU8wEXg5TbU). The album notes don't identify the author, but I found it easily enough online. (I don't know who composed the music.) The singer, Uwe, adds "sweetheart" to the last two lines of the second stanza, and in the last line he pronounces "haply" as "happily," an error that most contemporary readers share, though it certainly changes the meaning of the poem. I was saved by having first encountered Hardy's "Hap." I like the poem and the analysis.
The poet whose work often stirs in me the impulse to parody is Mary Oliver. But I try to repress it, since it descends to burlesque.
That's amazing! I love this treatment. How wild that this Victorian poem lends itself so perfectly to the folky mountain-music sound. And I see why they changed "haply" --- they kind of need the extra syllable, even if it does alter the meaning, like a lot.
Now I'm going to track down all their music. And see if I can talk my husband into going to Mills River August 16 . . . https://www.krugerbrothers.com/tour
Wow, so fun, thanks for posting this, I wouldn't have expected Carolina folk musicians to so successfully use as lyrics the poem of a restrained Victorian spinster. (I happily forgive the change from "haply"..)
She is said to have been a devout Anglo-Catholic Anglican. "In the bleak midwinter," set by Holst, is no. 112 in the 1982 Hymnal.
The dual lines of "if though wilt" and "haply I may", provide such a sense of freedom, permission, of what will be will be, and I on the opposite side will see. Neither remembering or forgetting, what was or will be.
That's a good observation --- there is that kind of give-and-take there, and permission, and openness. It's really a generous-hearted poem, and a courageous one.
Thank you for posting this poem and the commentary - and the paintings by her brother - great to see the nineteen year old shining through! I do sense hope (or the hope to hope) against the loneliness of the grave in the poem, esp. in "Be the green grass above me..." but I am always looking for those little sparks and sometimes find them in spite of the poet's intention.
That line about grass is really strange, when you think about it. Is it an imperative, just telling him to imagine himself as no more important to her than the insensible grass, wet with the rain which is not tears, but just natural and uninvested with feeling? Green is hopeful, you're right, so it's not like the world is going to go dark altogether. But will she see that green? It is the world going on, but will she have any consciousness of it (and would it be more or less painful if she did)?
Or is it more like a subjective: "Let the grass be green above me," and let that be enough?
I don't know what she intended! But it's an odd line, that really could point in multiple directions at once.
Yes, very strange line! I took it as an imperative, parallel to "Plant no..." and "Sing no..." and saw it as more hopeful than those commands because instead of negating an action, she is telling him, "Be..." and perhaps "to be" the grass dripping with showers and dew is her wanting some tears to be shed. But as I said, I fear the loss of heaven and the pain of hell (for the poet and by extension myself) so much that I am likely reading too much hope into her bleak vision. :(
Ordinarily--though my tiny sample of poems defining the ordinary were written after this one, probably--ordinarily the green of the grass represents the dead who live on in the natural world. As Hardy says in "Transformations" (a lovely poem!), "A ruddy human life / Now turned to a green shoot."
Without really thinking about it, I understood the line to mean, as our gentle host indicates, "Let the grass be green above me." Thanks to you both for suggesting other, more interesting possibilities.
I really appreciate the content of this Substack in general. This analysis and context is outstanding!
Thank you for reading and commenting!
I first came across this poem in a performance by the Kruger Brothers, originally from Switzerland (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU8wEXg5TbU). The album notes don't identify the author, but I found it easily enough online. (I don't know who composed the music.) The singer, Uwe, adds "sweetheart" to the last two lines of the second stanza, and in the last line he pronounces "haply" as "happily," an error that most contemporary readers share, though it certainly changes the meaning of the poem. I was saved by having first encountered Hardy's "Hap." I like the poem and the analysis.
The poet whose work often stirs in me the impulse to parody is Mary Oliver. But I try to repress it, since it descends to burlesque.
That's amazing! I love this treatment. How wild that this Victorian poem lends itself so perfectly to the folky mountain-music sound. And I see why they changed "haply" --- they kind of need the extra syllable, even if it does alter the meaning, like a lot.
Now I'm going to track down all their music. And see if I can talk my husband into going to Mills River August 16 . . . https://www.krugerbrothers.com/tour
Wow, so fun, thanks for posting this, I wouldn't have expected Carolina folk musicians to so successfully use as lyrics the poem of a restrained Victorian spinster. (I happily forgive the change from "haply"..)