The first poem is from my beloved Edward Arlington Robinson, the tragic figure of American poetry and winner of three Pulitzers for his work. I posted two of Robinson's poems last year ("Miniver Cheevy" and "The Dead Village"). This is the only one of his that I'm posting this year, but I urge you to check out his other poems. "Richard Cory" is particularly haunting and "Aunt Imogen" absolutely breaks my heart (perhaps because I can see it as a possible future for myself). I suppose what I like best about Robinson's poetry is the sense of being on the outside looking in, a feeling I'm quite familiar with. I don't say that to paint myself as some sort of similarly tragic figure, because I'm not and I don't feel like I am. But in being a hearing-impaired person in a hearing world, I do experience a feeling of being separate from the people around me in a lot of ways, and so I understand that feeling of separateness that permeates a lot of Robinson's poems.
Anyhoo. Today's poem is quite short and simple and full of visual imagery of "endings'--sunset, death, final days.....In spite of how brief it is, it has a powerful impact for me. It also reminds me quite strongly of the poetry of J. R. R. Tolkien, both in tone and imagery. Maybe I just feel that way because I watched part of The Return of the King on TV last night and therefore have The Lord of the Rings on the brain, I don't know. But I thought I'd pair Robinson's poem with one of Tolkien's that looks at the end of things in a different way.
I don't think I need to talk about Tolkien at all, do I? He's awesome. 'Nuff said.
by E. A. Robinson
Dark hills at evening in the west,
Where sunset hovers like a sound
Of golden horns that sang to rest
Old bones of warriors under ground,
Far now from all the bannered ways
Where flash the legions of the sun,
You fade--as if the last of days
Were fading, and all wars were done.
by J. R. R. Tolkien
In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night,
And swaying branches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
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