POETRY IN LOCKDOWN:12

Alfred, Lord Tennyson is a name carved in granite, the name of a monument of a man. In his time Tennyson's poetry was read everywhere from humble cottages to royal palaces, and he ended up as Poet Laureate and a lord. He isn't quite so popular now (despite The Lady of Shalott and The Charge of the Light Brigade) but he's worth re-visiting for his superb poetic craftsmanship rather than his sentiments, which can ring false to a non-Victorian ear.

The poem that made Tennyson’s name was In Memoriam, written in personal tribute to his fellow poet and best friend Arthur Hallam, who died suddenly aged 22 in 1833.  Consisting of 131 sections, the poem is immensely long and ranges across religious and social issues as well as Tennyson’s more personal grief. In some parts I find it genuinely moving. Here is part 7, one of the shorter sections, where the poet is drawn back to the house of his dead friend after a sleepless night. Its highlight is the way the last line breaks the metre as a signal of desolation.

From In Memoriam
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Dark house, by which once more I stand
   Here in the long unlovely street,
   Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasped no more —
   Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
   And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away
   The noise of life begins again,
   And ghastly through the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.