Tennyson: "She took the dappled partridge"

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Brad
Member Ascendant

since 1999-08-20

Posts 5705
Jejudo, South Korea

0 posted 2008-03-12 07:29 PM

Sonnet

quote:
She took the dappled partridge flecked with blood,
And in her hand the drooping pheasant bare,
And by his feet she held the woolly hare,
And like a master painting where she stood,
Looked some new goddess of an English wood.
Nor could I find an imperfection there,
Nor blame the wanton act that showed so fair--
To me whatever freak she plays is good.
Hers is the fairest Life that breathes with breath,
And their still plumes and azure eyelids closed
Made quiet Death so beautiful to see
That Death lent grace to Life and Life to Death
And in one image Life and Death reposed,
To make my love an Immortality.

--1830?

The Thomas poem that Grinch posted counts as February if anybody's keeping track of these things.

I was actually thinking Shakespeare and metric variation this month, but with mine and now Ess's, I don't see the point of so much repetition. I chose this one primarily because I like it.

It doesn't strike me as 'Victorian' in the sense we usually ascribe to Victorians, but that's not what intrigues me here. What is intriguing to me is the beauty, the 'perfection,' of the image in the speaker's eyes of what is, at least to my sensibility, a very odd moment when talking about love and immortality.

I do not hear, cannot find, any irony here. Maybe I'm just missing it, maybe it's there and someone else can point it out to me, but I read it as a straighforward description of a woman after a hunting trip. That that inspires the speaker to muse on life and death and the reverse, their mutual interdependence is clear enough, but I cannot imagine such a scene being played today without at least a hint of irony.

For me, such an account straightforwardly played is refreshing.

Grinch
Member Elite

since 2005-12-31

Posts 2929
Whoville

1 posted 2008-03-13 05:47 PM

There’s no irony involved Brad and it’s definitely not mired in the past.

This poem is a picture of a specific type of English hunting scene, it’s called a rough shoot or walked up day, less formal than a driven pheasant shoot or a day in the butts after grouse but as with the more formal types a picture of a rough shooting party of today would be indistinguishable from one from 1830.

Normally the rough shoot isn’t frequented by the fairer sex so to see one would be a rarity and one that managed to take the day in her stride alongside the men would be a very attractive target for male attention. Rough shooting in England is the closest you can get to real hunting, the game is flushed, or “walked up”, and in contrast to driven days is shot “going away”. That tied to the informality brings out the testosterone and adrenaline of "man the hunter", the poem isn’t a description of ironic happenstance it’s a picture of absolute certainty when a female, especially one who looks at home on the shoot, is thrown into the mix.

Rough shooting is closer to life and death as well , if you shoot it you pick it up, despatch it by hand and carry it, and when you get home you pluck it cook it and eat it. Oddly enough it also gives you a respect for the quarry and a respect for the land and life in general.

I haven’t been on a shoot for seven or eight years (many rough shooters get so close to the landscape that killing things in it, even for food, seems somehow wrong) but this poem brought every day spent out with my dogs and gun back to me.

serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

2 posted 2008-03-13 06:29 PM

Thank you, Grinch. That makes good sense and is more easily digestible than my own meandering thoughts.

I think I always over-read the symbols--but I had read this as a tribute to Diana, the Goddess of the Hunt. (But then, I would, wouldn't I?)

Although not quite conversant in the Wiccan tradition named for her, I did graze upon a bit of it, long ago, when I was shopping for brooms.

In any case, thank you too, Brad. It is a beautiful poem and new to me.

And yanno? Somehow I could just relate.

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

3 posted 2008-03-13 10:39 PM

Thank you, Grinch, for expanding on the theory of the hunt, because the word "freak" seemed disembodied from the whole of the poem until I saw it as you displayed it that the woman would be the freak in a man's world of the rough shoot.

Like serenity, this is not a poem that I had read before, but am most certainly grateful, Brad, that you brought it to the fore.

Now I may read it anew, knowing that she was not truly a "freak" as we know in today's terms.

Thank you both, gentlemen.

Grinch
Member Elite

since 2005-12-31

Posts 2929
Whoville

4 posted 2008-03-15 05:27 PM

The word "freak" here means "prank".

The fair lady is called Maud.

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

5 posted 2008-03-17 02:26 PM

Yet another lesson learned on "freak". Believe it or not, I saw it as the Odd Woman out hunting - but I'm a simple person.

Thanks, Grinch!

Seoulair
Senior Member

since 2008-03-27

Posts 807
Seoul S.Korea

6 posted 2008-03-29 11:31 PM

The sonnet, light hearted described a scene of finished hunting.
There was a fair lady, at the background of English wood, holding blood dropping partridge, pheasant and a hare.
And there was a comparison of them
Made quiet Death so beautiful to see
That Death lent grace to Life and Life to Death

quote:
I do not hear, cannot find, any irony here. Maybe I'm just missing it, maybe it's there and someone else can point it out to me,

What if a woman just killed a pig and her man stood by it and then she sighed out the verses
Made quiet Death so beautiful to see
That Death lent grace to Life and Life to Death
And in one image Life and Death reposed,
To make my love an Immortality ?

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