'The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter' by Conrad Aiken
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The House of Dust1917From time to time, lifting his eyes, he sees
The soft blue starlight through the one small window,
The moon above black trees, and clouds, and Venus,-
And turns to write . . .The clock, behind ticks softly.It is so long, indeed, since I have written,-
Two years, almost, your last is turning yellow,-
That these first words I write seem cold and strange.
Are you the man I knew, or have you altered?
Altered, of course-just as I too have altered-
And whether towards each other, or more apart,
We cannot say . . .I've just re-read your letter-
Not through forgetfulness, but more for pleasure-Pondering much on all you say in it
Of mystic consciousness-divine conversion-
The sense of oneness with the infinite,-
Faith in the world, its beauty, and its purpose . . .
Well, you believe one must have faith, in some sort,
If one's to talk through this dark world contented.
But is the world so dark?Or is it rather
Our own brute minds,-in which we hurry, trembling,
Through streets as yet unlighted?This, I think.You have been always, let me say, "romantic,"-
Eager for color, for beauty, soon discontented
With a world of dust and stones and flesh too ailing:
Even before the question grew to problem
And drove you bickering into metaphysics,
You met on lower planes the same great dragon,
Seeking release, some fleeting satisfaction,
In strange aesthetics . . .You tried, as I remember,
One after one, strange cults, and some, too, morbid,
The cruder first, more violent sensations,
Gorgeously carnal things, conceived and acted
With splendid animal thirst . . .Then, by degrees,-
Savoring all more delicate gradationsIn all that hue and tone may play on flesh,
Or thought on brain,-you passed, if I may say so,
From red and scarlet through morbid greens to mauve.
Let us regard ourselves, you used to say,
As instruments of music, whereon our lives
Will play as we desire: and let us yield
These subtle bodies and subtler brains and nerves
To all experience plays . . . And so you went
From subtle tune to subtler, each heard once,
Twice or thrice at the most, tiring of each;
And closing one by one your doors, drew in
Slowly, through darkening labyrinths of feeling,
Towards the central chamber . . .Which now you've reached.What, then's, the secret of this ultimate chamber-
Or innermost, rather?If I see it clearly
It is the last, and cunningest, resort
Of one who has found this world of dust and flesh,-
This world of lamentations, death, injustice,
Sickness, humiliation, slow defeat,
Bareness, and ugliness, and iteration,-
Too meaningless; or, if it has a meaning,
Too tiresomely insistent on one meaning:Futility . . .This world, I hear you saying,-
With lifted chin, and arm in outflung gesture,
Coldly imperious,-this transient world,
What has it then to give, if not containing
Deep hints of nobler worlds?We know its beauties,-
Momentary and trivial for the most part,
Perceived through flesh, passing like flesh away,-
And know how much outweighed they are by darkness.
We are like searchers in a house of darkness,
A house of dust; we creep with little lanterns,
Throwing our tremulous arcs of light at random,
Now here, now there, seeing a plane, an angle,
An edge, a curve, a wall, a broken stairway
Leading to who knows what; but never seeing
The whole at once . . .We grope our way a little,
And then grow tired.No matter what we touch,
Dust is the answer-dust: dust everywhere.
If this were all-what were the use, you ask?
But this is not: for why should we be seeking,
Why should we bring this need to seek for beauty,
To lift our minds, if there were only dust?
This is the central chamber you have come to:
Turning your back to the world, until you came
To this deep room, and looked through rose-stained windows,
And saw the hues of the world so sweetly changed.Well, in a measure, so only do we all.
I am not sure that you can be refuted.
At the very last we all put faith in something,-
You in this ghost that animates your world,
This ethical ghost,-and I, you'll say, in reason,-
Or sensuous beauty,-or in my secret self . . .
Though as for that you put your faith in these,
As much as I do-and then, forsaking reason,-
Ascending, you would say, to intuition,-
You predicate this ghost of yours, as well.
Of course, you might have argued,-and you should have,-
That no such deep appearance of design
Could shape our world without entailing purpose:
For can design exist without a purpose?
Without conceiving mind? . . .We are like children
Who find, upon the sands, beside a sea,
Strange patterns drawn,-circles, arcs, ellipses,
Moulded in sand . . .Who put them there, we wonder?Did someone draw them here before we came?
Or was it just the sea?-We pore upon them,
But find no answer-only suppositions.
And if these perfect shapes are evidence
Of immanent mind, it is but circumstantial:
We never come upon him at his work,
He never troubles us.He stands aloof-
Well, if he stands at all: is not concerned
With what we are or do.You, if you like,
May think he broods upon us, loves us, hates us,
Conceives some purpose of us.In so doing
You see, without much reason, will in law.
I am content to say, 'this world is ordered,
Happily so for us, by accident:
We go our ways untroubled save by laws
Of natural things.'Who makes the more assumption?If we were wise-which God knows we are not-
(Notice I call on God!) we'd plumb this riddle
Not in the world we see, but in ourselves.
These brains of ours-these delicate spinal clusters-
Have limits: why not learn them, learn their cravings?
Which of the two minds, yours or mine, is sound?
Yours, which scorned the world that gave it freedom,
Until you managed to see that world as omen,-
Or mine, which likes the world, takes all for granted,
Sorrow as much as joy, and death as life?-
You lean on dreams, and take more credit for it.
I stand alone . . .Well, I take credit, too.
You find your pleasure in being at one with all things-
Fusing in lambent dream, rising and falling
As all things rise and fall . . .I do that too-
With reservations.I find more varied pleasure
In understanding: and so find beauty even
In this strange dream of yours you call the truth.Well, I have bored you.And it's growing late.
