Interviewer: “Do you feel you could have had a much happier life?”
Philip
Larkin: “Not without being someone else. I think it is very much easier to
imagine happiness than to experience it. Which is a pity because what you imagine
makes you dissatisfied with what you experience, and may even lead you to
neglect it. ‘Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed / For a dream’s
sake,’ to quote Christina Rossetti.”
Larkin
playing “Larkin,” that carefully crafted persona of a philistine depressive who thought “books
are a load of crap” and asked “Who is Jorge Luis Borges?” Though the mention of
Rossetti sounds sincere. The poem he quotes is “Mirage” (Goblin Market and
Other Poems, 1862):
“The hope I
dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a
dream; and now I wake,
Exceeding
comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream’s
sake.
“I hang my
harp upon a tree,
A weeping
willow in a lake;
I hang my
silent harp there, wrung and snapped
For a dream’s
sake.
“Lie still,
lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent
heart, lie still and break:
Life, and
the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream’s
sake.”
Self-pity is
redeemed, in part, by plainness of diction. Rossetti’s troubles are well-known –
her father’s mental illness, a broken engagement, rejected suitors, unrequited
love, Graves’ disease, cancer. Hers was not an enviable life. Born into an
artistic family, she was overshadowed by her brother, the artist and poet Dante
Gabriel Rossetti. In 1962, in his review of a Rosetti biography, Larkin quotes without
comment the fourteenth sonnet in “Monna Innominata: A Sonnet of Sonnets”:
“Youth gone,
and beauty gone if ever there
Dwelt beauty
in so poor a face as this;
Youth gone
and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not
bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a
cheek at best but little fair, –
Leave youth
his roses, who can bear a thorn, –
I will not
seek for blossoms anywhere,
Except such
common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone
and beauty gone, what doth remain?
The longing
of a heart pent up forlorn,
A silent
heart which sang its songs
While youth
and beauty made a summer morn,
Silence of
love that cannot sing again.”
Larkin once
characterized Rossetti and the other poets (Hardy, Owen, Auden, Barnes) he most
enjoyed reading as “on the whole, people to whom technique seems to matter less
than content.” Easy to say, of course, when, like Larkin, you are a master of poetic technique. Much of Rosetti’s
“content” was her life of sadness. She was born on this date, December 5, in 1830
and died in 1894 at age sixty-three.
There's no way to prove it, of course, but if there were I would be willing to bet that nowadays Christina's readers far outnumber those of her brother. (Among the microscopic number of people who read poetry at all!)
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