Works of Thomas Hardy discussion

The Self-Unseeing

Here is the ancient floor,
Footworn and hollowed and thin,
Here was the former door
Where the dead feet walked in.

She sat here in her chair,
Smiling into the fire;
He who played stood there,
Bowing it higher and higher.

Childlike, I danced in a dream;
Blessings emblazoned that day;
Everything glowed with a gleam;
Yet we were looking away!

It seems to me a simple poem but a lovely one. I like the suggestions called up by the final line and the way it relates to the title. There's a profound truth of the human condition here I think.

I love this poem, Greg. I'm picturing a mother, father, and child by the fire. The child is exuberantly dancing as his father plays his fiddle. The narrator appreciates the warmth of the moment now and misses his deceased loved ones, but really didn't recognize how special their time together was when they were alive. He writes in the final line:

"Yet we were looking away!"

I have to mention another line that sets up quite an image:

"Where the dead feet walked in."

This is a lovely poem Greg, as you and Connie have both said. It is so visual, and so nostalgic. It makes me wonder about the back story. Perhaps the narrator is a man who has been widowered. Perhaps it is even Thomas Hardy himself? But I feel the narrator is in an ancient house, where the pavestones have been worn away, and not Max Gate which he designed (so was "new" for him).

Do you know where it coes from, Greg?

Thanks Connie and Jean, I love your thoughts!

Not noticing the preciousness at the time, that's exactly how I take the last line too, though it's a little oblique. That line makes the poem poignant and nostalgic for me, but it isn't bleak the way some of his poems can be.

I am thinking though that maybe the speaker is the child who is now grown up and is remembering his parents who are gone? I'm guessing that because of the line "Childlike, I danced in a dream." Because of the "I" in this line and the past tense of the verb, I'm picturing the speaker imagining himself as a child, dancing to his father's music. And then also, the title "Self-Unseeing," that also makes me think he is remembering his younger "self", who is not seeing the depth of all that was precious at the time.

I have no idea if I'm correct though - that's just the imagery that occurred to me when I read it.

Jean, it comes from his second book of poetry, Poems of the Past and the Present [1901].

Oh yes, thank you Greg! That makes a lot more sense. 😊 Perhaps he is remembering his life in the stonemason's cottage, which certainly has a floor as described, and the family might had lived there for generations I think, as his grandmother also lived there. But it could be imaginary, either.

The overall title of the collection is very apt too!

(Linked, and moved to current reads for a while, so it is noticed.)

This is a wonderful poem, Greg. I love the simple, sparse language, it adds to the nostalgic feeling of carefree childhood.

Like all of you, the title and the last line suggest to me that people should spend more time reflecting on the happy times as they occur. But then I wondered, if we all went around being hyper self-aware all the time, wouldn't that take away the shine of everything glowing with a gleam? I'm not sure you can have it both ways; experiencing blessings emblazoned and being self-aware at the same time.

Alas, I'm probably reading too much into this. Hardy probably meant this to be a sort of carpe diem poem, be grateful for the love and happiness one has and not take it for granted.

Bridget wrote: "But then I wondered, if we all went around being hyper self-aware all the time, wouldn't that take away the shine of everything glowing with a gleam? I'm not sure you can have it both ways; experiencing blessings emblazoned and being self-aware at the same time."

That's a great question Bridget, and I think maybe you're right.

Part of what makes us hyper aware of those things is the knowledge that they can be lost. It's important to cherish the people we love, but maybe there's something special about those earlier moments where we don't even have that double vision yet and we just partake in pure joy without even knowing that it might one day be gone. Does the awareness itself take us out of the moment in some way? I don't know. Maybe it's equally good but different and those moments just change in character as we get older, with our knowledge within the moment of what can happen?

But it is definitely part of the human condition that things that are precious in this life are transitory, and that's what makes the poem so poignant.

Anyway, it was great to read your thoughts as always! :)

Greg: This delightful poem, to me, has the feel of the Robert Frost poem where he finds an abandoned house in the woods.

I like how the fire from the second stanza bleeds into the 3rd stanza.
The poem is vague enough to be open to many interpretations.The first stanza is prefect!

Donald wrote: "Greg: This delightful poem, to me, has the feel of the Robert Frost poem where he finds an abandoned house in the woods.

I like how the fire from the second stanza bleeds into the 3rd stanza.
The..."

So glad you liked it Donald!

For some reason, I imagined a old cottage or house as well when I read it - I guess it was the footworn and ancient floor maybe? And as the poem has the feel of looking back, the idea of it possibly now being abandoned makes sense.

Thanks for sharing this poem, Greg! I like the poem as well and my thoughts coincide with Jean's interpretation: the ancient house, where the door would be one that earlier residents had entered and also died, as well as that the author was once a child in the home and reflects on not only his childhood but the lives of those who lived there previously.