'The Englishman In Italy' by Robert Browning
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(PIANO DI SORRENTO.)Fortu, Frotu, my beloved one,
Sit here by my side,
On my knees put up both little feet!
I was sure, if I tried,
I could make you laugh spite of Scirocco;
Now, open your eyes-Let me keep you amused till he vanish
In black from the skies,
With telling my memories over
As you tell your beads;
All the memories plucked at Sorrento
-The flowers, or the weeds,
Time for rain! for your long hot dry Autumn
Had net-worked with brown
The white skin of each grape on the bunches,
Marked like a quail's crown,
Those creatures you make such account of,
Whose heads,-specked with white
Over brown like a great spider's back,
As I told you last night,-Your mother bites off for her supper;
Red-ripe as could be.
Pomegranates were chapping and splitting
In halves on the tree:
And betwixt the loose walls of great flintstone,
Or in the thick dust
On the path, or straight out of the rock side,
Wherever could thrust
Some burnt sprig of bold hardy rock-flower
Its yellow face up,
For the prize were great butterflies fighting,
Some five for one cup.
So, I guessed, ere I got up this morning,
What change was in store,
By the quick rustle-down of the quail-nets
Which woke me before
I could open my shutter, made fast
With a bough and a stone,
And look through the twisted dead vine-twigs,
Sole lattice that's known!
Quick and sharp rang the rings down the net-poles,
While, busy beneath,
Your priest and his brother tugged at them,
The rain in their teeth:
And out upon all the flat house-roofs
Where split figs lay drying,
The girls took the frails under cover:
Nor use seemed in trying
To get out the boats and go fishing,
For, under the cliff,
Fierce the black water frothed o'er the blind-rock
No seeing our skiff
Arrive about noon from Amalfi,
-Our fisher arrive,
And pitch down his basket before us,
All trembling alive
With pink and grey jellies, your sea-fruit,
-You touch the strange lumps,
And mouths gape there, eyes open, all manner
Of horns and of humps.
Which only the fisher looks grave at,
While round him like imps
Cling screaming the children as naked
And brown as his shrimps;
Himself too as bare to the middle--You see round his neck
The string and its brass coin suspended,
That saves him from wreck.
But today not a boat reached Salerno,
So back to a man
Came our friends, with whose help in the vineyards
Grape-harvest began:
In the vat, half-way up in our house-side,
Like blood the juice spins,
While your brother all bare-legged is dancing
Till breathless he grins
Dead-beaten, in effort on effort
To keep the grapes under,
Since still when he seems all but master,
In pours the fresh plunder
From girls who keep coming and going
With basket on shoulder,
And eyes shut against the rain's driving,
Your girls that are older,-For under the hedges of aloe,
And where, on its bed
Of the orchard's black mould, the love-apple
Lies pulpy and red,
All the young ones are kneeling and filling
Their laps with the snails
Tempted out by this first rainy weather,-Your best of regales,
As tonight will be proved to my sorrow,
When, supping in state,
We shall feast our grape-gleaners (two dozen,
Three over one plate)
With lasagne so tempting to swallow
In slippery ropes,
And gourds fried in great purple slices,
That colour of popes.
Meantime, see the grape-bunch they've brought you,-The rain-water slips
O'er the heavy blue bloom on each globe
Which the wasp to your lips
Still follows with fretful persistence-Nay, taste, while awake,
This half of a curd-white smooth cheese-ball,
That peels, flake by flake,
Like an onion's, each smoother and whiter;
Next, sip this weak wine
From the thin green glass flask, with its stopper,
A leaf of the vine,-And end with the prickly-pear's red flesh
That leaves through its juice
The stony black seeds on your pearl-teeth
...Scirocco is loose!
Hark! the quick, whistling pelt of the olives
Which, thick in one's track,
Tempt the stranger to pick up and bite them,
Though not yet half black!
How the old twisted olive trunks shudder!
The medlars let fall
Their hard fruit, and the brittle great fig-trees
Snap off, figs and all,-For here comes the whole of the tempest
No refuge, but creep
Back again to my side and my shoulder,
And listen or sleep.O how will your country show next week
When all the vine-boughs
Have been stripped of their foliage to pasture
The mules and the cows?
Last eve, I rode over the mountains;
Your brother, my guide,
Soon left me, to feast on the myrtles
That offered, each side,
Their fruit-balls, black, glossy and luscious,-Or strip from the sorbs
A treasure, so rosy and wondrous,
Of hairy gold orbs!
