On Account Of Nat'l Poetry Month...
Apr. 14th, 2010 01:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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queensthiefI remembered that this bit of Wordsworth's The Prelude (Book First, l.357-385) reminds me of QoA (sans some issues with who gets to row):
One summer evening (led by her) I found
A little Boat tied to a Willow-tree
Within a rocky cave, its usual home.
Straight I unloosed her chain, and, stepping in,
Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth
And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
Of mountain-echoes did my Boat move on,
Leaving behind her still, on either side,
Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
Until they melted all into one track
Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows
(Proud of his skill) to reach a chosen point
With an unswerving line, I fixed my view
Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,
The horizon's utmost boundary; for above
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.
She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily
I dipped my oars into the silent lake;
And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat
Went heaving through the Water like a swan:
When, from behind that craggy Steep, till then
The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Upreared its head. --I struck, and struck again,
And, growing still in stature, the grim Shape
Towered up between me and the stars, and still
For so it seemed, with a purpose of its own
And measured motion, like a living Thing
Strode after me.
~Guin
One summer evening (led by her) I found
A little Boat tied to a Willow-tree
Within a rocky cave, its usual home.
Straight I unloosed her chain, and, stepping in,
Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth
And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
Of mountain-echoes did my Boat move on,
Leaving behind her still, on either side,
Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
Until they melted all into one track
Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows
(Proud of his skill) to reach a chosen point
With an unswerving line, I fixed my view
Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,
The horizon's utmost boundary; for above
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.
She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily
I dipped my oars into the silent lake;
And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat
Went heaving through the Water like a swan:
When, from behind that craggy Steep, till then
The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Upreared its head. --I struck, and struck again,
And, growing still in stature, the grim Shape
Towered up between me and the stars, and still
For so it seemed, with a purpose of its own
And measured motion, like a living Thing
Strode after me.
~Guin
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no subject
Date: 4/14/10 10:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 4/15/10 02:34 am (UTC)We read The Waste Land in class this past semester, and there's a few lines about a boat ("The boat responded / Gaily to the hand expert with sail and oar") that aren't particularly appropriate to QoA, but for some reason I was on a MWT-allusion kick, and they reminded me of QoA in a similar way to the way your Wordsworth lines do.
no subject
Date: 4/19/10 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 4/19/10 03:01 am (UTC)Of course HIS boater goes on to be freaked out about the looming rock and rows swiftly back to where he came from. But still!
no subject
Date: 4/19/10 03:16 am (UTC)