Poetry of Sadness

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A Forsaken Garden
Algernon Charles Swinburne

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee,
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses
The steep square slope of the blossomless bed
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses
Now lie dead.

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge of the long lone land.
If a step should sound or a word be spoken,
Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand?
So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless,
Through branches and briars if a man make way,
He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless
Night and day.

The dense hard passage is blind and stifled
That crawls by a track none turn to climb
To the strait waste place that the years have rifled
Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time.
The thorns he spares when the rose is taken;
The rocks are left when he wastes the plain.
The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken,
These remain.

Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not;
As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry;
From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not,
Could she call, there were never a rose to reply.
Over the meadows that blossom and wither
Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song;
Only the sun and the rain come hither
All year long.

The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels
One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath.
Only the wind here hovers and revels
In a round where life seems barren as death.
Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping,
Haply, of lovers none ever will know,
Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping
Years ago.

Heart handfast in heart as they stood, "Look thither,"
Did he whisper? "look forth from the flowers to the sea;
For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither,
And men that love lightly may die---but we?"
And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened,
And or ever the garden's last petals were shed,
In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened,
Love was dead.

Or they loved their life through, and then went whither?
And were one to the end--but what end who knows?
Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither,
As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose.
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them ?
What love was ever as deep as a grave ?
They are loveless now as the grass above them
Or the wave.

All are at one now, roses and lovers,
Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea.
Not a breath of the time that has been hovers
In the air now soft with a summer to be.
Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter
Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep,
When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter
We shall sleep.

Here death may deal not again for ever;
Here change may come not till all change end.
From the graves they have made they shall rise up never,
Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.
Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing,
While the sun and the rain live, these shall be;
Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing
Roll the sea.

Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,
Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,
Here now in his triumph where all things falter,
Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,
Death lies dead.

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I feel for you Jackie, and it is so nice to see you back here I am pretty sure the garden is a metaphor for lost love....I like this one from Donne:

AIR AND ANGELS.
by John Donne


TWICE or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name ;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be.
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too ;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid Love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
And so more steadily to have gone,
With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught ;
Thy every hair for love to work upon
Is much too much ; some fitter must be sought ;
For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scattering bright, can love inhere ;
Then as an angel face and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,
So thy love may be my love's sphere ;
Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air's and angels' purity,
'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.

Ah, Jackie. I love the nom de plume darksylph almost as much as I love the poetry by both you and Cav. Here's one that I would like to add:

Tea and Sympathy
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
--William Cowper

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jackie, Donne is never easy....what is most important is what it means to you. As for dissection of Donne, the scholars are still arguing today about what he "meant" and he wrote in the 1500s!

I have always liked Christina Rossetti:

A Daughter of Eve

A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.
My garden-plot I have not kept;
Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It's winter now I waken.
Talk what you please of future spring
And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow:--
Stripp'd bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow.

This Lou Reed piece, sung by Maureen Tucker on The Velvet Underground album, is one of the most hauntingly upbeat tunes ever written about suicide:

After Hours

If you close the door, the night could last forever
Keep the sunshine out and say hello to never
All the people are dancing and they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again.

If you close the door, the night could last forever,
Leave the wineglass out and drink a toast to never
Oh, someday I know someone will look into my eyes
And say hello -- you're my very special one--
But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again.

Dark cloudy bars
Shiny Cadillac cars
And the people on subways and trains
Looking gray in the rain as they stand disarrayed
All the people look well in the dark
And if you close the door, the night could last forever.
Leave the sunshine out and say hello to never
All the people are dancing and they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
'Cause if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again.
I'd never have to see the day again.
(once more)
I'd never have to see the day again.

why did you go
little fourpaws?
you forgot to shut
your big eyes.

where did you go?
like little kittens
are all the leaves
which open in the rain.

little kittens who
are called spring,
is what we stroke
maybe asleep?

do you know? or maybe did
something go away
ever so quietly
when we weren't looking.

- E.E. Cummings

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Here Jackie, are three by Edna St. Vincent Millay... all poignant, all full of sadness and the ways she dealt with it. They'll nearly break your heart. (Are you sure you want this?) I'm sorry you're so sad but sometimes poetry helps. At least it lets you know that you are not alone.

SORROW

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.

People twist and scream in pain, --
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.



ASHES OF LIFE

Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will, -- and would that night were here!
But ah! -- to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again! -- with twilight near!

Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through, --
There's little use in anything as far as I can see.

Love has gone and left me, -- and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, --
And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
There's this little street and this little house.



KIN TO SORROW

Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door --
Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow's hand?
Marigolds around the step
And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow --
And what does Sorrow care
For the rosemary
Or the marigolds there?
Am I kin to Sorrow?
Are we kin?
That so oft upon my door --
*Oh, come in*!


