But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.
This last section makes a sort of argument:
To be conscious is not to be in time. Where is a space which is not in time? It is not the present. As the poem says in section I, “All time is eternally present.”
It could be time past or time future: the poet states these all “a little consciousness.”
But it is not the place of remembrance. The rose-garden, the arbour, the church, are all remembered and thus are all “in time.” That cannot be the place of consciousness.
Charles Edward Wilson, The Rose Garden
There was the story about the rose-garden in section I, but that event does not seem real: at least it was not in time. Perhaps that is why it is both “conscious” (because it is not in time) and reality “human kind/Cannot bear very much reality.”
Perhaps this consciousness can take place “at the still point of the turning world.” This would match the case. Of this still point, he writes,
I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
Perhaps both the imaginary space and the “still point” are available for consciousness. They do not seem to be the same place, and they are both outside of time.
What then do we do this final line, “Only through time time is conquered.”
What must be conquered in time? And why must time be conquered? Is it to let us escape and enter into the garden with the thrush or to enter the still point?
This seems to bring up an issue early in the poem
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What is this redemption? From where to what? At this point, the question is tantalizing, but the answer is certainly not clear. Fortunately, there are three more sections in the poem.
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
This strikes as quite similar to Parmenides’ denial of motion. In his poem, at fragment 8, beginning at line 26 we read:
But motionless within the limits of great bonds, it is without a beginning and without an end, since the birth and death were rejected very far, a real certainty expelled them.
It would be possible to translate the language a bit differently. For instance, it could be “birth and destruction.” The language of “real certainty” is a combination of “truth” and “trust” (or faith or belief). A fundamental difference between Parmenides is that the philosopher seems to hold that all things are without motion. Eliot, on the other hand, seems to be describing a particular place:
At the still point of the turning world.
The world turns, but in the midst of that moving world is a place without motion. This space seems to answer a question which arises with the consideration of the world of the forest floor somehow being replicated in the sky, Where is the place of connection. How does one world touch the other?
Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.
And
Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance
This center point is a place where opposites have come together: it not movement from or towards. It is not a place of past or future. There is no “way up” or “way down” (to use the language of motto for the poem).
It is a place without place:
I cannot say where.
It is a place without time
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
Notice the opposites which do not exist here:
There is no being:
Neither flesh nor fleshless;
There is physical distance:
Neither from nor towards;
….
Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline.
There is no movement or stillness:
But neither arrest nor movement.
There is no time:
And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered.
…
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
Having come through the door we meet the “them” promised by the thrush. Here is what was lurking in the poet’s “first world”
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
The inhabitants are described as follows:
Dignified. That is a curious word to begin. We could just dismiss this as Eliot being proper. But something more seems here. Something which is unreal could easily be ridiculous: but there is an honor here of sorts.
Invisible: How then are known? Imagination. They cannot be remembered, because this is the world which has never been. And so we enter into the imaginary world somehow shared (whether Eliot with someone else, or perhaps with us the reader is unclear).
Moving: The idea of moving is coupled with the “unheard music” compels me to think of a dance. These phantoms (I don’t think “ghost” or “spirit” is right) are dancing over “dead leaves” but they break nothing. They “mov[e] without pressure.”
I’m not sure what to do with the “autumn heat” beyond notice that the whole has the feel of being stifling. There are phantoms, but nothing is stirring. It is hot, but there is no breeze. When this is coupled with the language from earlier about unstirred dust on rose leaves, there is a feeling of an utterly closed-up world.
This was a choice Eliot has made: while this old, closed up world is one way to imagine the never-has-been past, it is also the case that he could have produced a chaotic and vibrant never-have-been. This was a choice.
Notice the environment: the air is “vibrant” but like the dancers without pressure, the vibration is of a music which is not heard. Everything is it seems potential: this is what could have been: dancing, music. But not there.
The bird is here: it is the guide into this imaginary space. The bird calls to the unheard music: it is in the shrubbery, it is off-camera, coming from some place ou cannot see.
The eyebeam crossed: This is an idea as far back as Plato in Timeaus who explained that the fire made within us can cross through the eye and shine upon things to give sight:
“And of the organs they first contrived the eyes to give light, and the principle according to which they were inserted was as follows: So much of fire as would not burn, but gave a gentle light, they formed into a substance akin to the light of every-day life; and the pure fire which is within us and related thereto they made to flow through the eyes in a stream smooth and dense, compressing the whole eye, and especially the centre part, so that it kept out everything of a coarser nature, and allowed to pass only this pure element. When the light of day surrounds the stream of vision, then like falls upon like, and they coalesce, and one body is formed by natural affinity in the line of vision, wherever the light that falls from within meets with an external object. And the whole stream of vision, being similarly affected in virtue of similarity, diffuses the motions of what it touches or what touches it over the whole body, until they reach the soul, causing that perception which we call sight.”
The idea had various uses in science and art thereafter. Eliot certainly was not proposing this as a real effect (no one believed such in the 20th century). So why then this reference here?
If there is allusion to regret and love in the poem, then the reference to Donne would be appropriate and ironic.
Next comes a line which has always delighted me:
for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at
This speculative space of what has never been is inhabited and it effects and affects. The eyebeams of the phantoms (?) have seen the roses – which calls back to rose leaves above. The roses disclose the presence of the lovers seeing one-another. The roses evidence the crossed gazed. The reality of this love played out in the unseen world.
And finally:
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
This raises a question: Is this imaginary space the poet’s own life? Are these true third parties. Or is this some alternative to himself: this is me if the world had been different?
And how then are they here as guests? They are not recriminating: accepted and accepting.
He never quite defines these phantoms. I think they must be poet and someone else (again a lover, the reader, is this written to a particular person and we are overhearing?) are the ones at issue. The “they” is not someone else but rather a who Eliot could have been.
The reference to the “eyebeams crossed” makes this intimacy a moment of lovers. And the prove of their presence is shown in the roses.
And for a moment, there is peace. We are permitted in; and we are at peace with this other self.
In the next movement, this equipoise will be dissolved.
Having raised the question of “what might have been” (from line 6), Eliot takes us into that “might have been”. In these lines he traces out how we get from “the present.”
