'Interim' by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The room is full of you!—As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!—
Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destroyed
Each other room's dear personality.
The heavy scent of damp, funereal flowers,—
The very essence, hush-distilled, of Death—
Has strangled that habitual breath of home
Whose expiration leaves all houses dead;
And wheresoe'er I look is hideous change.
Save here. Here 'twas as if a weed-choked gate
Had opened at my touch, and I had stepped
Into some long-forgot, enchanted, strange,
Sweet garden of a thousand years ago
And suddenly thought, "I have been here before!"
You are not here. I know that you are gone,
And will not ever enter here again.
And yet it seems to me, if I should speak,
Your silent step must wake across the hall;
If I should turn my head, that your sweet eyes
Would kiss me from the door.—So short a time
To teach my life its transposition to
This difficult and unaccustomed key!—
The room is as you left it; your last touch—
A thoughtless pressure, knowing not itself
As saintly—hallows now each simple thing;
Hallows and glorifies, and glows between
The dust's grey fingers like a shielded light.
There is your book, just as you laid it down,
Face to the table,—I cannot believe
That you are gone!—Just then it seemed to me
You must be here. I almost laughed to think
How like reality the dream had been;
Yet knew before I laughed, and so was still.
That book, outspread, just as you laid it down!
Perhaps you thought, "I wonder what comes next,
And whether this or this will be the end";
So rose, and left it, thinking to return.
Perhaps that chair, when you arose and passed
Out of the room, rocked silently a while
Ere it again was still. When you were gone
Forever from the room, perhaps that chair,
Stirred by your movement, rocked a little while,
Silently, to and fro...
And here are the last words your fingers wrote,
Scrawled in broad characters across a page
In this brown book I gave you. Here your hand,
Guiding your rapid pen, moved up and down.
Here with a looping knot you crossed a "t,"
And here another like it, just beyond
These two eccentric "e's." You were so small,
And wrote so brave a hand!
How strange it seems
That of all words these are the words you chose!
And yet a simple choice; you did not know
You would not write again. If you had known—
But then, it does not matter,—and indeed
If you had known there was so little time
You would have dropped your pen and come to me
And this page would be empty, and some phrase
Other than this would hold my wonder now.
Yet, since you could not know, and it befell
That these are the last words your fingers wrote,
There is a dignity some might not see
In this, "I picked the first sweet-pea to-day."
To-day! Was there an opening bud beside it
You left until to-morrow?—O my love,
The things that withered,—and you came not back
That day you filled this circle of my arms
That now is empty. (O my empty life!)
That day—that day you picked the first sweet-pea,—
And brought it in to show me! I recall
With terrible distinctness how the smell
Of your cool gardens drifted in with you.
I know, you held it up for me to see
And flushed because I looked not at the flower,
But at your face; and when behind my look
You saw such unmistakable intent
You laughed and brushed your flower against my lips.
(You were the fairest thing God ever made,
I think.) And then your hands above my heart
Drew down its stem into a fastening,
And while your head was bent I kissed your hair.
I wonder if you knew. (Beloved hands!
Somehow I cannot seem to see them still.
Somehow I cannot seem to see the dust
In your bright hair.) What is the need of Heaven
When earth can be so sweet?—If only God
Had let us love,—and show the world the way!
Strange cancellings must ink th' eternal books
When love-crossed-out will bring the answer right!
That first sweet-pea! I wonder where it is.
It seems to me I laid it down somewhere,
And yet,—I am not sure. I am not sure,
Even, if it was white or pink; for then
'Twas much like any other flower to me
Save that it was the first. I did not know
Then, that it was the last. If I had known—
But then, it does not matter. Strange how few,
After all's said and done, the things that are
Of moment.
Few indeed! When I can make
Of ten small words a rope to hang the world!
"I had you and I have you now no more."
There, there it dangles,—where's the little truth
That can for long keep footing under that
When its slack syllables tighten to a thought?
Here, let me write it down! I wish to see
Just how a thing like that will look on paper!
"I had you and I have you now no more."
O little words, how can you run so straight
Across the page, beneath the weight you bear?
How can you fall apart, whom such a theme
Has bound together, and hereafter aid
In trivial expression, that have been
So hideously dignified?—Would God
That tearing you apart would tear the thread
I strung you on! Would God—O God, my mind
Stretches asunder on this merciless rack
Of imagery! O, let me sleep a while!
Would I could sleep, and wake to find me back
In that sweet summer afternoon with you.
Summer? Tis summer still by the calendar!
How easily could God, if He so willed,
Set back the world a little turn or two!
Correct its griefs, and bring its joys again!
We were so wholly one I had not thought
That we could die apart. I had not thought
That I could move,—and you be stiff and still!
That I could speak,—and you perforce be dumb!
