break, break, break

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

the poet T.S Eliot once wrote that poetry is about enticing the 'aural imagination'. Sometimes poetry can conjure images in your head, sometimes you can see two lovers entwined in front of you, the story unfolding like a film. But sometimes with some poets you don't see the action as much as you hear it. This is certainly the case with Tennyson. There is a lyrical beauty to his poetry that is, quite simply, stunning. The words pour out from the page and into your ears, and you don't see the waves crashing against the rocks and crags of the coast, you hear them, that booming power, the overwhelming anger of the action. 

This poem is so  beautiful in its articulation of overwhelming despair. How often have we been so sad, no, for it is more than just sad, so distraught that we think we cannot express ourselves. And then the weather around us seems to be mirroring out inner psyche, like that al green song 'aint no sunshine when she's gone'. I remember when i broke up with my first long term boyfriend it seemed like all it did was rain. It didn't help that the break up happened in July, but you know. Of course it was raining because i was sad and the world just came together to mourn a broken heart with me. 

I know it seems like i always post sad poems, and yes they do seem to be the overriding theme. And it can be a little depressing to only read sad poetry. But here's the thing - i find that there is a subtlety to poetry written about sadness, to poetry that explores the depths of despair. While i do love poetry that is exuberant and enthusiastic, brimming with excitement about, oh, daffodils or something, i find that reading too much of that can be exhausting. There is something so quiet and unassuming in a poetry about sadness. And grief is a uniting, common thread. While we don't all agree that daffodils are the most lovely of flowers we have all been sad before. 

'O for the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still.' 

I love this line. Though i cannot see the friend that has passed away, or see his hand, i can hear the stillness of his voice. That's the power of the aural imagination, you don't see it you hear it. A still voice. I love that thought. It's so simple and so perfect. It conjures up these ideas of calmness and serenity. I'd like to think that i have a still voice. 

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