But my mule picked his sure, sober path out,
Just stopping to neigh
When he recognized down in the valley
His mates on their way
With the faggots, and barrels of water;
And soon we emerged
From the plain, where the woods could scarce follow
And still as we urged
Our way, the woods wondered, and left us,
As up still we trudged
Though the wild path grew wilder each instant,
And place was e'en grudged
'Mid the rock-chasms, and piles of loose stones
(Like the loose broken teeth
Of some monster, which climbed there to die
From the ocean beneath)
Place was grudged to the silver-grey fume-weed
That clung to the path,
And dark rosemary, ever a-dying,
That, 'spite the wind's wrath,
So loves the salt rock's face to seaward,-And lentisks as staunch
To the stone where they root and bear berries,-And... what shows a branch
Coral-coloured, transparent, with circlets
Of pale seagreen leaves-Over all trod my mule with the caution
Of gleaners o'er sheaves,
Still, foot after foot like a lady-So, round after round,
He climbed to the top of Calvano,
And God's own profound
Was above me, and round me the mountains,
And under, the sea,
And within me, my heart to bear witness
What was and shall be!
Oh Heaven, and the terrible crystal!
No rampart excludes
Your eye from the life to be lived
In the blue solitudes!
Oh, those mountains, their infinite movement!
Still moving with you-For, ever some new head and breast of them
Thrusts into view
To observe the intruder-you see it
If quickly you turn
And, before they escape you, surprise them-They grudge you should learn
How the soft plains they look on, lean over,
And love (they pretend)
-Cower beneath them; the flat sea-pine crouches
The wild fruit-trees bend,
E'en the myrtle-leaves curl, shrink and shut-All is silent and grave-'Tis a sensual and timorous beauty-How fair, but a slave!
So, I turned to the sea,-and there slumbered
As greenly as ever
Those isles of the siren, your Galli;
No ages can sever
The Three, nor enable their sister
To join them,-half-way
On the voyage, she looked at Ulysses-No farther today;
Though the small one, just launched in the wave,
Watches breast-high and steady
From under the rock, her bold sister
Swum half-way already.
Fortu, shall we sail there together
And see from the sides
Quite new rocks show their faces-new haunts
Where the siren abides?
Shall we sail round and round them, close over
The rocks, though unseen,
That ruffle the grey glassy water
To glorious green?
Then scramble from splinter to splinter,
Reach land and explore,
On the largest, the strange square black turret
With never a door,
Just a loop to admit the quick lizards;
Then, stand there and hear
The birds' quiet singing, that tells us
What life is, so clear!
The secret they sang to Ulysses,
When, ages ago,
He heard and he knew this life's secret,
I hear and I know!Ah, see! The sun breaks o'er Calvano-He strikes the great gloom
And flutters it o'er the mount's summit
In airy gold fume!
All is over! Look out, see the gipsy,
Our tinker and smith,
Has arrived, set up bellows and forge,
And down-squatted forthwith
To his hammering, under the wall there;
One eye keeps aloof
The urchins that itch to be putting
His jews'-harps to proof,
While the other, through locks of curled wire,
Is watching how sleek
Shines the hog, come to share in the windfalls
-An abbot's own cheek!
All is over! Wake up and come out now,
And down let us go,
And see the fine things got in order
At Church for the show
Of the Sacrament, set forth this evening;
Tomorrow's the Feast
Of the Rosary's Virgin, by no means
Of Virgins the least-As you'll hear in the off-hand discourse
Which (all nature, no art)
The Dominican brother, these three weeks,
Was getting by heart.
Not a post nor a pillar but's dizened
With red and blue papers;
All the roof waves with ribbons, each altar
A-blaze with long tapers;
But the great masterpiece is the scaffold
Rigged glorious to hold
All the fiddlers and fifers and drummers
And trumpeters bold,
Not afraid of Bellini nor Auber,
Who, when the priest's hoarse,
Will strike us up something that's brisk
For the feast's second course.
And then will the flaxen-wigged Image
Be carried in pomp
Through the plain, while in gallant procession
The priests mean to stomp.
And all round the glad church lie old bottles
With gunpowder stopped,
Which will be, when the Image re-enters,
Religiously popped.
And at night from the crest of Calvano
Great bonfires will hang,
On the plain will the trumpets join chorus,
And more poppers bang!
At all events, come-to the garden,
As far as the wall,
See me tap with a hoe on the plaster
Till out there shall fall
A scorpion with wide angry nippers!..."Such trifles"-you say?
Fortu, in my England at home,
Men meet gravely today
And debate, if abolishing Corn-laws
Is righteous and wise
-If 'tis proper, Scirocco should vanish
In black from the skies!
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Englishman In Italy by Robert Browning: A Masterpiece of Poetic Expression
The Englishman In Italy is one of the most impressive poems by Robert Browning, a renowned poet of the Victorian age. In this poem, Browning portrays the experiences of an Englishman who travels to Italy and explores the beauty, culture, and customs of the country. The poem is a masterpiece of poetic expression that showcases Browning's exceptional skills in using language, imagery, and metaphors to create a vivid and compelling portrayal of Italy and its people.
