La Figlia Che Piange (The Weeping Girl)

T S Eliot

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair -
Lean on a garden urn -
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair -
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained suprise -
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and a shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight, and the noon's repose.

Commentary

Funny that Martin should bring up the Pre-Raphaelites, ‘cos my next choice is a poem which… well, read on.

from ‘Prufrock and Other Observations’, 1917.

The image in the first stanza reminds me irresistibly of the Brotherhood; to know exactly why, visit
http://www.speel.demon.co.uk/other/prb.htm for a brief review of the Pre-Raphaelites (and several pictures which capture their aesthetic perfectly).

From the second stanza onwards we move into familiar Eliotesque terrain
- the explorations of time, faith, love and other Big Things. Despite these metaphysical excursions, the poem remains free of allusion and cross-referencing to a remarkable extent (for Eliot), and is still airy and light in tenor.

For me, though, the whole impact of the poem hinges on the first verse, which I think is simply beautiful.

— Thomas


The Wondering Minstrels, poem #9 · 18 February 1999

Poem selected by Abraham Thomas

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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.

Jan Olov Ullen · 11 March 2000

Are you sure there’s no operatic reference in the title of the poem? And that “la figlia” doesn’t mean daughter? The first meaning of the word in Italian certainly is daughter. I have thought that maybe the title comes from an aria (Verdi, Puccini etc). There are many weeping daughters in the opera literature, aren’t there? It can also have a religious meaning: the daughter being S Mary…
Your association to the preraphaelites seems very likely, though. All the best
Jan Olov Ullen
(Stockholm)

Matt Chanoff · 9 February 2001

What’s odd in a love poem is this third-person narrative. The poet is not breaking up with the girl, he’s watching the aftermath of the girl breaking up with someone else, and dealing with his ambivalent feelings both about the relationship and the end of it. I think this is about a father watching the end of his daughter’s first (?) love affair.

Taylor Charles · 13 February 2001

I believe this is frequently thought of as a response to a painting, pre-raphaelite very likely: does it make sense to see it as the artist, comenting on the scene he has recreated?

Peter Fennessy · 22 August 2003

This text of the poem omits a line Eliot included after his title, namely “O quam te memorem virgo” It is taken from the Aeneid (I, 327) where Aeneas meets his mother in disguise and says “I seem to remember you, miss.” It is cited by Spencer in his Shepherd’s Calendar (April) which is in honor of Queen Elizabeth I. What does it all mean?

Shannon McLachlan · 14 April 2007

What is the rhythm of this poem?