Since we are traveling there, his description of this place here takes on a new depth of meaning. In line 7, it is an “abstraction”; thus it has some substance as an idea. In line 8, it is remaining and “a perpetual possibility.” At first read, it is easy to take “remaining a perpetual possibility” to be
Thus, there is a reality to the “might have been.”
Here, beginning in line 11, there is a movement from the present to this “abstraction” which is remaining perpetually.
We can confirm this is the event which did not happen in verse 12, “Down the passage which we did not take.” This is the thing which did not happen.
The passage creates a hurried movement: It begins with “footfalls echo”. There is a sense of someone walking, but only as heard. That would intimate the walking is taking place nearby but out of sight.
That place is then defined as “Down the passage”. Next comes “towards the door”. The use of “towards” rather than near, creates the sense of movement.
The door opens onto a rose-garden.
The speed is created by the inability to ever see who is walking. We hear the sound and move to the passage. But when we get to the passage, the sound is now moving toward the door. And as soon as we recognize the door, it has opened onto a rose garden. The effect is mesmerizing.
The place of all of this is the memory: There was a place we did not go, a door we did not open, a garden we had not visited.
This then makes for a bit of a paradox: If it is a memory it is something which did not happen. But, this never happened. Memory could be, “I remember seeing a passage I did not take.” But the memory cannot hear footfalls which never echoed.
This would then, (1) this is a memory of a constructed event. There is a place which he has returned more than once: he thought of what would have happened had he opened the door to the rose garden. He is now remembering his “speculation.” (2) “Memory” is a trick: he is experiencing this construction as if it were a memory. By constructing what never happened, he is pretending that it did happen in fact.
My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
The plot becomes stranger: The footfalls which echoed are now the words which echo – not in my memory, but your mind. We have now entered into an extraordinarily intimate space: His memory of this door never opened are words – were these words never spoken? Are these words now being spoken? Was there an event which did not happen and of which they both spoke?
Does this mean, “You remember our conversation, when I told you of how I did not go into the rose garden?” For the poet, the memory is of the walking through the door. For “you” (whoever that might be), it is my words about that.
It is unclear what words are issue: Is the poems the words which now echo in memory, but stirring up memory?
Whatever is happening, the rather abstraction discussion of time in the first lines has moved the most intimate of spaces, a shared memory of what did not happen.
Since this memory of not happening is being rehearsed, it seems to anticipate a regret.
It appears he is structuring the lines around beat and alliteration. I may be off here, but there is not a regular meter like iambs. The basic line seems to be built off the Old English alliterative four beat line.
TIME PREsent and TIME PAST
Four beats, the T and P repeated
are both PERhaps PREsent in TIME FUTure
The T and F from the first line as well as the P.
This scheme is not cared with perfect fidelity to the alliteration. For instance line 8:
ONly in WORLD of SPECulAtion.
We can get four accents but no alliteration in the line. It would be possible to read this instead as a third beat line.
Notes:
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
“What might have been” is the item under consideration. He then defines it by three characteristics:
First, it is an “abstraction”. It is an abstraction in both senses: It is abstracted,that is set apart from all else It has no connection with the tangible world. Second, it is an idea without tangible substance.
Second, it remains always and only a “possibility.” It had an opportunity to have come into existence, but it did not. It never matures from that place.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Third, it remains in “a world of speculation.” Access to this “might have been” is available only through speculative thought. It has a real existence, but only as a speculation. I can gain access to this “might have been” by thinking it; but it never moves from that space.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
This takes some consideration: Why the addition of “might have been” to what has been? Here he says that might have been and what has been point together to this one point: the present.
The actual past makes sense as pushing a direction to the present. But how does the might of have been participate in this?
Since there is an abstract, speculative existence for might have been, we can’t say that it has no existence; only, no tangible existence.
He is going to develop this “might have been” more as the poem develops, but let’s consider here what it could be. The “might have been” while not have a historical effect outside of my thinking has a profound effect upon me.
Might have been can be the source of enormous regret and loss. But it can also be a ground for thankfulness on tragedy avoided. The might have been is “remaining a perpetual possibility”. When we think of how a might have been actually effects us, that line “remaining a perpetual possibility” grows larger. I am constantly being affected by this perpetual possibility. It is always there.
And this potential acting upon me, and all that has actually occurred have conspired and I am here at this one point, in the present.
Poor wretched man Death’s captive stood full chuff But thou my gracious Lord didst find relief Thou King of Glory didst, to handy cuff With King of Terrors and dashed out his teeth, 15 Pluckest out his sting, his poison quellest, his head To pieces breakest. Hence cruel death lies dead.
Summary: Having passed his introduction, the poet turns to the explanation of his motto, “Death is yours.” The movement is clear: Humanity was under the sway of Death without escape. God found a way to defeat death. Death is now dead.
Notes
The motto:
“Death is yours.” This needs some explanation. The verse cited, in context reads,
1 Corinthians 3:18–23 (AV) 18 Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise. 19 For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, He taketh the wise in their own craftiness. 20 And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise, that they are vain. 21 Therefore let no man glory in men. For all things are yours; 22 Whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours; 23 And ye are Christ’s; and Christ is God’s.
The people of Corinth were playing favorites and counting themselves as part of a faction of Paul o Apollos or Cephas (Peter). Such factions are wisdom of the world. And why would claim only Paul or Apollos?
“This turns their slogans completely on their head, with the significant difference that the pronoun is plural, not singular. Thus, they may not say “I belong to Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas,” not only because that is to boast in mere men, but because that is the precise opposite of reality in Christ. In him, as Eph. 1 will say in lofty cadences, God has begun what he will eventually bring to full consummation, namely “to bring all things in heaven and earth under one head, even Christ” (Eph. 1:10); therefore, all things are yours (plural).” Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1987), 153.
The personification of death:Death is here presented as a monster which God defeats: Death has “capatives”; therefore, Death has the capacity to make captive. Death is the “King of Terrors.” Death has teeth, a sting, poison, and a head. Death has also been killed.
Death holding captives:
This comes from Hebrews 2:14–15, “14 Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; 15 And deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.” (AV) Here is specifically the “fear of death” which is used to hold us captive.