(note: In the plant lexicon & what flowers "mean," Rosemary means remembrance and Marigolds are the flowers for Mexico's Day of the Dead)

(I love your avatar, please do not ever change it... reminds me of what my mind plays out as a child's guardian angel- probably some picture or poetry I read somewhere).

You're welcome! Thanks for liking my Avatar -- I've looked around for others but not too seriously. I am very fond of Mac11's avatar, guess I like those painterly types. I think mine might be from a Rembrandt sketch. Your new one is lovely, is it Marilyn Monroe?

About the ESVM poems, it is the last one, Kin to Sorrow, that I like so well. I love the way it ends.

I hope you're listening to Blues... nothing like a little commiseration. Here's a blues song that used to cheer me up, at least as sung by Taj Mahal.


Cakewalk Into Town
Taj Mahal

I had the blues, so bad one time
It put my face in a permanent frown
You know I'm feeling so much better,
I could cakewalk into town

I woke up this mornin' feelin' so good
You know, I laid back down again
Throw your big leg over me mama
I might not feel this good again

My baby, oh my baby
I love the way she walks
When the girl gets sleepy
I love the way she baby-talks

My work is getting scarce, oh baby,
My work it done got hard,
I spend my whole day stealin' chickens
Honey from the rich folks yard

I got the blues so bad one time
t put my face in a permanent frown
You know I'm feeling so much better
I can cakewalk into town

I would love to take a picnic in the country
And stay all day
I don't care 'bout doin' nothing
Just while my time away

I got the blues so bad one time
It put my face in a permanent frown
You know I'm feelin' so much better
I can cakewalk into town.

There is a fallen state, to which some have come- and I venture to say, I understand them- because they were VERY occupied ---
then, bit by bit they were edged out by many things. New voices, loss of old jobs, death of some past, styles that change, or people that are intent on their destruction.
It doesn't REALLY matter the cause, only the tiny contributions remain.
As in: from time to time, they are the brightness of a moment- to someone.
That has to be enough, while waiting to cease...

Dear Jackie,
I understand a little of how you feel. The first time someone close to me died, I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe the world kept going on while I was in that terrible state of sadness and grief. How could anyone else be laughing, or smiling or enjoying themselves? Why were they going on vacation? How could the birds sing? Why was the sun shining? I felt it should be pouring down rain and everything should just stop. For myself, I didn't want to move, or hear anything, or do anything, even talk. I've since had two other close family members die. I'm sorry to say, it doesn't get easier with practice.

I'm sure you know this poem. It is a beautiful thing.

Love,
Piffka

Stop The Clocks, Cut Off The Telephone

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message "He is Dead",
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come of any good.

W. H. Auden

Hi all...just found this thread...I'll be back.

#561

"I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes-
I wonder if it weighs like Mine-
Or has an Easier size.

I wonder if They bore it long-
Or did it just begin-
I could not tell the Date of Mine-
It feels so old a pain-

I wonder if it hurts to live-
And if They have to try-
And whether-could They choose between-
It would not be-to die-

I note that Some-gone patient long-
At length, renew their smile-
An imitation of a Light
That has so little oil-

I wonder if when years have piled-
Some thousands-on the harm-
That hurt them early-such a lapse
Could give them any Balm-

Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve-
Enlightened to a larger Pain-
In Contrast with the Love-

The Grieved-are many-I am told-
There is the various Cause-
Death-is but one-and comes but once-
And only nails the eyes-

There's Grief of Want-and Grief of Cold-
A sort they call"Despair"-
There's Banishment from native Eyes-
In sight of Native Air-

And though I may not guess the kind-
Correctly-yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary-

To note the fashions of the Cross-
And how they're mostly worn-
Still fascinated to presume
That Some-are like My Own"
-Emily Dickinson

Meh, back to lyrics, and Elvis Costello, but here goes:

THE FIRST TO LEAVE

I should open with a kiss
For if you're reading this
You must have opened up your case
And found this letter where I placed it
In between the silk and lace
There were other clues, like your walking shoes
But I still refused to believe
That you were meant to be the first to leave

Everybody here sends you their love
How can I forget you still walk above
Or
below
Perhaps you'll never know this purgatory
We never could agree
There's a thought, there's a pause
No time to repent
Eternally yours
In a permanent lent

But if I should give you up
If you're right and life just stops
And I never see your face again
Then from unearthly pleasures, proud and plain
I shall abstain

Until you realise, my loss is your surprise
Unless you know otherwise
Then don't grieve
You see I had to be the first to leave