The Importance of Setting and Tone
One of the most striking features of The Englishman In Italy is its setting. Browning carefully selects the Italian landscape as the backdrop for the poem, and he uses it to great effect as a metaphor for the cultural and emotional experiences of the Englishman. The tone of the poem is set from the very beginning, with the opening stanza describing the "blue skies" and "golden corn" of the Italian countryside. The tone is one of wonder and appreciation for the natural beauty of the landscape.
As the poem progresses, Browning uses the setting to reflect the emotional and cultural experiences of the Englishman. For example, he describes the "sunburnt faces" of the Italian peasants and the "deep, dark eyes" of the women, which serve as a reflection of the emotional intensity and passion of the Italian people. Similarly, the "ruins of Rome" and the "ghosts of empires past" serve as a metaphor for the cultural heritage and legacy of Italy and the emotions that it evokes in the Englishman.
The Use of Imagery and Metaphor
Browning is a master of imagery and metaphor, and he uses these literary devices to great effect in The Englishman In Italy. One of the most striking metaphors in the poem is the comparison of the Englishman's experiences in Italy to a "dream." This metaphor serves to underscore the idea that the Englishman's experiences are not just physical, but also emotional and psychological. The dream metaphor is used throughout the poem to describe the Englishman's interactions with the Italian people and their culture.
Browning's use of imagery is equally impressive. He uses vivid descriptions of the Italian landscape, such as the "olive-orchard slopes" and the "lemon-groves," to create a sense of place and atmosphere. Similarly, he uses imagery to describe the people of Italy, such as the "bronze, bold peasant faces" and the "wonderful Italian eyes," to create a sense of character and personality.
The Poem's Themes
The Englishman In Italy is a rich and complex poem that explores a number of themes. One of the most prominent themes is the idea of cultural difference and the clash between different cultures. The poem explores the Englishman's experiences in Italy and the cultural barriers that he must overcome to fully appreciate and understand the country and its people. Similarly, the poem also explores the idea of cultural identity, and the extent to which our experiences shape our sense of self.
Another theme that is explored in the poem is the idea of nostalgia and the longing for the past. The Englishman is struck by the ruins of Rome and the "ghosts of empires past," and he feels a sense of longing for a time that he never experienced. This theme is also reflected in the poem's use of imagery, which portrays Italy as a place that is steeped in history and tradition.
Conclusion
The Englishman In Italy is a remarkable poem that showcases Robert Browning's exceptional skills as a poet. Through his use of setting, tone, imagery, and metaphor, Browning creates a vivid and compelling portrayal of Italy and its people, and explores a number of themes that continue to resonate with readers today. The poem is a testament to Browning's ability to use language not just to describe the world around us, but also to capture the complexities of human experience and emotion.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Englishman in Italy: A Masterpiece of Poetry
Robert Browning's "The Englishman in Italy" is a classic poem that captures the essence of travel and the beauty of Italy. The poem is a narrative of an Englishman's journey through Italy, and it is a masterpiece of poetry that showcases Browning's skill as a writer.
The poem is written in the form of a monologue, with the Englishman speaking directly to the reader. The poem is divided into three parts, each of which describes a different aspect of the Englishman's journey through Italy.
The first part of the poem describes the Englishman's arrival in Italy. He is struck by the beauty of the country and the warmth of its people. He describes the landscape in vivid detail, painting a picture of rolling hills, vineyards, and olive groves. The Englishman is also impressed by the architecture of the country, particularly the churches and cathedrals.
The second part of the poem describes the Englishman's encounter with a group of Italian peasants. The Englishman is initially wary of the peasants, but he soon realizes that they are friendly and welcoming. He is struck by their simple way of life and their close connection to the land. The Englishman is also impressed by their sense of community and their willingness to help each other.
The third part of the poem describes the Englishman's encounter with a group of Italian soldiers. The soldiers are initially hostile to the Englishman, but he is able to win them over with his charm and wit. The Englishman is struck by the soldiers' bravery and their sense of duty to their country.
Throughout the poem, Browning uses vivid imagery and descriptive language to bring the Italian landscape to life. He also uses the Englishman's encounters with the peasants and soldiers to explore themes of community, duty, and friendship.
One of the most striking aspects of the poem is Browning's use of language. He uses a variety of poetic techniques, including alliteration, assonance, and rhyme, to create a musical and rhythmic effect. The poem is also full of vivid imagery and descriptive language, which helps to bring the Italian landscape to life.
Another notable aspect of the poem is its exploration of themes of community and friendship. The Englishman's encounters with the peasants and soldiers highlight the importance of these values in Italian culture. The poem suggests that these values are essential for a happy and fulfilling life.
Overall, "The Englishman in Italy" is a masterpiece of poetry that captures the beauty of Italy and explores themes of community, duty, and friendship. Browning's use of language and imagery is masterful, and the poem is a testament to his skill as a writer. If you are a fan of poetry, or if you simply appreciate beautiful writing, then "The Englishman in Italy" is a must-read.
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