The Defeat of Death
The primary allusion for this stanza comes from 1 Corinthians 15:54-57, where Paul writes that due to the Resurrection of Jesus, the power of death has been destroyed. Taylor takes much of his imagery from this passage: “54 So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. 55 O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? 56 The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. 57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (AV)
The breaking of death’s head comes from Genesis 3:15, “15 And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel.”
chuff: here morose, sullen. “full chuff”, does he mean “despair”?
Handy cuff: struck with a hand
Dashed out his teeth This seems to be an allusion to Psalm 3:7 “7 Arise, O LORD; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly.” (AV)
King of Terrors, Rosslyn Chapel
King of Terrors This comes from Job 18:14, speaking of one being brought to death as a judgment, “14 His confidence shall be rooted out of his tabernacle, and it shall bring him to the king of terrors.” (AV). This was understood as a reference to death, “Death is of all terribles the most terrible, and is therefore called the king of terrors. But those who have taken God in Christ for their refuge, have what may comfort and establish them, even in that case. Even from the last enemy God it a refuge.” Thomas Boston, The Whole Works of Thomas Boston: A Soliloquy on the Art of Man-Fishing, ed. Samuel M‘Millan, vol. 5 (Aberdeen: George and Robert King, 1849), 66.
Rutherford used the image with the idea of ruling over men, “By one man’s offence, there was a cruel king, death the king of terrors, who hath a black sceptre, set over all and every man without exception.” Samuel Rutherford, Christ Dying, and Drawing Sinners to Himself (Glasgow: Samuel and Archibald Gardner; Niven, Napier & Khull, 1803), 501.
In this sermon by Matthew Sylvester, we see very similar thoughts and imagery to that used by Taylor: “DIRECTION I. Be thoroughly persuaded of, and heartily affected with, a life to come. (2 Cor. 4:17, 18.)—This is the “poise” and pondus of religion; (Heb. 11:6;) this is the heart and strength of godliness. (Acts 24:14, 15, 25.) It is this that strips that king of terrors, death, of all his frightful looks and strength; this spoils his fatal conquest, gripe, and sting. (2 Tim. 4:6–8; 2 Cor. 5:1–10; 1 Cor. 15:51–58.)”. James Nichols, Puritan Sermons, vol. 2 (Wheaton, IL: Richard Owen Roberts, Publishers, 1981), 659.
The phrase itself was remarkably common in Puritan writing, whether Public (such as Sylvester’s sermon) or in private correspondence such as this by Thomas Brooks, “Now you should always look upon death under scripture notions, and this will take off the terror of death; yea, it will make the king of terrors to be the king of desires; it will make you not only willing to die, but even long to die, and to cry out, ‘Oh that I had the wings of a dove, to fly away, and be at rest!’ At death you shall have an eternal jubilee, and be freed from all incumbrances. Now sin shall be no more, nor trouble shall be no more, nor pain nor ailments shall be no more.” Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 5 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1867), 454–455.
King of Glory: This is an allusion to Psalm: 8–10 “8 Who is this King of glory? The LORD strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle. 9 Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. 10 Who is this King of glory? The LORD of hosts, he is the King of glory. Selah.” The allusion is quite apt, because the original is a reference to Jesus’ Ascension where he enters having defeated death:
“When Christ ascends into heaven after his sore conflict with his enemies and his glorious victory over them, wherein he appeared to be “the Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle” [v. 8], and the word was proclaimed to the gates and doors of that everlasting temple of God, that they should be lift up, that the King of glory may come in, the heavenly hosts are represented as inquiring with wonder and great admiration, “Who is this King of glory?”, as being in their eyes a very wonderful person, and one that had done very wonderful things, as though some very new thing appeared, a remarkable person coming, appearing in such wise as never had been before, a person that appeared with very wonderful glory, and such an one as that it was wonderful that one, with those things that had appeared in him of late and now appeared, should have the title of “the King of glory,” as though it was admirable that such glory should be united with those other things that appeared in this person, which yet it most plainly appeared there had, that appeared in him, by which he appears sufficiently to merit the character of the King of glory, viz. his appearing so strong and mighty in battle, as he had done, and gaining such a glorious victory, as he had done. And therefore it is answered, “The Lord strong and mighty,” etc. [v. 8].” Jonathan Edwards, Notes on Scripture, ed. Harry S. Stout and Stephen J. Stein, vol. 15, The Works of Jonathan Edwards (London; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 282.
The Defeat of Death:
Christ before his death had been combating with the powers of darkness and all the subordinate instruments. Death was Satan’s beast of prey that was set upon him; but our Lord foiled it in its own dungeon. The battle between Christ and death was begun upon the cross; he grappled with it there, and they went tugging and wrestling to the grave. Christ, like a prudent warrior, carried the war into his enemy’s country, and there got loose of the grasp of death, foiled it in its own territory. He arose, and left death gasping behind him; so that the quality of the grave is quite altered. Before it was a prison, Satan’s dungeon; now it is a chamber of repose, a bed of ease, ever since Christ slept there.
Thomas Manton, “The Saints Triumph Over Death,” The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, vol. 2 (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1871), 445
And is it much ‘far better’ to die, that we may be with Christ, than to live here a conflicting life? Why should we then fear death, that is but a passage to Christ? It is but a grim sergeant that lets us into a glorious palace, that strikes off our bolts, that takes off our rags, that we may be clothed with better robes, that ends all our misery, and is the beginning of all our happiness. Why should we therefore be afraid of death? it is but a departure to a better condition? It is but as Jordan to the children of Israel, by which they passed to Canaan. It is but as the Red Sea by which they were going that way. Therefore we have no reason to fear death. Of itself it is an enemy indeed, but now it is harmless, nay, now it is become a friend, amicable to us, a sweet friend. It is one part of the church’s jointure, death. ‘All things are yours,’ saith the apostle, Paul and Apollos, ‘life and death,’ 1 Cor. 3:22. Death is ours and for our good. It doth us more good than all the friends we have in the world. It determines and ends all our misery and sin; and it is the suburbs of heaven. It lets us into those joys above.
Richard Sibbes, The Complete Works of Richard Sibbes, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 1 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; W. Robertson, 1862), 340.
Death lies dead: I don’t know if he means an allusion here to either Donne’s “Death thou shalt die” or Owens’ “The Death of Death in the Death of Christ.”
