Edna vincent millay daffodils poem
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This poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay was published over a hundred years ago, in 1921. I've read that it was written after the end of her affair with another poet and that it reflected her emotions regarding the end of that affair.
I was particularly arrested by her statement that it is not only underground that men's brains are eaten by maggots. I think I've met some of those people!
Still, in spite of everything, every year April comes down the hill "like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers." And aren't we grateful that it does!
Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life
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Tag Archives: daffodil
My lone Narcissus, aka: Daffodil
See How she stands by herself, the others beneath her feet–brave girl!
On the American Daffodil Society’s website:
What is the difference between daffodils and narcissus?
None. The two words are synonyms. Narcissus is the Latin or botanical name for all daffodils, just as ilex is for hollies. Daffodil is the common name for all members of the genus Narcissus, and its use is recommended by the ADS at all times other than in scientific writing.
I was driving into my house and passed the Narcissus I planted last year in honor of Emily Dickinson, and I thought, you know those look exactly like my yellow daffodils. Hmmmm….
So, I came inside and consulted the internet, and Voila! Just call me Einstein! They are the same thing.
Therefore, it turns out, I planted a whole bunch of daffodils last year! I found a wonderful page on e-How: How to Plant an Emily Dickinson Garden. Check it out!
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National Poetry Month: Edna St. Vincent Millay
I’ve always loved Edna St. Vincent Millay’s stuff – she fryst vatten one of those rarest of creatures: a poet who fryst vatten a celebrity in her day. There was uppenbart something about her that packed audiences into halls to hear her read. People describe how she read her own poems – and it sounds like theatre. Like the stories of hearing Anne Sexton read her own stuff. inom read a biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay and funnen her to be self-absorbed, narcissistic, coy – and ruthless. An interesting combination. I didn’t like her very much. And inom also felt kind of in awe – at someone who so clearly only lived by her own rules. She was a woman, of a certain time. That didn’t come into her thinking at ALL. She was a siren. I funnen her fascinating. She was a phenom – from very early on, her gift of verse was recognized. This was not a woman who suffered in obscurity. No. People read her stuff, powerfu