Christina Rossetti: poetry

While looking for “Crime and Punishment” by Dostoevsky in the college library, I chanced upon a collection of poetry and prose by Christina Rossetti, a Victorian poetess born to Gabrielle Rossetti.  An occasional poet myself, I couldn’t resist the growing feeling of reading the book. Besides, the nine days of navratri vacations needed to be spent doing something worthwhile! What better way than indulge in some poetry and mathematics: both of them being things that I take keen interest in!

Christina Rossetti, sister of Dante Rossetti writes about death very poignantly. Or perhaps I just happened to chance upon a lot of poems dedicated to that theme as I adopted the technique of randomizing the selection of poems to read! One such poem is:

After Death

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept 
And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may 
Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, 
Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. 
He leaned above me, thinking that I slept 
And could not hear him; but I heard him say: 
"Poor child, poor child:" and as he turned away 
Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. 
He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold 
That hid my face, or take my hand in his, 
Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: 
He did not love me living; but once dead 
He pitied me; and very sweet it is 
To know he still is warm though I am cold.

The above mentioned poem is one of the innumerable Sonnets that Rossetti has written. Unlike the Shakespearean Sonnets that I often find incomprehensible, her sonnets are simple to understand, leaving you marveling at the beauty of the thoughts of the poetess. Another such Sonnet which enthused my interest in writing a Sonnet on my own is:

Remember

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

Both the poems are based on her favorite theme of death. However, what makes them so beautiful for me is the wish that the others remain happy, and the hope that the dead be remembered with happy thoughts or not be remembered at all! The contradiction in her writings is quite clearly visible in the following poem (which is one of my favorites):

Dream Land

Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.

She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.

Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.

Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.

An apparently joyful poem ends at a no –so-happy note, leaving the reader thinking whether it was a carefully thought out course for the poem or the poetess suddenly had a mood swing that gets reflected by the poem! Another such poems which the readers might perhaps want to read is “By the Water”, wherein she takes you through a beautiful dream only to realize at the end that they key element around which the dream centered is just a dream itself!

And if you haven’t already had enough of her poems, you must check out the prose “Maude” where she dwells in the concept of vanity and its consequences in her own beautifully poetic way! The prose titled “Nick” is a good bedtime story for grown up kids like me! “Monna Innominata: A Sonnet Of Sonnets” is an enriching collection of Sonnets talking about love: lost and found, with a tinge of feminism at the end! And with the following poem, I would recommend all poetry lovers to check out Rossetti’s other poems at least once!

Hollow Sounding and Mysterious

There's no replying
To the Wind's sighing,
Telling, foretelling,
Dying, undying,
Dwindling and swelling,
Complaining, droning,
Whistling and moaning,
Ever beginning,
Ending, repeating,
Hinting and dinning,
Lagging and fleeting--
We've no replying
Living or dying
To the Wind's sighing.

What are you telling,
Variable Wind-tone?
What would be teaching,
O sinking, swelling,
Desolate Wind-moan?
Ever for ever
Teaching and preaching,
Never, ah never
Making us wiser--
The earliest riser
Catches no meaning,
The last who hearkens
Garners no gleaning
Of wisdom's treasure,
While the world darkens:--
Living or dying,
In pain, in pleasure,
We've no replying
To wordless flying
Wind's sighing.