Prosody:
The first line is hard to scan. The effect depends upon how one takes the word “poor” at the beginning. It could read solemnly, “POOR WRETched MAN,” with a heavy accent on “poor.” But one could read the line Poor filling in like a connective word introducing the topic.
The interesting effects are in lines 15-18:
With King of Terrors and dashed out his teeth, 15 Pluckest out his sting, his poison quellest, his head To pieces breakest. Hence cruel death lies dead.
There is no way to force these lines into smooth iambs. The pause in line 15 between TERrors – and makes for a run up to DASHED OUT his TEETH. Perphas Taylor had a cheat syllable of DASH-ed to create iambs.
Line 16 I scan:
PLUCKest OUT his STING, his POIson QUELLest, his HEAD – an enjambment: which creates some movement to line 17
Line 17
to PIEces BREAKest.
We get a long pause before when come to the conclusion of death’s death.
The strong initial consonsants:
With King of Terrors and dashed out his teeth, 15 Pluckest out his sting, his poison quellest, his head To pieces breakest. Hence cruel death lies dead.
This poem has puzzled me for a bit and so I wanted to think it through.
Portrait of a Lady
By T.S. Eliot
Thou hast committed —Fornication: but that was in another country,And besides, the wench is dead. (The Jew of Malta)
The poem begins with ambiguity: The title apparently comes from the novel by Henry James. But it could also be the generic idea of a portrait in painting or word. And if the reference is to the novel, then what aspect of the novel? The ambiguity increases when we consider the motto and the title: The portrait is of a “lady”. The quotation of a fornicating “wench.” The effect of the original (from Christopher Marlowe) is bit different between it came in conversation:
FRIAR BARNARDINE. Thou hast committed—
BARABAS. Fornication: but that was in another country;
And besides, the wench is dead.
Without getting too deep into the play, the statement by Barabas is an ironic “confession” of sin.
From these two quotations, we could assume that the poem will be a portrait of a woman with whom someone commits fornication and that woman is now dead. Perhaps we can also anticipate a confession.
I
Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon
You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do—
With “I have saved this afternoon for you”;
And four wax candles in the darkened room,
Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb
Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole
Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips.
“So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul
Should be resurrected only among friends
Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom
That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.”
—And so the conversation slips
Among velleities and carefully caught regrets
Through attenuated tones of violins
Mingled with remote cornets
And begins.
This first stanza leaves us still unoriented: who is narrating this event? Someone is speaking to us about a scene in the past. The “smoke and fog of a Dececember afternoon” are distinctly “unromantic”. The tone is quite in line with the more famous Prufrock (done to the discussions of music and the fog. This is perhaps the room where women come and go.)
Who has “saved this afternoon”? We are we intruding into this private event? Who has invited us to intrude.
That it is Juliette’s tomb and what has not been said (or said) is rather gruesome, and recalls the motto “she is dead.” There is a romantic meeting implied, but it is a deathly meeting. The relationship has begun where Juliette’s ended.
Who is the “we” have been: Is the narrator a participant? Later that will become clear, but here we cannot tell. The world is private and privileged (these are not working class). They speak with the sort of dilettante voice of those who repeat cliches about art without being profound.
The conversation masks what is actually happening and the people are like the people of the Wasteland whom death has not undone. Everyone is a sort ghost, a not-quite person with weak desires and regrets. The violins are attenuated, the coronets are remote.
We open in the most unreal, spectral locations: “And begins”.
“You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
(For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind!
How keen you are!)
To find a friend who has these qualities,
Who has, and gives
Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
How much it means that I say this to you —
Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar!”
Someone – not the narrator – has begun to speak. We assume this is the lady from the diction and from the title. The logic is circular “a friend has the quality of being a friend and without friends, what a nightmare”. The life of this woman is “composed” of “odds and ends.” She praises the other as “how keen you are.”
It is also interesting that the event is narrated in such a detached manner. It is spoken to you, the one who heard these words does not seem attached to it. We learn in the second half of the stanza that our narrator is not a third person, but this is his life “inside my brain”.
The imagery of music, which has been an affectation – and a “pretty” one at that – becomes rather base and painful for him: “dull tom-tom … absurdly hammering … monotone … false note”.
Among the winding of the violins
And the ariettes
Of cracked cornets
Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins
Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own,
Capricious monotone
That is at least one definite “false note.”
— Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance,
Admire the monuments,
Discuss the late events,
Correct our watches by the public clocks.
Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks.
They are the midst of art – which had promised so much in the prior generation: The “art for arts sake” of Wilde has not performed the redemptive services promised. Poetry and sculpture and music did not elevate life sufficiently and make a substitute for music. They will “admire monuments” after they hear the music. They will keep time (for what reason?). They will sit “half an hour” and drink beer. But even in this there is a distance “our bocks”. They are killing time.
II
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
“Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
What life is, you who hold it in your hands”;
(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
“You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see.”
We are transported somewhere into the future: It was foggy December. Now the lilacs are in bloom. This being Eliot, we can’t overlook the (possible) allusion to Whitman’s great poem, When the Lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed. There is a brilliant use of the flowers: the flowers are in bloom, and she has brought some inside. When coupled with the description of how she “twists” the lilacs (mentioned twice), the image of cut flowers being brought inside and slowly twisted sounds sinister.
What life is when you hold it in your hands: In the previous scene the two were outside, but now they are inside – in her space. I would suggest that the narrator is now the cut flower, inside. His life is in her hands and she is slowly twisting him.
This is the first indication that there is an age difference: youth. He is apparently the youth, she the elder. She is the victim: youth is cruel, without remorse: you don’t know what you’re doing to me. And so while she is strangling him, it is “really” her who is being twisted. She is not twisting him, but rather she is the one being twisted up. The imagery works in both directions.
I smile, of course,
And go on drinking tea.
“Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all.”
I smile, of course: this is brilliant. Is he hiding from her? Does he understand? Is he maliciously agreeing? That he goes on drinking tea has the effect of keeping her emotionally at a difference. This creates an ironic note when compared to the intimacy of Chopin and the talk of friendship: here there is no friendship, not even passion.
There is April and Paris, but it is a “buried life” and “sunsets.” She is at peace: which sounds like “in the grave”. How then is the world “wonderful and youth”?
