ODE
ON SOLITUDE by Alexander Pope
Happy
the man, whose wish and care
A
few paternal acres bound,
Content
to breathe his native air
In
his own ground.
Whose
herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose
flocks supply him with attire,
Whose
trees in summer yield him shade,
In
winter fire.
Blest,
who can unconcernedly find
Hours,
days, and years slide soft away,
In
health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet
by day,
Sound
sleep by night; study and ease,
Together
mixed; sweet recreation;
And
innocence, which most does please,
With
meditation.
Thus
let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus
unlamented let me die;
Steal
from the world, and not a stone
Tell
where I lie.
—Alexander Pope, “Ode on Solitude,” Poetry
Foundation
This
remarkable poem by Alexander Pope has worn well with time. Its description of
an idyllic, pastoral existence still speaks to the present day. Ostensibly, the
longing for a peaceful, solitary life untroubled by want, away from society and
close to nature, enlivened by study, has deep roots in the human spirit.
The
last stanza is intriguing because it expresses the desire to die unknown and
forgotten, a sentiment that goes against the grain of human yearning for
immortality. The closing statement is possibly inspired by the speaker’s wish
for the peace that converges with hiddenness.
THE
SOLITUDE OF NIGHT by Li Po
Translated
by Shigeyoshi Obata
It
was at a wine party—
I
lay in a drowse, knowing it not.
The
blown flowers fell and filled my lap.
When
I arose, still drunken,
The
birds had all gone to their nests,
And
there remained but few of my comrades.
I
went along the river—alone in the moonlight.
—Li Bai, transl. by Shigeyoshi Obata, “The Solitude of Night,” Poetry Foundation
One
of the charms of ancient poetry is its power to transport us to a distant time
and place, offering us an experience of the unfamiliar and exotic that makes our
visit well worthwhile. In this poem we are carried off to 8th century Tang China, our host a whimsical, tippling man of letters. The poem
displays some of the hallmarks of the inimitable Li Po—vignettes about the
pleasures of wine and the allures of nature, limned with a simple, direct gaze
and an endearing eye for memorable details.
SOLITUDE
by Lia Purpura
No
one home.
Snow
packing
the
morning in.
Much
white
nothing
filling up.
A
V of birds
pulling
the
silence
until
some dog
across
the street
barks,
and breaks
what
I call my peace.
What
a luxury
annoyance
is.
It
bites off
and
keeps
just
enough of
what
I think
I
want to be endless.
—Lia Purpura, “Solitude,” Poetry
Foundation
In
this selection of some of my favorite poems, I wanted to include at least one
contemporary piece. This poem was published in 2015.
One virtue of Lia Purpura’s poem is incisive imagery—“much white nothing
filling up,” “a V of birds pulling the silence.” Another is keen paradox—“what
a luxury annoyance is.” The latent punch line is that annoyance is hardly
luxury. It is a bane, a dog that bites off just enough of your peace to basically
destroy it.
Lia
Purpura has garnered multiple honors and awards:
—“Lia Purpura,” Poetry Foundation
 |
| Solitude (2008) by Horacio Cardozo |
