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Sunday 22 December 2013

Aaracombe Wood, by Charlotte Mew: a study

Charlotte Mew, 1869–1928
This study carries to an extreme the kind of close reading that I discussed in Close reading or silting up the river? As I remaked there, if we studied everything as thoroughly as this we would virtually come to a standstill. And yet there was not one part of this study that did not enrich my understanding and appreciation of what I think is a very fine poem. Thomas Hardy called Mew “the greatest living woman poet”, and like Hardy she was constantly inventive. See Charlotte Mew: The Poetry Foundation & From a Window

Following the suggested practice (for the study of a poem) by Phil Roberts in his How Poetry Works (Penguin) I have set out what seems to me to be the most meaningful pattern of stressed vowels: putting the unstressed vowels to the left of an artificial line, and using lower case letters for those line–beginnings which, in prose, would not begin with a capital letter. There is no necessarily ‘right’ stress, and therefore no ‘perfect’ reading. Had Mew left a stressed–marked copy, it would be extremely interesting, but would not preclude other readings.

                        Some said, because he wuld’n 1 spaik
                        any words to women but Yes and No,
                        nor put out his hand for Parson to shake 2
                  He mun be bird–witted. But I do go
              by the lie of the barley that he did sow, 3
                and I wish no better thing than to hold a rake
                  like Dave, in his time, or to see him mow.

                        Put up in churchyard a month ago,
                   ’A bitter old soul they said, but it wadn’t 4 so.
                 His heart were in Aaracombe 5 Wood where he’d used to go
       to sit and talk wi’ his shadder til sun went low, 6
though  what it was all about us’ll 7 never know.
       And there baint no mem’ry in the place
              of th’ old man’s footmark, nor his face;
                        Aaracombe Wood do think more of a crow —
          ’Will be  violets there in the Spring: in Summer time the spider’s lace;
                 and come the Fall, 8  the whizzle and race
              of the dry, dead leaves when the wind gies chace;
                        and on the Eve of Christmas, fallin snow.

The ‘n’ of ‘wuld’n’ acts here as a ‘syllabic’ consonant, and allows the reader to move easily between the consonants ‘d’ and ‘sp’. (Syllabic l is the most common consonant to have this characteristic, as in ‘funnel’, ‘gabble’, etc.)

2  The line begins with an outstretched hand and ends with something of the vigour of a handshake.

3 Expressed in theses measured single–syllable words there is a wonderful sense of the poet’s aesthetic delight in the craftsmanship and skill of Dave; and the double–syllable of ‘barley’ gives just the right amount of movement to the remembered action.

4 The poet here adopts the local dialect to express her divergent view, and this adds immeasurably to the atmosphere and success of the poem as a whole. She is more intelligent than the country folk, and yet (in a detached way) thoroughly familiar with the undercurrents of country life, thought, and ways.

5 The middle vowel of ‘Aaracombe’ is representative of the weakest vowel in the English language. In linguistics it is called a schwa, and is represented by an upside down ə. It is a ‘lazy’ or ‘lax’ vowel, and occurs more than any other in English. Typically, it occurs at the end of such words as ‘butter’, ‘letter’, ‘painter’, etc. — and, in southern English — neither the ‘e’ nor the ‘r’ are pronounced (even in formal speech). Other examples are the second syllables in ‘haemorrhage’, ‘pat–a–cake, etc. It is never stressed, and is the very devil for EFL learners! Probably it makes very little impact on poetry readers.

6 If the syllables of the last three words are left unstressed, then this takes on the pace of the waning of the day

7 Syllabic l again.

8 There is no indication of particular American influence on the poet, and ‘Fall’ seems to have been chosen because Autumn would have one too many syllables in it. Spring, summer, and fall are named, but winter is simply evoked by the last line.

9 This seems to be an onomatopoeic word made up by the poet.
The rhyme scheme is very interesting, and seems nowhere ‘forced’ in the interests of meaning. The orthographical use of dialect is extremely successful.


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