He is the artist, Joyce’s Portrait, paring his nails at a distance from his creation.
The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune
Of a broken violin on an August afternoon:
“I am always sure that you understand
My feelings, always sure that you feel,
Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand.
Here we seem to be at another distance: the now of the poem. This lilac day is in the past: “the voice returns”. It is also unpleasant at this distance. It is not merely “out-of-tune” but it is an “insistent” status “of a broken violin”. It is not an April in Paris, but it is “an August afternoon”
She is “insistenting” something about him which is not true. She pathetically thinks of him as one who understands and sympathizes: but he “smiles, of course” and just “drinks tea.”
You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles’ heel.
You will go on, and when you have prevailed
You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
Then she switches her perspective, he is not quite the understanding friend. Instead, he is “invulnerable”. He has “prevailed” but it is over her? Has he prevailed by not becoming involved. How has he been different than other who did “fail”? Fail at what?
Let’s go back to meeting her in Juliette’s tomb: is the death hers, or is the death something she brings upon others? Is she a trap: we have the same ambiguity of the twisted cut flower: who is destroying whom?
But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
To give you, what can you receive from me?
Only the friendship and the sympathy
Of one about to reach her journey’s end.
They only have friendship and sympathy: which is precisely what they do not have. They are in close connection but they are utterly without intimacy.
I shall sit here, serving tea to friends ….”
The tea has returned: the drinking becomes a pose to keep one close and distant I the same move. There is a connection with drinking and eating with one-another: this also becomes a mask and means to keep a distance. She is going to stay “sit here” and she will continue as she has done “serving tea to friends”.
I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends
For what she has said to me?
He is leaving. All he has there is a “hat”. Any visitor would have a hat to bring and leave. He has left nothing behind and has brought nothing with him.
Another irony: she has called him the greatest of all heroes, Achilles: he sees himself as a coward. He then paints a pathetic picture of himself as Profrock:
You will see me any morning in the park
Reading the comics and the sporting page.
Particularly I remark.
Even though the trivialities come from the paper and not the internet, there is not a lick of difference: petty, irrelevant gossip:
An English countess goes upon the stage.
A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance,
Another bank defaulter has confessed.
He is not quite an invulnerable as she thought him to be:
I keep my countenance,
I remain self-possessed
Except when a street-piano, mechanical and tired
Reiterates some worn-out common song
With the smell of hyacinths across the garden
Recalling things that other people have desired.
Are these ideas right or wrong?
Now we understand the music: it is the life passion and reality (perhaps). Although the music he now finds is “mechanical and tired”. Must smells of hyacinths in a garden; but more importantly, music is filled with “things that other people have desired.” He is a man seemingly without any desires of his own.
He is so nothing that cannot even his own mind: “Are these ideas right or wrong?” Neither his thoughts nor his feelings are his own.
We then move to yet another time: October. Is this in the past, or is this now the present of the poem?
III
The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.
It is October: the night is returning – but is he? Whose steps is he mounting? It is the “lady’s” because she is the only one who speaks out loud in the poem. So is he returning to her house? When he comes to the door of her home it feels like a supplicant begging. He is anything but a hero.
“And so you are going abroad; and when do you return?
But that’s a useless question.
You hardly know when you are coming back,
You will find so much to learn.”
My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac.
He is taking his leave. He needs to learn something. Is she being dismissive: you’re a child? Is she protecting herself? No one rightly discloses nor knows themself.
His smile becomes one her possessions: and a trivial one at that: it takes is place among her things.
“Perhaps you can write to me.”
My self-possession flares up for a second;
This is as I had reckoned.
What does this mean psychologically? Does this mean that he would have some control? Is their relationship a matter of control. And if it is something he had reckoned, does that does that mean he finally understood something about her? But it will immediately be lost, his self-possession “gutters”, it flows out like melted wax:
“I have been wondering frequently of late
(But our beginnings never know our ends!)
Why we have not developed into friends.”
I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark
Suddenly, his expression in a glass.
My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark.
He almost speaks – but then in weakness he fails. She says why we never became friends (despite whatever other intimacy)? He rises to speak and then stops. “We are relaly in the dark.”
“For everybody said so, all our friends,
They all were sure our feelings would relate
So closely! I myself can hardly understand.
We must leave it now to fate.
You will write, at any rate.
Perhaps it is not too late.
I shall sit here, serving tea to friends.”
Everyone thought it would be otherwise: And that tea again. There was the possibility that the two could actually “relate” – but it did not happen. Why?
And I must borrow every changing shape
To find expression … dance, dance
Like a dancing bear,
Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape.
He is now utterly weakened: He is a dancing bear, who “borrows every changing shape.”
He ends with an utter weakness and tentativeness: If she should die, what would be left for him? He does not even know what to feel or think (understand). He does not if he is wise or foolish, early or late. And then in death, “Would she not have the advantage after all?”
If she were to die, would he have the right to smile.
Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance—
Well! and what if she should die some afternoon,
Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
With the smoke coming down above the housetops;
Doubtful, for quite a while
Not knowing what to feel or if I understand
Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon …
Would she not have the advantage, after all?
This music is successful with a “dying fall”
Now that we talk of dying—
And should I have the right to smile?
If we give this a sort of Jungian read, and the lady is the aspect of his life which is missing: a real soul; then, has he failed to obtain this? Was it offered to him? Or is she a “dominating queen” (like Someone Saved my Life Tonight)? Has he been captured by her?
This is a poem describing some sort relationship, but he seems unable to enter into it or to escape it. He is in the end a cypher, not even a completed man.
To bear thy living fruits, and them forth give. 40
Give me my life this way; and I’ll bestow
My love on thee, my life, and it shall grow.
Summary: This ends with a prayer to partake of the life of God, to grafted into the “Tree of Life” planted in paradise. He then promises two responses: he will bear “living fruits” and bestow love upon God, which will itself grow.
Notes
Tree of Life: Before we consider the biblical references here to the Tree of Life, there is the question of whence this image of a tree? No tree was explicitly referenced earlier in the poem, although the plain Garden allusions throughout never leave the idea of tree far behind.
Perhaps the closet reference to a tree earlier in the poem is found in the image of the seed which bears life along here raised to the tree:
Glory lined out a paradise in power
Where e’ery seed a royal coach became 20
For Life to ride in, to each shining flower.
