Today Ira Maine brings us Robert Browning’s
‘Home Thoughts from Abroad’
‘Home Thoughts from Abroad’ is Robert Browning, away holidaying in Italy with his wife, Elizabeth Barrett, and obviously missing the Northern European Spring. This poem dates from about the 1850s. Husband and wife spent a great deal of their time in Italy, not just for cultural edification, but also, like many others, to escape the horrors of the English winter.
It is thought that Elizabeth suffered from a possibly inherited condition called Hypokalemic Periodic Paralysis, an incurable disease which robs the blood of potassium. This leaves the sufferer wide open to much more intense reactions to quite ordinary things like sleep, salt, exercise, hunger and a host of others including heat and cold. The condition was not recognised until about 1900, nearly forty years after Elizabeth’s death.
The condition being undiagnosed at the time, all sorts of remedies were offered, including opium, which caused Elizabeth to become a lifelong addict. Doubtless the balmier climes of Italy were recommended for her health so a good deal of time was spent there. At some point during these overseas trips Browning penned this poem which begins with the heartfelt, nostalgic cry which you can still hear on any expat’s lips, even if the expat in question hasn’t the foggiest idea who penned it.
Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there…’
And vividly the poet remembers (and envies)
‘…whoever wakes in England…’
Because they will see what the poet cannot see, and can only imagine; the green bud-bursting leaves on the lower elm bran\ches. The self-sown tiny new elm trees surrounding the elm bole, shouldering their way up to the light, the delightful chaffinch singing away. Northern Europeans forget the freezing weather, the jumpers and jackets and wooly vests and remember only the more pleasant aspects, the good bits.
And soon there’s May, with first the nest building whitethroats and then the endlessly acrobatic swallows easily able to mesmerise us with their grace and skill.
Somewhere in a hedge near Browning’s home in England, there’s an old pear tree he remembers and he knows precisely how that tree is behaving. In his mind’s eye he can see it overhanging the field and extravagantly spreading its white blossoms on the clovered grass. In the branches there’s a thrush. Famously, the songs of the European thrushes easily equal that of our finest composers. Here’s one, remembered in Browning’s mind, who sings a song of extraordinary complexity and then, just to show you it wasn’t a fluke, he repeats it precisely all over again! Look how Browning puts this;
‘…That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over
Lest you should think he never could recapture
That first careless rapture!…’
This is the work of a real poet. This is a splendidly put description of the thrush’s command of exquisite melody. These are lines Browning is justly famous for.
The frost on the ground, ‘…the hoary dew…’ will soon melt away and midday will reveal the golden buttercups, there for the children to check under chins for their ‘dower’ their annual inheritance, whose colour is far brighter than the (to Browning) ‘…gaudy melon-flower…’ which is all about him in deepest Italy!
Browning, as poets do, ‘…owns…’ a season as did Matthew Prior, Wordsworth and countless others. They celebrate that season but theirs is a courtly love, full of reverence and respect. They ‘…own…’ their season only in that they record it in a way that a great painter might. The difference is that poets make their brushstrokes in our minds.
Ira Maine, Poetry Editor
Today the Prime Minister Mr Tony Abbott announced a nation building project of immeasurable scale and monumental vision. In his own words’ ‘This project is so visionary, I hasten to add with all due respect to the pioneers of engineering it’ll make the Snowy Mountains Scheme look like a puddle’!!
e, made from the sharply flavoursome Bramley apple? Anyway, we are not at all sure about this. After all, we don’t know where you’ve been. However, being aware of your vast fortune we could perhaps put this to one side for a moment and instead consider how we are to proceed. Here at Soggy Bottom, if an animal is to be readied for a feast we spend a fair amount of time feeding the creature the very best available tucker. Having rested the beast for an hour or two, we then get the hired help to chase the bastard endlessly round the paddock. This quickly sloughs off excess fat and helps build up the taste and quality of the meat. Regular purgations, by way of vigourous enemas are then employed to cleanse the bowels and to avoid the possibility of contaminating the meat. Then finally the animal is allowed one last bout of rumply pumply with, in your case, the boar. We find this last service adds an almost indefinable finish to the taste and flavour. Should you care to present yourself in good order at these premises and are prepared to fit in with these arrangements your desires might easily be accommodated. Regular exercise and purges usually last for a month at least.. If for whatever reason, and after your due time has passed, you have not passed away naturally, other, more permanent arrangements can be organized. Providing this final service comes at an extra charge and is, of course usually arranged as a surprise. Cannibal Lectern
The Human Dinner Company.
