The discussion of the word “integrity” in Rowland’s wonderful work brings to mind one of the best definitions of a poem I have heard: word-thing. Unlike prose, in a poem each individual word matters, and by implication the ones consciously or subconsciously left out matter, too. It is an amazing process, is it not?
The same scene is seen from different times in the speaker's life. The much later view has lost all its early enchantment, the speaker having been "programmed" to "ignore" its "integrity."
(Experience could teach one to deny it all integrity, if that word is understood to signify good character, I should mention.)
If the speaker uses "integrity" only to refer to the general unification of his surrounds, no moral point is being made.
So my guess is that life's heaped-up burdens have blinded him to the surrounding scenery.
(Some learn to ignore the scene's integrity simply by realizing it has none--in the moral sense. To say that again in a different way.)
The speaker must still be aware of the scene's "integrity" since one can't ignore something that isn't present to the senses, because there'd be nothing to ignore.
So my guess is that the meaning is that while everything around is still there and still has all its "charms," the older speaker simply can't enjoy them, due to personal circumstances, labor, worry, dull routine and whatever else.
Integrity is the word that caught my interest most, thus all my attention went to it.
The father finds himself in an uncomfortable position, telling the child there is "magic" up there in the starry heaven while knowing it's a "dustbin." He's putting a bit of gloss on the picture to say the least. At least the poem makes a confession, that the parent is characterizing things to the child oppositely to what he's found them to be. God's children have all inherited a dustbin of course, via the agency of animal desire. One could conclude that giving desire free rein is bound to result in countless burst bubbles. Some burst sooner than others I'd wager. To the extent the poem suggests any regret or guilt, it conveys an apt sentiment. The mood of the piece seems meditative, enough not to rule out those apt sentiments.
What always impresses me about Rowland Hughes's poetry is the quality of the imagery, in particular his ability to combine the intimate and domestic with the cosmic and exotic in a way that is almost magical. As if they were one and same. As at the deepest level they probably are.
The discussion of the word “integrity” in Rowland’s wonderful work brings to mind one of the best definitions of a poem I have heard: word-thing. Unlike prose, in a poem each individual word matters, and by implication the ones consciously or subconsciously left out matter, too. It is an amazing process, is it not?
Thank you for that Stewart.
The same scene is seen from different times in the speaker's life. The much later view has lost all its early enchantment, the speaker having been "programmed" to "ignore" its "integrity."
(Experience could teach one to deny it all integrity, if that word is understood to signify good character, I should mention.)
If the speaker uses "integrity" only to refer to the general unification of his surrounds, no moral point is being made.
So my guess is that life's heaped-up burdens have blinded him to the surrounding scenery.
(Some learn to ignore the scene's integrity simply by realizing it has none--in the moral sense. To say that again in a different way.)
The speaker must still be aware of the scene's "integrity" since one can't ignore something that isn't present to the senses, because there'd be nothing to ignore.
So my guess is that the meaning is that while everything around is still there and still has all its "charms," the older speaker simply can't enjoy them, due to personal circumstances, labor, worry, dull routine and whatever else.
Integrity is the word that caught my interest most, thus all my attention went to it.
It is a striking word in this context isn't it? And probably involves all its possible meanings.
The father finds himself in an uncomfortable position, telling the child there is "magic" up there in the starry heaven while knowing it's a "dustbin." He's putting a bit of gloss on the picture to say the least. At least the poem makes a confession, that the parent is characterizing things to the child oppositely to what he's found them to be. God's children have all inherited a dustbin of course, via the agency of animal desire. One could conclude that giving desire free rein is bound to result in countless burst bubbles. Some burst sooner than others I'd wager. To the extent the poem suggests any regret or guilt, it conveys an apt sentiment. The mood of the piece seems meditative, enough not to rule out those apt sentiments.
Thank you Tom.
What always impresses me about Rowland Hughes's poetry is the quality of the imagery, in particular his ability to combine the intimate and domestic with the cosmic and exotic in a way that is almost magical. As if they were one and same. As at the deepest level they probably are.
Thank you John, that’s so kind of you.