Perhaps the particular allusion in Taylor’s mind is from
Genesis 1:29 (AV)
29 And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat [meat = food].
This contains all of the references to tree and fruit along with seed from earlier in the poem.
The Tree of Life is an image found in the very beginning and the very end of the Bible. First in the Garden
Genesis 2:15–17 (AV)
15 And the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it.
16 And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: 17 But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
It is from that tree that Adam was excluded upon his Fall:
Genesis 3:22–23 (AV)
22 And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever: 23 Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken.
It is then only to be found in Paradise Regained:
Revelation 22:1–4 (AV)
1 And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. 2 In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits,and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. 3 And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: 4 And they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads.
Grafted
In a striking image from Paul’s letter to the Romans, he speaks of the Gentiles being grafted into an olive tree, and in this position to gain the promise. The passage itself contains a number of subtleties, but the overall image of grafting lends itself readily to Taylor’s use here:
Romans 11:17–24 (AV)
17 And if some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive tree, wert graffed in among them, and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive tree; 18 Boast not against the branches. But if thou boast, thou bearest not the root, but the root thee. 19 Thou wilt say then, The branches were broken off, that I might be graffed in. 20 Well; because of unbelief they were broken off, and thou standest by faith. Be not highminded, but fear: 21 For if God spared not the natural branches, take heed lest he also spare not thee. 22 Behold therefore the goodness and severity of God: on them which fell, severity; but toward thee, goodness, if thou continue in his goodness: otherwise thou also shalt be cut off. 23 And they also, if they abide not still in unbelief, shall be graffed in: for God is able to graff them in again. 24 For if thou wert cut out of the olive tree which is wild by nature, and wert graffed contrary to nature into a good olive tree: how much more shall these, which be the natural branches, be graffed into their own olive tree?
The combining of the image of the Tree of Life, and the grafting here make for a striking parallel. I wonder if Taylor ever used this combination of passages in a sermon.
Life This is been discussed above. The human race after the Fall is like a cut flower: it still has some appearance, but the principle of life is gone. For humanity, our life is all derivative. Life is not inherently us but is given by God. Hence, a human cut off from that principle of life has only certain death
Give me my life this way; and I’ll bestow
My love on thee, my life, and it shall grow.
Fruit This has a two-fold reference in this place. By way of image, a tree bearing fruit has us back in Eden and in the New Earth. That is plain enough.
But Taylor is also speaking of how he will be changed by the infusion of life from God. But I think the reference here is to Galatians 5 and the ‘fruit of the Spirit’: that is the transformative effect of the Spirit of God in a human life as that human walks in the Spirit.
This must be understood to understand Taylor’s prayer as a prayer of repentance and hope.
One may naively understand the claim of Christians that once one has been redeemed there is an absolute consistent change without variation. The undeniable truth such consistent, absolute change into the standard of Christian conduct easily leads to the conclusion that Christianity is untrue.
But the claim is not to perfect love and holiness as a sort of automatic event. Surely the standard is clear enough, but the manner of life often is not. This fruit of the Spirit is not something obtained irrespective of the human life. Sadly, it is a matter of fluctuation. Taylor is praying from an ebb.
But this poem strikes as peculiarly repentant. The promise at the end of fruit and love is quite similar to the end of Psalm 51, the great repentance of David which ends with a promise of future worship.
Paul says that this fruit is the result of walking in the Spirit (and this is contrasted with influence of the flesh):
Galatians 5:16–24 (AV)
16 This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh. 17 For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would. 18 But if ye be led of the Spirit, ye are not under the law. 19 Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, 20 Idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, 21 Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God. 22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, 23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. 24 And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.
You will see in verse 22 that at the head of the Spirit’s fruit is “love” – which Taylor promises will abound if he is given this spring of life: thus, fruit and love come together as images (and the Kingdom of God, wherein is the Tree of life).
But this brings us back to what is happening in the poem:
Taylor is repenting of his misdirected affections. He is placed his love upon something worthless, even contrary to his life, when his direction should be toward God (his good and his life).
This prayer for fruit and love is a prayer for the Spirit’s influence. While it is in this poem clear enough, this point is made very plain in much Puritan writing. For instance, in the (long) quotation from Thomas Manton (below) we can see the same themes of this poem of fruit and life and repentance.
Taylor was preparing for the Lord’s Table to receive. The motto for the poem “All things are yours whether …. Life” (1 Cor. 3:22). He is seeking to receive life – to be brought beyond condemnation. In the coming to the Table, Taylor is actively seeking the Spirit’s work of communicating Christ to him. He is seeking a renewal of the relationship.
The work of the Spirit in bearing fruit is first the work of the Spirit in sanctification, purging out sin and bringing new life. As Manton writes (and when you see it, Taylor is expressing from the lived experience, the doctrine which Manton is describing):
First, Sanctification. The great work of the Spirit is to be the fountain and principle of the new life of grace within us, or to maintain and keep afoot the interest of Christ in our souls: Gal. 5:25, ‘If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.’ He doth not only begin life, but continueth it, and still actuateth it, enabling us to all the duties thereof. There is having and walking; thence he is compared to a spring or well of living water, that is always springing forth: John 4:14, ‘The water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up unto everlasting life.’ Not only a draught, but a well. They that have any measure of true grace have the Spirit as a fountain to make this grace endure in itself and in its effects. Some have only a draught, a vanishing taste, others a cistern or a pond, that may be dried up; but they that have the Spirit have a well, and a well that is always fresh and springing up and flowing forth till this stream become an ocean, and mortality be swallowed up of life. It is a spring that sendeth forth streams to water the ground about it. As the heart of man sendeth forth life to every faculty and member, and a general relief to all his parts, so doth the Spirit influence all our actions. Now both parts of sanctification are promoted by the Spirit, mortification and vivification, subduing of sin and quickening us to holiness. Mortification is seen in two things—purging out the lusts, or suppressing the acts of sin.
