The Misty Woman (3 of 3)

30458174575_4d1c3a1450_zIn my first two postings on Thomas Hardy’s poem ‘The Voice’ about his dead wife Emma’s calling to him (The Misty Woman (1 of 3), The Misty Woman 2 of 3)) I attempted to described how a very close examination of the language structures reflected not only his intense longing, but the theme of the whole poem – a woman moving in and out of his consciousness.

What I want to do in this final posting is take another closer look at another aspect of the structure of the language throughout the remainder of the whole poem and examine how that contributes (albeit subconsciously) to the meaning. Continue reading “The Misty Woman (3 of 3)”

Are Your Kisses Grey?

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

On the Death of Summer

Day was a bright one,
A summer, a rain –
Your kiss was a grey one,
A dying, a pain:

And earth was unending,
A round one, a ball –
But love had its ending,
The finite – the gall

Of a life-time,
A season, a year,
Like the dawn of a day-time,
The dew, and the fear

Of a noon-tide,
The parchness, the sun:
And the end of a morning,
New season begun

With a day full of boding,
A sadness, a sense
Of deep yearning
To fly through the fence,

To run back to spring-time,
The past, the old-new,
And offer this day-time,
Your kiss and you –

To mature into summer,
The love, the rich wine,
To free raging stallions
From stables of time,

Where leaves rot to nothing,
Through copper, through browns,
And heap up the doorways,
– The tombstones , the mounds –

So none can escape,
Decaying, the dust.
And autumn is charging,
So eager to thrust

Your warmth into winter,
A cold wind, a bite.
Bright day is ending –
Black horses at night

Crash into locked doors
And die.