Saturday, August 08, 2015

Uncertain Poetic Bloodlines

I read an article this week, like this one, about a series of experiments which have produced amazing results of rejuventation from giving young blood to old mice. Experimentation is to continue, using humans rather than mice. Among a thread of commentary I noticed some unfamiliar lines from a poem.

The lines quoted by that commenter were these:

"They bled an old dog dry yet the exchange rills
Of young dog blood gave but a month's desires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills."


Down a rabbit hole I fell.

I had to discover the rest of that poem. Having discovered it to be William Empson's "Missing Dates", written in 1937, I also discovered that it is in the poetic form known as "villanelle". (There was a villanelle in Thursday's post too, by the way.)

I enjoy poetry, but am not educated to the point where I can recognise the many and varied poetic forms that have developed over the centuries. The limerick, elegy, sonnet and ode are just about my limit - I've added one more to that list via this particular rabbit hole.

The full poem/villanelle by William Empson goes like so:

Missing Dates

Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
It is not the effort nor the failure tires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.

It is not your system or clear sight that mills
Down small to the consequence a life requires;
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.

They bled an old dog dry yet the exchange rills
Of young dog blood gave but a month's desires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.

It is the Chinese tombs and the slag hills
Usurp the soil, and not the soil retires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.

Not to have fire is to be a skin that shrills.
The complete fire is death. From partial fires
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.

It is the poems you have lost, the ills
From missing dates, at which the heart expires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.



On its surface, fairly depressing!


William Empson said of his poem:
I don't think anything needs explaining except that I believe I had actually read a piece of scientific research about changing an old dog's blood with a young one's. And the Chinese tombs - it's a legend that they can't go on farming because the land gets covered with sacred ancestors' tombs which is not true, incidentally. But that's all that needs explaining I think. It's called 'Missing Dates', which is failing to meet appointments, you understand.
And from HERE:
At the time, Empson had turned 30 and returned to London from a teaching position in Japan; he would soon be on his way to China. He uses English literary allusions, contemporary medical experimentation, and Chinese and Buddhist traditions to reflect on the loss of poetic power and personal human decay.
Another perspective:
This poem means different things to different people, and was almost certainly written with this intention as is hinted on the linked page. It is very often interpreted almost literally these days, when we are all concerned about pollution. But it was written in 1937, when pollution was not a general topic of concern.

To me (and my perspective will not be shared by many others, I realise) this is a poem about the Church of England in particular and the failure of Christian churches worldwide to spread a message of love rather than nitpicking and backbiting. The waste, the waste!

Also, there's this:
Empson’s attempt to reconcile opposing forces may have led to his fascination with Buddhism. Such a philosophical acceptance of human suffering as a way of apprehending reality so appealed to Empson that he put together “The Faces of Buddha,” a collection of articles written in Japan and China; the manuscript, however, is regrettably lost. In “Missing Dates” (1937), the despairing refrain of the poem laments that despite humanity’s efforts “the waste remains, the waste remains and kills.” Whether the ambiguous key word here denotes emptiness, exhaustion, loss, or prodigality, its reality is fatal; nirvana is unattainable. Furthermore, in his published collections of poetry, Empson chose for an epigraph Buddha’s “Fire Sermon,” recognizing, as did Eliot, that modern humanity shares a universal dilemma.


How would I interpret the poem?
Hmmm...Metaphor for negativity of any kind, in absolutely any situation. Its waste remains and kills.

Any other interpretations spring to mind?

9 comments:

mike said...

This quote presents a different view of Empson's topic and it's by someone well-versed on the subject:

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” Hunter S. Thompson

DC said...

After reading it....and then removing the refrains....it seemed easier to interpret, at least for me....I left the quatrain in at the end tho....it just seemed right for me to analyze it as such.
IMHO......I interpret it loosely as this....it is the little things that kill us....little things we don't sense and perceive every day by our grosser senses that produces (mills) what we are.
Remember....he is first and foremost a poet...so that affected my analysis too.
What sometimes kills a poet, can also be a deadening of the inspiration paired with and sometimes caused by, lost poems not recorded. (waste)
For as all poets know, the poems come on their own, they have their own life it seems...and are worthy of preserving, as well as respected because at later dates....after they are re-read....they can bring back "New life" to a seemingly "dead" poet.....and nothing should ever be wasted as far as poetry is concerned...neither the effort nor the failures are ever really dead to a poet....and I too even keep a record of what I think are "failed" poems....and efforts, e.g. unfinished ones as well,yet I seem to often discover there is more times than not "New Life" in those too.
in a sense...wasting poems can play a part in killing a poet.
New lifeblood for an old dog so to speak lol...
Just my opinion...
Forgive my super long sentences btw. :)

It is not the effort nor the failure tires.

It is not your system or clear sight that mills
Down small to the consequence a life requires;

They bled an old dog dry yet the exchange rills
Of young dog blood gave but a month's desires.

It is the Chinese tombs and the slag hills
Usurp the soil, and not the soil retires.

Not to have fire is to be a skin that shrills.
The complete fire is death. From partial fires

It is the poems you have lost, the ills
From missing dates, at which the heart expires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.

Twilight said...

mike ~ And by all accounts HST did just that! :-)

Twilight said...

DC ~ Thanks for sharing your point of view. :-) Yes, "the little things" - I agree.

The words do leave way for different interpretations. I'm always amazed - and entertained - by the way people come up with different meanings behind popular song lyrics, it will be the same for some poems, I'm sure.

Whatever interpretation of detail here, there will have to be a common thread - some kind of loss, as I see it. Loss of opportunity, loss of enthusiasm, loss of love, loss of health.....etc. from a seed/passing thought/idea/remark planted in the past.

LB said...

Twilight ~ Maybe more than "loss" (we had something but now we don't), it's more about the tragedy of the unlived and principled life, and the outer sacrifices we must sometimes make to live it.

I do agree (with both you and DC), the poet is talking about missed opportunities, but also, I think about the lack of meaningful ones, our inner knowing that what's best in us ~our poetry, passions, unique potentials and inherited gifts~ will most likely die within, waste away, remain unseen, unheard and unappreciated. And not necessarily because we haven't tried.

When I googled Empson I discovered he touted the idea of multiple meanings, so our discussion would probably please him.:)

If his (Wikipedia) birthdate is correct, the idea of feeling artistically misunderstood and 'different' would fit with his Chiron-South Node conjunction in Aquarius opposite North Node in Leo.

LB (again) said...

I think the poem could have another meaning as well, one related to larger social issues and how some of us enjoy greater opportunity and privilege than others.

Twilight said...

LB ~ That would fit too, yes. Also, maybe it's possible to see a relationship in the poem to karma...the paying of old debts. Also...thinking of the recent news stories about Greece's financial problems: Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
Fits.

The poem is a clever chameleon-like construct isn't it!

DC said...

LB made me think as well that a good handle on this would MAYBE be....."It's not so much what we DO that is wasteful....it's what we don't do"..."maybe" being the keyword here...and yes I agree with LB that Empson would entirely enjoy this forum... :)

Twilight said...

DC ~ Agreed - A clue maybe there in the poem's title too "Missing Dates" - the ones he didn't attend/meet deadlines for.