1. In purging out the lusts of it. The Spirit is said to cleanse us, and to purify us to the obedience of the truth: 1 Peter 1:22, ‘Seeing ye have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit.’ The Spirit showeth what purity of heart is pleasing to God, and worketh it in us, casting out pride, and hard-heartedness, and malice, and hypocrisy, and sensuality, and all those lusts which defile our hearts, and dispose us to walk contrary to God. It is the contrary principle that sets us a-warring and striving against the flesh.
2. Preventing and suppressing the acts of sin: Rom. 8:13, ‘If ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.’ That they may not break out to God’s dishonour and our discomfort. We cannot do it without the Spirit, nor the Spirit without us: Gal. 5:16, ‘This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh.’ There is no possibility of getting the power of inbred corruption subdued, or the lusts of sinful flesh curbed to any saving purpose, without the Spirit of God; otherwise lusts will gather strength, and range abroad without any effectual resistance. He warneth us of our danger, and checketh sin. If we would hearken to him, and observe his checks and restraints, sin would not transport us so often beyond the bounds of duty; a man cannot sin so freely as before.
[1.] He doth quicken us to holiness, increasing the internal habits: Eph. 3:16, ‘That he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man.’ That we may be fitted for the service of God, for which before we were indisposed to, and prepared to every good work. There is an inward man, holy and gracious qualities infused into the soul, which are so called. These are created by the Spirit of God, and supplied and cherished by him that reneweth strength upon us from day to day, that we may go from strength to strength, and be more able for God’s service. Though a renewed heart be yet continued, yet, as the two olive-trees, Zech. 4:13, dropping into the lamps, and emptying through the golden pipes the golden oil out of themselves; so doth the Spirit of Christ supply an increase of grace to our graces.
[2.] Exciteth to action, and helpeth us and aideth us therein, and inditeth good thoughts, and stirreth up holy motions and desires, besides new qualities, that we may be lively and fresh in God’s service: Ezek. 36:27, ‘I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them:’ Phil. 2:13, ‘For it is God that worketh in you both to will and to do.’ Especially in prayer: Rom. 8:26, ‘The Spirit also helpeth our infirmities;’ goeth to the other end of the staff. Clothes do not warm the body till the body warm them, and the body cannot warm them till the soul, which is the principle of life, warm it; so there can be no fervency in prayer without the Spirit, no warmth in the heart. Oh, what a mercy is it that we have an help at hand! the Spirit of God dwelling in our hearts, to relieve us in all our necessities, and quicken us in the ways of God, which else would soon grow wearisome and uncomfortable to us.
Thomas Manton, The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, vol. 21 (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1874), 292–293.
Oh, glorious ark! Life’s store-house full of glee!
Shall not my love safe locked up lie in thee? 30
Summary: Life, which is something external to the poet, fled from the assault of the “elf” spitting venom. The place of refuge for life was a the “golden ark”, enclosed by the “mercy seat”. And in that place of refuge life flows out as life to all things. This realization turns in a exclamation of the poet that my love should lie locked-up in the very same ark.
Notes:
The Ark of the Covenant (not Noah’s Ark, here) was a golden box in which were placed the two copies of the Ten Commandments, the covenant between God and Israel. On top of that Ark was the Mercy Seat, the place where God would meet Israel and show them mercy:
“The Hebrew word for which “mercy seat” is the translation is technically best rendered as “propitiatory,” a term denoting the removal of wrath by the offering of a gift. The significance of this designation is found in the ceremony performed on the Day of Atonement, held once a year, when blood was sprinkled on the mercy seat to make atonement for the sins of the people of Israel (Lv 16). Because of the importance of this covering on the ark and the ceremony associated with it, the Holy of Holies in which the ark was housed in the temple is termed the “room for the mercy seat” in 1 Chronicles 28:11.” Walter A. Elwell and Barry J. Beitzel, “Mercy Seat,” Baker Encyclopedia of the Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1988), 1441.
To understand Taylor use of the images of the ark, mercy seat, life, Christ, we need to see how these elements were connected in Puritan writing. Without understanding the connections which would have been obvious to Taylor (but would be obscure to others), the poem seems to go in an incomprehensible direction.
If you look more broadly, the image of the mercy seat is not uncommon in the Lutheran writings. It is in places connected to Christ. The connection of Christ and the mercy-seat is rare in the Ante-Nicene Fathers. When I did a search of Calvin (granted these are all Boolean searches, and thus are limited in that manner), the connection of Christ and the mercy seat was not common. In the Puritan writers, particularly in Thomas Boston (an overlapping contemporary of Taylor), the connection of the two images is quite common.
The connection between Christ and Life is built into the framework of Christian theology.
Life/ Its sparke/enlivens all things:
Life comes from God:
“He is life itself, has life in himself, and is the fountain of life to all the creatures.” Thomas Boston, The Whole Works of Thomas Boston: An Illustration of the Doctrines of the Christian Religion, Part 1, ed. Samuel M‘Millan, vol. 1 (Aberdeen: George and Robert King, 1848), 131. Life is in Christ, “In him was life, and that life was the light of men.” John 1:3
The Church (and thus the poet personally) draws its life from Christ: “The mystery of the church drawing her life out of Christ’s sleeping the sleep of death on the cross.”Thomas Boston, The Whole Works of Thomas Boston: An Illustration of the Doctrines of the Christian Religion, Part 1, ed. Samuel M‘Millan, vol. 1 (Aberdeen: George and Robert King, 1848), 179.
“Whatsoever is excellent in nature, either in heaven or earth, it serves to set forth the excellency of Christ. Why? To delight us, that we may be willing and cheerful to think of Christ; that together with the consideration of the excellency of the creature, some sweet meditation of Christ, in whom all those excellencies are knit together, might be presented to the soul. When we see the sun, oft to think of that blessed Sun that quickens and enlivens all things, and scatters the mists of ignorance. When we look on a tree, to think of the Tree of righteousness; on the way, to think of him the Way; of life, of him that is the true Life.” Richard Sibbes and Alexander Balloch Grosart, The Complete Works of Richard Sibbes, vol. 3 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; W. Robertson, 1862), 391.
Golden Ark:
“The mercy of God is like the ark, which none but the priests were to meddle with; none may touch this golden ark of mercy but such as are ‘priests unto God,’ Rev. 1:6 and have offered up the sacrifice of tears.” Thomas Watson, “Discourses upon Christ’s Sermon on the Mount,” in Discourses on Important and Interesting Subjects, Being the Select Works of the Rev. Thomas Watson, vol. 2 (Edinburgh; Glasgow: Blackie, Fullarton, & Co.; A. Fullarton & Co., 1829), 115.