For household news-what have you heard, I wonder?
You must have heard that Paul was dead, by this time-
Of spinal cancer.Nothing could be done-
We found it out too late.His death has changed me,
Deflected much of me that lived as he lived,
Saddened me, slowed me down.Such things will happen,
Life is composed of them; and it seems wisdom
To see them clearly, meditate upon them,
And understand what things flow out of them.
Otherwise, all goes on here much as always.
Why won't you come and see us, in the spring,
And bring old times with you?-If you could see me
Sitting here by the window, watching Venus
Go down behind my neighbor's poplar branches,-
Just where you used to sit,-I'm sure you'd come.
This year, they say, the springtime will be early.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken - A Comprehensive Interpretation
Wow, what an incredible piece of poetry is The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken! This literary masterpiece, written in 1917, takes us on a journey through the mind of a man who is haunted by the memories of his lost love. It is a beautiful and haunting work that explores the themes of love, loss, and memory.
In this 4000-word literary criticism and interpretation, we will explore the various elements of this poem, including its structure, tone, imagery, and symbolism. We will also examine the historical and cultural context in which this poem was written and discuss the various interpretations and meanings that can be gleaned from it. So, let's dive in!
Historical and Cultural Context
To fully appreciate The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken, it is essential to understand the historical and cultural context in which it was written. This poem was written during the early twentieth century, a time of great change and upheaval in the world.
During this time, the world was recovering from the devastation of World War I, and people were grappling with the social, political, and cultural changes that came with it. The war had fundamentally changed people's attitudes towards life and death, love and loss, and this is reflected in the themes and imagery of this poem.
Moreover, this poem was written during the modernist movement, a literary movement that rejected traditional forms of poetry and embraced experimentation and innovation. This is evident in the structure and style of The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken, which is unconventional, fragmented, and highly symbolic.
Structure and Tone
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is a highly structured poem that is divided into five stanzas of varying lengths. Each stanza consists of three lines, except for the second stanza, which has four lines. The poem has a regular rhyme scheme, with the last word of each stanza rhyming with the last word of the third line of the preceding stanza.
The tone of the poem is melancholic and reflective, with a sense of longing and regret. The speaker is addressing his lost love, and his words are filled with a deep sense of sadness and nostalgia. He is haunted by memories of their time together, and he wishes that he could go back to that time and relive it.
Imagery and Symbolism
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is rich in imagery and symbolism. The house of dust is a metaphor for the speaker's memories of his lost love, and it represents the transience of life and the inevitability of death. The dust is a symbol of decay and impermanence, and it suggests that the memories of the speaker's lost love are fading away.
The imagery of the poem is highly symbolic, and it is used to convey the speaker's emotions and thoughts. For example, the image of the autumn leaves falling from the trees represents the passage of time and the inevitability of change. The image of the falling leaves also suggests a sense of loss and mourning, as if the speaker is mourning the passing of time and the loss of his love.
Interpretation and Meaning
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is a deeply personal and emotional poem that explores the themes of love, loss, and memory. The speaker is addressing his lost love, and he is expressing his deep sense of loss and regret. He wishes that he could go back in time and relive the moments they shared together, but he knows that this is impossible.
The house of dust is a powerful symbol in this poem, representing the transience of life and the inevitability of death. The dust suggests that the memories of the speaker's lost love are fading away, and that they will eventually be lost forever.
The image of the autumn leaves falling from the trees is also highly symbolic, representing the passage of time and the inevitability of change. The speaker is mourning the passing of time and the loss of his love, and he knows that he can never go back to the way things were.
Overall, The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is a deeply moving and poignant poem that speaks to our universal experiences of love and loss. It is a testament to the power of memory and the profound impact that our past experiences can have on our present lives. It is a work of poetry that will resonate with readers for generations to come.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The House of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is a classic piece of poetry that has stood the test of time. It is a beautiful and haunting work that explores the themes of love, loss, and the passage of time. In this analysis, we will take a closer look at the poem and explore its meaning and significance.
The poem is written in the form of a letter, addressed to an unknown recipient. The speaker of the poem is Conrad Aiken, a well-known American poet and novelist. The letter is written from the perspective of a man who has lost his love and is now reflecting on the past.
The poem begins with the speaker describing the house where he and his love once lived. He describes the house as being "gray and silent" and "full of memories." The house is a symbol of the past, a place where the speaker and his love shared many happy moments together.
As the poem progresses, the speaker begins to reflect on his relationship with his love. He describes how they were once "two souls in one" and how they shared a deep and profound connection. However, as time passed, their love began to fade, and they grew apart.
The speaker then goes on to describe his feelings of regret and longing. He wishes that he could go back in time and relive the moments he shared with his love. He longs to be with her again and to feel the same connection they once shared.
The poem then takes a darker turn as the speaker begins to contemplate death. He describes how death is a "dark and silent sea" that separates him from his love. He longs to be reunited with her in death, but he knows that this is impossible.
The poem ends with the speaker acknowledging that his love is gone forever. He knows that he can never go back to the past and relive the moments he shared with her. However, he takes solace in the fact that their love will live on in his memories and in the memories of those who knew them.
The House of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is a beautiful and haunting work of poetry. It explores the themes of love, loss, and the passage of time in a way that is both poignant and profound. The poem is a testament to the power of love and the enduring nature of memory.
In conclusion, The House of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter written by Conrad Aiken is a classic piece of poetry that continues to resonate with readers today. Its themes of love, loss, and the passage of time are universal and timeless. The poem is a reminder that even though love may fade and time may pass, the memories we create with those we love will live on forever.
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