Poem of the Week

[Scheherazade]

A reminder:

* We will post a new poem every week to be discussed by our members.

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[Scheherazade]

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[Virgil]

OK, how about this from Tennyson for poem of the week.

Crossing the Bar
byAlfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

The poem is about death, his oncoming death. This may have been Tennyson's last poem he wrote, and I've always felt he was playing with two cultural ideaas. Forst the Viking funeral of placing the body of a great warrior on a boat and letting the boat float out to sea. The other being the ancient Greek notion of crossing the river in the underworld, sor to f the way Dante has Dante the character being ferried across. Looking over the poem now, i'm a little confused as to what he means by "the bar". Any ideas?

[JBI]

Hmm, I do not like this poem as much as I like his earlier work. For some reason, he seems to have gone a little too simple here, and relies purely on the flow of the language, and less on the meaning than he seems to have done in his earlier work.

Perhaps that is just an idiosyncratic preference, as I am quite young still, and perhaps cannot relate/appreciate this poem.

[kasie]

Virgil = my sea-faring husband once explained to me that the 'bar' was the entrance to a harbour: you have to wait for a high tide to clear the shallower water at the entrance to the harbour, the sea floor being raised to allow deeper water to remain in the harbour, either naturally or man-made. Reading the poem brought a lump to my throat - it was one of his favourites, he wasn't a religious man but he had faith, as I think most people who have been to sea have. He used to joke that he wanted a Viking send-off, being sent out to sea in flames - that isn't legal in UK, so we scattered his ashes over the sea at high tide from his favourite beach and sent him 'over the bar' that way.

[Scheherazade]

Thank you for posting poem, Virgil.

A sad one... Makes me wonder if the persona in the poem is trying to come to terms with his imminent death and still have a little control over it maybe?

At the end of the poem, there is a little comforting thought though: "...I hope to see my Pilot face to face/When I have crossed the bar."

Kasie> Thanks for explaining what "bar" is... I was wondering that too. And I'm truly sorry about your loss.

[Virgil]

Hmm, I do not like this poem as much as I like his earlier work. For some reason, he seems to have gone a little too simple here, and relies purely on the flow of the language, and less on the meaning than he seems to have done in his earlier work.

Perhaps that is just an idiosyncratic preference, as I am quite young still, and perhaps cannot relate/appreciate this poem.

Yes, you are quite young. When you finish with school you'll realize that what's preferred in the academic world isn't the same as what poets themselves appreciate. This is a fine poem. Just appreciate the internal rhymes and alliterative connections.

Virgil = my sea-faring husband once explained to me that the 'bar' was the entrance to a harbour: you have to wait for a high tide to clear the shallower water at the entrance to the harbour, the sea floor being raised to allow deeper water to remain in the harbour, either naturally or man-made. Reading the poem brought a lump to my throat - it was one of his favourites, he wasn't a religious man but he had faith, as I think most people who have been to sea have. He used to joke that he wanted a Viking send-off, being sent out to sea in flames - that isn't legal in UK, so we scattered his ashes over the sea at high tide from his favourite beach and sent him 'over the bar' that way.

Thank you Kasie. That explains it. Oh you speak of your husband in the past tense. Has he passed away?

[kasie]

Yes, he died four years ago, having been an increasingly disabled invalid for the last seven years of his life. I miss him but have good memories - he opened up a world of wonders to me that I never suspected existed.

[kilted exile]

In another of my Burn's moods currently. Picked up a complete copy of his works at the weekend, in my book this version does not contain the "O"s but the site version does. I think it is better without, they make it too songy and distract from the message:

I.

My father was a farmer
Upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me,
In decency and order, O;
He bade me act a manly part,
Though I had ne'er a farthing, O;
For without an honest manly heart,
No man was worth regarding, O.

II.

Then out into the world
My course I did determine, O;
Tho' to be rich was not my wish,
yet to be great was charming, O:
My talents they were not the worst,
Nor yet my education, O;
Resolv'd was I, at least to try,
To mend my situation, O.

III.

In many a way, and vain essay,
I courted fortune's favour, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between,
To frustrate each endeavour, O:
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd,
Sometimes by friends forsaken, O,
And when my hope was at the top,
I still was worst mistaken, O.

IV.

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last,
With fortune's vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams,
And came to this conclusion, O:
The past was bad, and the future hid;
Its good or ill untried, O;
But the present hour, was in my pow'r
And so I would enjoy it, O.

V.

No help, nor hope, nor view had I,
Nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat and broil,
And labour to sustain me, O:
To plough and sow, to reap and mow,
My father bred me early, O;
For one, he said, to labour bred,
Was a match for fortune fairly, O.

VI.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor,
Thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay,
In everlasting slumber, O.
No view nor care, but shun whate'er
Might breed me pain or sorrow, O:
I live to-day as well's I may,
Regardless of to-morrow, O.

VII.

But cheerful still, I am as well,
As a monarch in a palace, O,
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down,
With all her wonted malice, O:
I make indeed my daily bread,
But ne'er can make it farther, O;
But, as daily bread is all I need,
I do not much regard her, O.

VIII.

When sometimes by my labour
I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune
Comes gen'rally upon me, O:
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect,
Or my goodnatur'd folly, O;
But come what will, I've sworn it still,
I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.

IX.

All you who follow wealth and power,
With unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this you look for bliss,
You leave your view the farther, O:
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts,
Or nations to adorn you, O,
A cheerful honest-hearted clown
I will prefer before you, O.

[Scheherazade]

Nice poem, Kilted. Thanks for posting it.

Interesting reference to Potosi (didn't know what/where it was; had to look it up).

Also, what do you think he makes use of 'O'? What I find especially interesting is that it is a capital "O". Is it possible that it is short for a name? That the poem is addressed to someone in particular (someone whose initial is "O").

Just some random thoughts after initial reading.

[kilted exile]

Also, what do you think he makes use of 'O'? What I find especially interesting is that it is a capital "O". Is it possible that it is short for a name? That the poem is addressed to someone in particular (someone whose initial is "O").

I think he is using the O, very much like in his ballad "Green grow the rushes, O" the majority of Burns verse is ballad like and this one is as well with the "O" addition. As I say I think it distracts from the message.

[Scheherazade]

Don't know much about Burns, I am afraid

I agree with you, though; the poem flows much nicely without the "O".

[Scheherazade]

Here is a new poem (since it is copyright protected, I will provide a link to a site which has got the permission):

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212

It is "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop.

[kasie]

How strange - this poem turned up last night in a film I was watching - In Her Shoes - I don't remember it being in the book but I didn't read the book too closely not being much of a reader of ChickLit, nor much of a watcher either but I was too tired to switch it off and just lolled and watched it instead of going to bed.

In the film, the professor character got the (not-so-dim-but-mightily-mixed-up) dim chick character to say she thought the 'loss' was of a friend rather than of a lover but I've always read it as a lost lover. What do you think?

[Virgil]

I always seem to like poems by Elizabeth Bishop. This one, while it does flare out with any remarkable lines, is another good poem. I believe that's a villanelle. I really like this stanza:

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.