Mercy Seat:
“In that Lev. 16:13, 14, you read of two things: first, of the cloud of incense that covered the mercy seat; secondly, of the blood of the bullock, that was sprinkled before the mercy-seat. Now that blood typified Christ’s satisfaction, and the cloud of incense his intercession.” Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 2 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1866), 274.
Note further that the mercy-seat is also connected to life:
“in like manner, after our great High Priest had offered himself a sacrifice to God in his bloody death, he entered into heaven, not only with his blood, but with the incense of his prayers, as a cloud about the mercy-seat, to preserve by his life the salvation which he had purchased by his death.” Thomas Boston, The Whole Works of Thomas Boston: An Illustration of the Doctrines of the Christian Religion, Part 1, ed. Samuel M‘Millan, vol. 1 (Aberdeen: George and Robert King, 1848), 473.
Life thus abused fled to the golden ark: How did life “flee” to the ark? The concept here relies upon the concept of covenant. Human life exists in God and is given to us. Without that life, we will die. Following the Fall of Adam, we were without life. Life is made available to us again in the covenant. The New Covenant has replaced the ark and mercy seat with Christ (who is prefigured in these things, see Hebrews 9).
Couplet:
The couplet has two elements. First a praise, “Oh, glorious ark! Life’s store-house full of glee!” One aspect of this praise which sounds out of tune is the use of the word “glee.” In our contemporary use glee is an ironic way to refer to happiness – rather than boundless happiness meant by Taylor
Second, a prayer, a statement of intention: Shall not my love safe locked up lie in thee?
The point is the re-integration of love and life which has been parted in the Fall. This is a central theme in Augustine: our sinfulness is built around misdirected love. Before the Fall love was rightly directed toward life: God.
God then seeks to restore that rupture. Life is made available in the covenant, which was first figured in the Ark and Mercy Seat, then in Christ. The poet, seeing a remember for his misdirected love seeks that his love may be re-directed toward the proper goal: life, i.e., God in Christ.
Summary: The original creation was a well of life: Life was in the seed and would produce into the flower. The glory of humanity was aflame. But this vibrant life was killed by an elf who spat venom into life and brought about death. “So that life is gone”
Notes:
Elf: Since Tolkien (at least) elves and fairies are considered popularly to marvelous and good creatures. It was not so with Taylor. Such things would be thought dangerous or “mad”:
“If a man riding in an open country should afar off see men and women dancing together, and should not hear their music according to which they dance and tread out their measures, he would think them to be a company of fairies and madmen, appearing in such various motions and antic postures; but if he came nearer, and heard the musical notes, according to which they exactly dance, he would find that to be art which before he thought madness.”
Thomas Manton, The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, vol. 21 (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1874), 107. They were examples of deception and danger:
“The world, as they say of fairies, deprives of true children, and puts changelings in their room; deprives men of true substantial joy, and gives them shadows in the room; but godliness, on the contrary, deprives of painted poisons, and gives them wholesome and real pleasures.”
George Swinnock, The Works of George Swinnock, M.A., vol. 3 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1868), 185. But this does not mean that he would have believed such were real:
“Yet here I cannot but disallow the indoctrinating of children with superstitious notions, which nuzzle them up in vulgar errors that lead unto unbelief; the affrighting of them with silly tales of bugbears, stories of hobgoblins and fairies, &c., “profane and old wives’ fables,” not tending to godliness, (1 Tim. 1:4, 6; 4:7,) which occasion needless and groundless fears, that afterwards, when they should have more brains, are not easily corrected, or not without great difficulty.”
James Nichols, Puritan Sermons, vol. 2 (Wheaton, IL: Richard Owen Roberts, Publishers, 1981), 331.
The elf is the Serpent of Genesis 3; that is, the Devil. By “spitting venom”, he tempted the couple to sin which brought about death.
Glory lined out a paradise
The Genesis account describes the earth in three categories. First, there was Eden, which was a place from whence water flowed out and in the Garden. Second, was the Garden where God placed Adam and Eve with instruction to keep this garden. Third, was the field, the world outside the Garden. That “glory lined out” means that God laid out a garden (“paradise”).
Seeds and flowers/ light and life
Glory lined out a paradise in power
Where e’ery seed a royal coach became 20
For Life to ride in, to each shining flower.
And made man’s flower with glory all o’re flame.
In Genesis 1:11, a particular type of plant is note, “plants yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit in which is their seed.” In verse 29, God says, “Behold I have given you every plant yielding see that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in in its fruit. You shall have them for food.” Seed is thus bound up with living.
Taylor takes that emphasis in a slightly different direction, speaking of the flower which comes from the seed.
The picking of life riding through seed to flower (to seed) bearing along life like a coach is quite striking.
The whole discussion of life is filled with light: First, it was “glory” which lines out the Garden. The flowers are “shining” and man’s flower has “glory all o’re flame”. This is a bright burning light of life.
This combination of light and life comes from the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” John 1:1–5 (AV)
Prosody:
Glory lined out a paradise in power
Where e’ery seed a royal coach became 20
For Life to ride in, to each shining flower.
And made man’s flower with glory all o’re flame.
Hell’s ink-faced elf black venom spit upon
The same and killed it. So that life is gone.
The two major sections of the stanza begin with an accented syllable: Glory in line 19 and Hell’s in line 23.
Line 23 is difficult to scan because it seems that one could accent every syllable. Certainly, one could not read the line out-loud and read it quickly.
The final line is such plan speech as to be striking in this poem. The final sentence has a remarkable finality. “So that life is gone.” It is not rhythmic, nor is there much music in it. Typically, such a line would be “bad” poetry, but here it works because of it appearing out of place. (We could say that this line sounds like a line of contemporary poetry in terms of rhythm, but of such Taylor could have no concept._
The repetition of “glory” creates a sort of inclusion: Glory lines out the garden and glory is flaming in the flower. The repetition of “fl” in flower, flower, and “flame” as well as the “L” of life and in “gLory” works well. L’s work well with “m” in “made man’s”
