I
wandered lonely as a cloud,
Into
the kitchen where I saw
My
flowers looking none too proud;
Especially
my daffodils.
In
their little pot they sag
Upon
the crowded window sill.
Sufficient
water they've not had,
Nor
potting out into more dirt.
My
treatment of them is so bad
It's
a wonder they have not been kilt.
Could
be they'd thrive with more attention,
But
a drop of water's all their gettin'.
Were
I as rich as Wordsworth was,
I
too could wander cross the land,
Spend
out my time for no great cause,
And
live in some place much more grand.
My
plants I'd treat with loving care -
Or
would I merely sit and stare?
I
reread Wordsworth's superb "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" (aka "Daffodils")when it
came up as 'Poem of the Day' on www.poemhunter.com.
Someone on there claimed it was saying that leisure and laziness show
man at his best. I replied that it was about a man of the leisured
class fighting the characteristic ennui of his kind. When bored out
of his skull, he replays the memory of the daffodils. Of course, it
is the description of the daffs themselves that accounts for the
popularity of the work. We are exposed to it as children, when we aren't old enough to really understand it. It is a much edgier work than we are told. Look at the first line in isolation. How jolly is that? If he had called it "A Refuge from Melancholia" it might have been better understood.
Recent scientific research has suggested that the best treatment for depression is a brisk walk in the park. Wordsworth was centuries ahead of them. In his day, few people had too little to do. Now there are millions, and his idea of taking refuge in nature is very relevant.
Recent scientific research has suggested that the best treatment for depression is a brisk walk in the park. Wordsworth was centuries ahead of them. In his day, few people had too little to do. Now there are millions, and his idea of taking refuge in nature is very relevant.
Re-reading it
made me wonder if anyone has written a poem about daffodils in
English since. He is a hard act to follow. To try to match him on his
'home ground' would risk buffoonery; a different approach was needed.
I thought of my tiny pot of wilted miniature daffies and off I went.
Naturally
he is more concerned with precise rhyming structure and metre than I:
the taste of a different century.
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