SOUNDING THE MUSIC—HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

By M. Kelly Lombardi

There is a tone in Longfellow that resonates with a kind of melancholy or deep sadness; this is present in a low-key way in most of his poetry (also sea images). I believe, very strongly, that our writing is influenced by our geographical location, and, after all, Longfellow was a sea person. I know few sea people who don’t have this tinge of melancholy in their makeup.

Born and brought up in Portland, Maine, close to the edge of the sea, he was influenced by it. We hear the bells in “Curfew” and the mournful tones of “solemnly, mournfully, dole, toll,” all of which sound like a death knell. (Bells by the sea, and on the sea, have a totally different sound than land-based bells; the resonance of the sea bells is much deeper, more somber and sonorous and
solemn.) Even the pacing, the rhythm, of “Curfew” in the four simple quatrains have a sea sound, and we hear it more blatantly in the language “sinks into silence of” in the seventh quatrain reinforces it. Unfortunately, I can’t place exactly what year the poem was written; it would be helpful to do so in relating the work to the events that were going on in his life at that time.

In “The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls,” he writes about all the things that happens around the action of the tides. In many ways, the rhythm is not only of the sea, but there is also a sensual quality about the poem with its washing in/washing out movement. I like the remaking of the hexameter line that starts the poem into
the heptameter form at the closing of the stanzas. Oddly enough, the poem’s physical structure on the page reflects the five-sound action of waves. There is always the short wave, three longer waves, and then a shorter wave in a wave sequence.

One of the puzzlements of the poem is the role of the traveler. In the first stanza, the traveler hastens (from a passenger ship?) toward the town as night approaches. In the morning, with the return of the day, we hear the noise of horses’ hooves (a land conveyance, a funeral caisson?), but the traveler “nevermore returns to the shore”…and the tides go on. What happened to the traveler? Who was the traveler? Is this poem a poem about death losses? Twice, Longfellow was widowed, and information about his life tells us that other than his wife (s), his family, and his career, he had no other interests. The tone in this poem while mournful and melancholic is accepting. This is so well stated in the lovely lines “The little waves with their soft white hands, Efface the footprints in the sand.” (Efface is exactly the right word here, with its soft sibilance.) And, then, the tender acceptance of
the line “And the tide rises, the tide falls.” He uses the metaphor of the tides, so gently, to describe death and loss. (As a teacher, I am rethinking Longfellow’s role in the evolution of poetry.)

In “Possibilities” we get the sea images again and the same kind of quiet sadness, of loss, of longing. I asked myself, what is going on in “Possibilities”? Is Longfellow mourning some downturn, some shift in poetry he sees coming? This period of time was supposedly “the flowering of New England.” The first four lines sound critical to my ear with its long question in this typical Italian sonnet form…abba/abba/cde/cde…and Longfellow is superb in the practice of this form. He does it effortlessly and one has to really examine his poetry to pick it up…his sonnet technique just flows.

The first eight lines in “Possibilities” are querulous. Where are the poets who will “go straight to the mark”? And then it moves in to sea metaphor again with “rushing keels / sailing in search” and with “all sails set.” The octave has set the proposition, the question. And, Longfellow, if not resolving his question in the sestet, certainly strikes a hopeful note.

Longfellow should be rethought and restudied. Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from the old masters about form, rhyme schemes, assonance, tone, and attention to diction—a relearning of the craft. I do know that in Europe and the U.K., more and more of the literary journal editors are emphasizing form in their submission requirements. When poems are well written, they don’t sound the notes, only the music.



M.Kelly Lombardi is a practicing and teaching poet who lives in coastal Washington County in a book-filled, music-laden house with her faithful dog, Lucca. Her credits include Wolf Moon Journal, MVNO, Better Homes and Gardens, Aroostook Review, Coastal Courier, Narramissic Journal, Stanza, and Christian Science Monitor, among others.

 

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