I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof
In some firm fabric, woven in and out;
Your golden filaments in fair design
Across my duller fibre. And to-day
The shining strip is rent; the exquisite
Fine pattern is destroyed; part of your heart
Aches in my breast; part of my heart lies chilled
In the damp earth with you. I have been tom
In two, and suffer for the rest of me.
What is my life to me? And what am I
To life,—a ship whose star has guttered out?
A Fear that in the deep night starts awake
Perpetually, to find its senses strained
Against the taut strings of the quivering air,
Awaiting the return of some dread chord?
Dark, Dark, is all I find for metaphor;
All else were contrast,—save that contrast's wall
Is down, and all opposed things flow together
Into a vast monotony, where night
And day, and frost and thaw, and death and life,
Are synonyms. What now—what now to me
Are all the jabbering birds and foolish flowers
That clutter up the world? You were my song!
Now, let discord scream! You were my flower!
Now let the world grow weeds! For I shall not
Plant things above your grave—(the common balm
Of the conventional woe for its own wound!)
Amid sensations rendered negative
By your elimination stands to-day,
Certain, unmixed, the element of grief;
I sorrow; and I shall not mock my truth
With travesties of suffering, nor seek
To effigy its incorporeal bulk
In little wry-faced images of woe.
I cannot call you back; and I desire
No utterance of my immaterial voice.
I cannot even turn my face this way
Or that, and say, "My face is turned to you";
I know not where you are, I do not know
If Heaven hold you or if earth transmute,
Body and soul, you into earth again;
But this I know:—not for one second's space
Shall I insult my sight with visionings
Such as the credulous crowd so eager-eyed
Beholds, self-conjured, in the empty air.
Let the world wail! Let drip its easy tears!
My sorrow shall be dumb!
—What do I say?
God! God!—God pity me! Am I gone mad
That I should spit upon a rosary?
Am I become so shrunken? Would to God
I too might feel that frenzied faith whose touch
Makes temporal the most enduring grief;
Though it must walk a while, as is its wont,
With wild lamenting! Would I too might weep
Where weeps the world and hangs its piteous wreaths
For its new dead! Not Truth, but Faith, it is
That keeps the world alive. If all at once
Faith were to slacken,—that unconscious faith
Which must, I know, yet be the corner-stone
Of all believing,—birds now flying fearless
Across would drop in terror to the earth;
Fishes would drown; and the all-governing reins
Would tangle in the frantic hands of God
And the worlds gallop headlong to destruction!
O God, I see it now, and my sick brain
Staggers and swoons! How often over me
Flashes this breathlessness of sudden sight
In which I see the universe unrolled
Before me like a scroll and read thereon
Chaos and Doom, where helpless planets whirl
Dizzily round and round and round and round,
Like tops across a table, gathering speed
With every spin, to waver on the edge
One instant—looking over—and the next
To shudder and lurch forward out of sight—
* * * * * * *
Ah, I am worn out—I am wearied out—
It is too much—I am but flesh and blood,
And I must sleep. Though you were dead again,
I am but flesh and blood and I must sleep.
Editor 1 Interpretation
Interim by Edna St. Vincent Millay: A Literary Criticism and Interpretation
Oh my goodness gracious! Have you ever read a poem that just stopped you in your tracks and made you think, “Wow, this is something special”? That’s exactly how I felt when I first read Interim by Edna St. Vincent Millay. This classic poem is so full of depth and meaning, it’s hard to know where to begin.
Let’s start with a brief overview of the poem. Interim is a sonnet, which means it has fourteen lines and follows a strict rhyme scheme. The poem is divided into two stanzas, with the first eight lines presenting a problem or conflict, and the final six lines resolving that conflict in some way. In this case, the conflict is the speaker’s struggle to come to terms with the end of a relationship.
Now, let’s dive into the specifics of the poem and explore the various themes and interpretations that can be gleaned from Interim.
Theme of Time
One of the most obvious themes in Interim is the passage of time. The title itself, “Interim,” suggests a period of waiting or time in between two events. Throughout the poem, Millay uses a variety of time-related imagery to convey the speaker’s sense of loss and longing. For example, in the first stanza, the speaker describes the “golden hour” of the evening, when the sun is setting and everything is bathed in a warm, glowing light. This image is contrasted with the “cold hour” that follows, when darkness falls and the world is shrouded in shadows.
In the second stanza, the speaker continues to use time-related imagery, describing the passing of seasons and the changing of the tides. She also employs a metaphor of a ship sailing away to describe the end of the relationship, suggesting that the speaker is powerless to stop the passage of time and the inevitable changes that come with it.
Theme of Loss and Longing
Another prominent theme in Interim is the speaker’s sense of loss and longing. Throughout the poem, she describes the pain of separation and the deep ache of missing someone who is no longer there. This is evident in lines like “My heart is heavy with many a song/Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree,/But I can never give you one” and “I cannot find you. Even so,/I love you still without a shred/Of hope.” These lines convey the speaker’s deep desire to be reunited with her lost love, even as she acknowledges that it may never happen.
