Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MY MOTHER'S SISTER, by CECIL DAY LEWIS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I see her against the pearl sky of dublin Last Line: How can gthis be justified? How can it / be justified? Alternate Author Name(s): Blake, Nicolas Subject(s): Aunts; Spinsters; Old Maids | ||||||||
I see her against the pearl sky of Dublin Before the turn of the century, a young woman With all those brothers and sisters, green eyes, hair She could sit on; for high life, a meandering sermon (Church of Ireland) each Sunday, window-shopping In Dawson Street, picnics at Killiney and Howth... To know so little about the growing of one Who was angel and maid-of-all work to my growth! -Who, her sister dying, took on the four-year Child, and the chance that now she would never make A child of her own; who, mothering me, flowered in The clover-soft authority of the meek. Who, exiled, gossiping home chat from abroad In roundhand letters to a drift of relations - Squires', Goldsmiths, Overends, Williams' - sang the songs Of Zion in a strange land. Hers the patience Of one who made no claims, but simply loved Because that was her nature, and loving so Asked no more than to be repaid in kind. If she was not a saint, I do not know What saints are... Buying penny toys at Christmas (The most a small purse could afford) to send her Nephews and nieces, she'd never have thought the shop Could shine for me one day in Bethlehem splendour. Exiled again, after ten years, my father Remarrying, she faced the bitter test Of charity- to abdicate in love's name From love's contentful duties. A distressed Gentle woman housekeeping for strangers; Later, companion to a droll recluse Clergyman brother in rough-pastured Wexford, She lived for all she was worth- to be of use. She bottled plums, she visited parishioners. A plain habit of innocence, a faith Mildly forbearing, made her one of those Who, we were promised, shall inherit the earth ... Now, sunk in one small room of a Rathmines Old people's home, helpless, beyond speech Or movement, yearly deeper she declines To imbecility- my last link with childhood. The battery's almost done: yet if I press The button hard- some private joke in boyhood I teased her with- there comes upon her face A glowing of the old, enchanted smile. So, still alive, she rots. A heart of granite Would melt at this unmeaning sequel, Lord, How can this be justified, how can it Be justified? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMILY HARDCASTLE, SPINSTER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM SOME FOREIGN LETTERS by ANNE SEXTON PASSPORT BLUES by MALCOLM COWLEY A SPINSTER'S STINT by ALICE CARY MY AUNT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES MEZZO CAMMIN by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW DOROTHY IN THE GARRET by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE |
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