All About Books discussion

All the roses were red
and the ivy was all black.

Darling, that little shift you make
reawakens all my fears.

The sky was too blue, too tender,
the sea too green and the air too soft.

I always fear - this is what waiting is! -
you'll abandon me horribly

and I'm tired of the holly-bush with its glazed leaves
and the glossy box tree

and of never-ending countryside,
and of everything that isn't you.

Fiona Sampson.

That was very beautiful poem by Ms. Sampson, Dhanaraj. Thank you for sharing this with us! I like the imagery in this poem.

An ex-concert violinist and a philosopher! I had to look Fiona Sampson up because I had never heard of her before.
Something really strange happened to me when reading this. At first sight I thought I knew exactly (I guess you can never really know exactly, but you can at least come close) what this was about, and now after re-reading I am not so sure anymore. Wonder what happens a third time around.

Thank you for sharing this Dhanaraj!

I just realized the "after Verlaine" in the title. Do you know whether she based it on a poem by Paul Verlaine or whether she is just picking up his symbolism?

I loved it Dhanaraj! I liked a lot the symbolism that Jenny was talking about, and the colors ...

@ Jenny, This poem along with another one were placed together in the category of PASTORALS. I think she had based it on a poem by Paul Verlaine. But I have not read him nor had I looked for him or his poem relating to this when I read Sampson's. I just loved the poem of Sampson and the way the idea of 'waiting' was revealed appealed to me immediately.

By the way the another was titled as A SECOND LOOK (after Heine).

Thanks to others who are finding the poem good.....

Very nice poem, thank you for sharing this with us. I had never heard of Fiona Sampson.

Thanks for sharing, Dhanaraj. I don't think I've heard of Fiona Sampson either and this poem is lovely.

I find it interesting that at first I thought it was a poem about love but then the feeling of insecurity and obsession crept in. Now I have the feeling that the speaker is the kind of smothering lover who is jealous sometimes to the point of madness (I can't at the moment think of good literary examples but several classic movie examples, such as the wife in All This, and Heaven Too or Gene Tierney in Leave Her To Heaven).

Leslie, that is precisely what I meant with my former comment. Though in the meantime I came up with more ways of reading it still: one being yours minus the obsessive/mad bit: a poem on lost trust or on fingers once burned, which makes you constantly be on your toes and watch out for every shift of mood, every little gesture.

Another one being: it's too good to be true. All the colours too bright, all the leaves too glossy, everything too perfect to the point where you are just in anticipation of that perfect moment to crumble.

I see it as things being too good to be true. It starts by saying the roses are red, a typically symbol for love. Then the sky is too blue, as if she is in a dream and everything with her love seems so perfect but too perfect so it can't be true. I think the author is feeling jealous, every 'shift' her love makes is making her doubt her reality.

I'm interested in why the ivy is black as the other imagery in the poem is accurate in description, but ivy doesn't seen black to me.

What another great example of a short but wonderfully clever poem

Really impressed with the opinions expressed by many. When I read I had just a simple experience. The poet waits for the Darling/the loved one and as any person waiting in a particular place would do, the poet also observes the surroundings. Everything looks very appealing and that is because the person is waiting for the loved one. But as the stipulated time passes by the poet can no longer look at her surroundings and even when he/she looks at it, it hardly appeals..The beauty depends on the presence or at least on the certainty of the presence of the loved one.

I'm scared of how negative I find the poem. My poor boyfriend!

Dhanaraj, this is how I read it at first too. I have since read something different everytime I read it and will at some point end up at the beginning again probably ;) Quite impressive how such a short poem can be so many things all at once.

Heather wrote: "I'm scared of how negative I find the poem. My poor boyfriend!"

LOL!

I did at first see similar to you both actually but my re-read let me to the more jealous thoughts. Great choice, I love poems that make me think

@ Jenny and Heather: If I make myself a bit conventional and stereotypical, could I make the remark that the reading of the poem by each sex brings out different elements to the main focus.....Lol.......

I am not sure and I am not certain of it. And so I am not conventional and stereotypical.....Lol.

Dhanaraj wrote: "@ Jenny and Heather: If I make myself a bit conventional and stereotypical, could I make the remark that the reading of the poem by each sex brings out different elements to the main focus.....Lol...."

LOL Dhanaraj, the way you read this poem might actually say more about you than it says about your gender;). I am just afraid that the fact that I am reading about 7 differnet interpretations tells me I am suffering from a split personality!!!

A poem is always open to many readings. The discussions and impressions endorse exactly that. And so Jenny, I assure you that you are not a split personality....Lol

My interpretation of this is that of a lover waiting for their beloved, maybe stuck in a conservatory looking into a garden where everything is beautiful. The black ivy may well be wrought iron on the gate to the garden and beyond are the rose bushes. But none of it is enough because the beloved is not here. And the poet thinks about everything that has passed between them, and remembers how perfect it all was, and yet remembers each tone of voice and the slightest shift is enough to make the poet fear that maybe she missed something, that maybe she will be abandoned after all. So maybe this waiting will be in vain for the lover may well not return...