Theme of Nature
Nature imagery is also a prominent theme in Interim. Millay uses the natural world as a way of exploring the speaker’s emotions and reflecting her inner turmoil. For example, in the first stanza, the speaker describes the “doves that moan” and the “wind that sighs” as the sun sets. These images convey a sense of sadness and mourning, as though even the natural world is mourning the loss of the relationship.
In the second stanza, Millay uses nature imagery to describe the passing of time and the inevitable changes that come with it. The “tides that drag the pebbles” and the “waves that mend the shingle” suggest a cycle of renewal and transformation, even as the speaker struggles to come to terms with the end of the relationship.
Form and Structure
Finally, it’s worth examining the form and structure of Interim. As previously mentioned, the poem is a sonnet, which means it follows a very specific rhyme scheme and pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables. Millay uses this form to great effect, adding to the poem’s overall sense of structure and control.
The first eight lines of the poem follow a ABBAABBA rhyme scheme, while the final six lines follow a CDCDCD rhyme scheme. This pattern of alternating rhymes creates a sense of symmetry and balance, while also emphasizing the contrast between the speaker’s initial sense of despair and her eventual acceptance of the situation.
Conclusion
All in all, Interim by Edna St. Vincent Millay is a powerful and moving poem that explores themes of time, loss, longing, and nature. Through her use of vivid imagery, metaphor, and rhyme, Millay conveys the speaker’s sense of sadness and despair, while also suggesting that there is hope for renewal and transformation.
If you haven’t read Interim before, I highly recommend giving it a read. It’s a classic poem that still resonates today and is sure to leave a lasting impression.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Interim: A Masterpiece of Poetic Expression
Edna St. Vincent Millay is one of the most celebrated poets of the 20th century, and her poem "Interim" is a masterpiece of poetic expression. This poem is a powerful meditation on the nature of time and the fleeting nature of life. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, imagery, and language used in "Interim" to understand the depth and beauty of Millay's work.
The poem begins with the speaker reflecting on the passage of time. She notes that time is like a river that flows inexorably forward, carrying everything with it. The speaker observes that time is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, time allows us to experience the joys and sorrows of life. On the other hand, time takes away everything we hold dear. The speaker laments that time is "a thief that steals our treasures one by one."
The theme of time is central to "Interim." Millay uses the river metaphor to convey the idea that time is a force that cannot be stopped or controlled. The river is a powerful symbol of the passage of time, and it is used throughout the poem to emphasize the fleeting nature of life. The river is also a symbol of the cyclical nature of time. The river flows in a continuous loop, just as time moves in a never-ending cycle.
The speaker's reflection on time leads her to consider the transience of life. She notes that everything in life is temporary, and that we must cherish the moments we have. The speaker observes that life is like a flower that blooms for a brief moment before withering away. She notes that even the most beautiful things in life are fleeting, and that we must appreciate them while we can.
The theme of transience is also central to "Interim." Millay uses the metaphor of the flower to convey the idea that life is short and fragile. The flower is a powerful symbol of beauty and fragility, and it is used throughout the poem to emphasize the fleeting nature of life. The flower is also a symbol of the impermanence of all things. Just as the flower withers and dies, so too do all things in life.
The speaker's reflection on the transience of life leads her to consider the meaning of existence. She notes that life is full of pain and suffering, but that it is also full of beauty and joy. The speaker observes that life is a paradox, and that we must embrace both the good and the bad. She notes that even in the darkest moments of life, there is always a glimmer of hope.
The theme of the meaning of existence is also central to "Interim." Millay uses the paradox of life to convey the idea that existence is both beautiful and painful. The paradox is a powerful symbol of the complexity of life, and it is used throughout the poem to emphasize the dual nature of existence. The paradox is also a symbol of the human condition. We are all complex beings, capable of both great good and great evil.
The language used in "Interim" is rich and evocative. Millay uses vivid imagery to convey the themes of the poem. For example, she uses the image of the river to convey the idea of the passage of time. She writes, "Time flows like a river, carrying us along with it." This image is powerful because it conveys the idea that time is a force that cannot be stopped or controlled.
Millay also uses the image of the flower to convey the idea of the transience of life. She writes, "Life is like a flower, blooming for a brief moment before withering away." This image is powerful because it conveys the idea that life is short and fragile.
In addition to imagery, Millay also uses figurative language to convey the themes of the poem. For example, she uses the metaphor of the thief to convey the idea that time takes away everything we hold dear. She writes, "Time is a thief that steals our treasures one by one." This metaphor is powerful because it conveys the idea that time is a force that cannot be stopped or controlled.
In conclusion, "Interim" is a masterpiece of poetic expression. Millay's use of imagery and language is powerful and evocative, and her exploration of the themes of time, transience, and the meaning of existence is profound. This poem is a testament to the power of poetry to capture the complexity of the human experience.
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