Dark Muse
01-11-2008, 04:30 PM
I am having a bit of difficulty understanding this poem, by the titile of it, and particuarly the first few lines as well as the last, I thought it might have been about the difficulties of a poet to sometiems express what they feel of communivate upon page what is within thier minds, but what is curse that breaths through nature?
I know that a lot of her poems that I have read seemed to be very relgious, so with the imagery of talking about a curse of nature, and the wind exposting deformed trees, I wondered if it was not realted to the Christian ideas of Man vs. Nature, or Man being opposed to nature, and Nature being sort of omminousent pressence that needs to be repressed and controled.
Insufficiency
When I attain to utter forth in verse
Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly
Along my pulses, yearning to be free
And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse
To the individual, true, and the universe,
In consummation of right harmony:
But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree,
We are blown against for ever by the curse
Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak!
The effluence of each is false to all,
And what we best conceive we fail to speak.
Wait, soul, until thine ashen garments fall,
And then resume thy broken strains, and seek
Fit peroration without let or thrall
I know that a lot of her poems that I have read seemed to be very relgious, so with the imagery of talking about a curse of nature, and the wind exposting deformed trees, I wondered if it was not realted to the Christian ideas of Man vs. Nature, or Man being opposed to nature, and Nature being sort of omminousent pressence that needs to be repressed and controled.
Insufficiency
When I attain to utter forth in verse
Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly
Along my pulses, yearning to be free
And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse
To the individual, true, and the universe,
In consummation of right harmony:
But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree,
We are blown against for ever by the curse
Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak!
The effluence of each is false to all,
And what we best conceive we fail to speak.
Wait, soul, until thine ashen garments fall,
And then resume thy broken strains, and seek
Fit peroration without let or thrall