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Two Ekphrastic Poems
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The Light of the World, Holman Hunt
As predawn darkness shrouds the land,
With warm-lit lantern in his hand
The risen Jesus stands before
A rusted, weed-choked, shuttered door
And knocks, and waits, in hope that he—
Before the night has passed—might be
Invited in to sup with you.
But as he waits, he turns his head
As if to ask what I would do
If that closed door were mine, instead.
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Poet’s Note: Hunt painted three versions of this iconic work. The original (completed in 1854) hangs in the chapel at Keble College, Oxford; the largest and most famous (shown above) in St. Paul’s Cathedral, London; and a smaller version in the Manchester City Art Gallery. The painting illustrates Jesus’ words, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will enter his house and dine with him, and he with me.” (Revelation 3:20). The painting’s title is taken from John 8:12 where Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” Hunt painted the door without an exterior latch, indicating that the door can only be opened from the inside. It is also interesting to note that Hunt, after using several male models for his head of Christ, completed the image with the poet Christina Rossetti—the sister of another of Hunt’s Pre-Raphaelite friends, Dante Gabriel Rossetti—as his final model for the painting.
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Ophelia, John Everett Millais
O fair Ophelia, as if in prayer,
With hands upraised and a melodious lay
Upon your soon-to-be departed lips,
You float, as if in sweet ambivalence,
To be, or not to be, to sleep, perchance
To dream of willowed garlands, fallen, strewn
About like fresh-plucked funereal flowers
Foredoomed to wither on a fresh-dug grave.
While mermaid-like—borne up by billowed gown
Adorned with twining floral gold brocade—
Your rose-tinged cheeks and sodden auburn hair
Await the grasp of dead men’s fingers, tasked
To pull your garments, heavy with their drink,
To muddy death beneath the weeping brook.
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Poet’s Note: Both Millais’ painting and the accompanying poem (with numerous references) draw from Queen Gertrude’s account of Ophelia’s death in Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 7. It is unclear in the play whether Ophelia’s death was by accident or suicide. As the murdered Polonius’ daughter, sister to the plotting, vengeful Laertes, and Hamlet’s beloved future queen, caught up in the whirlwind of King Claudius’ murderous treachery, Hamlet’s real or feigned madness, and grieving her father’s mistaken homicide, either cause of death could be considered possible. Also of interest is that Millais and Hunt were close friends, leaders in the Pre-Raphaelite Movement, and wildly popular in the English-speaking world. The two paintings here described were painted within miles of each other and at the same time. It is said that Millais spent 11 hours a day for six months engaged in plein-air painting of the stream and its vegetation.
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James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and three collections of poetry including Mostly Sonnets, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in The Lyric, Poetry Salzburg (Austria) Review, California Quarterly, Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online, Better than Starbucks, Dwell Time, Light, Deronda Review, The Road Not Taken, Fevers of the Mind, Sparks of Calliope, Dancing Poetry, WestWard Quarterly, Society of Classical Poets, and The Chained Muse. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.
These are two very beautiful and resonant pieces — the first for the unanswered question that it poses, and the second for its elegant blank verse and its use of Shakespearean echoes for direct linkage to the original story (“to be, or not to be,” and “garments, heavy with their drink”).
The Millais painting creates an amazing and dreamlike backdrop of nature’s greenery to contrast with the pale face and hands of Ophelia. This is a synthesis of beauty and death that is almost Poe-like in perfection. Millais’ six months of labor produced a haunting and unforgettable picture. And this ekphrastic poem is equally haunting.
Your comment is much appreciated and most satisfying. Thank you.
In “Ophelia,” I am impressed with the use of “dead men’s fingers, which are known from Gertrude’s speech to be the name of one variety of Ophelia’s fresh-plucked funereal flowers. In your poem, James, they come to life and pull the unfortunate young woman’s garments down into the water. This has enough implications for a short paper on Shakespeare’s poetry, because yours adds to it a stronger touch of the macabre.
The form of “The Light of the World” is couplets until you stop at the seventh line. For the remaining lines, you alternate rhyme sounds as Jesus turns His head from door to viewer (and maybe back again), thus paying attention to both.
About Christina Rossetti being the final model for the divine face, we can reflect that Jesus had only Mary’s genes to create His human looks. Features were masculinized, but because there was no contribution from a human father, a woman could have served as appropriate model.
Margaret, I didn’t plan to switch the rhyme pattern mid-poem, but my muse more or less imposed it on me as I was composing it. I liked the way it read and did not make any attempt to reconfigure it back into couplets.
You always have a good eye for such things, which makes your comments all the more valuable, both for me and for others who may benefit from your comments.
As for “Dead Men’s Fingers” the use of the floral sobriquet was quite intentional and, as you point out, produced a very satisfying layer of meaning, as does the suggestion that her flowers double as the floral tribute for her own grave.
I’ve never written an ekphrastic poem, James, and I don’t really want to, but I do like reading very good ones where the art is redoubled. I think I’ve said this before: you are a national treasure. Keep pressing on.
Thank you, C.B. If you’ve ever written a poem inspired by a particular flower in your garden, I would suggest that it could be considered a type of ekphrastic poetry.
And by the way, while I have your ear (or eye, perhaps), let me compliment you on your marvelous interview with ABB on his latest Classical Poets LIVE podcast. He is a wonderful interviewer and works magic as he edits the final product. He made me sound a lot better because of his edits. You, of course, would have been just as good even without it!
These are two beautifully written poems, James. They are both moving (particularly the first) and poetic. I particularly like the vivid, poetic imagery in the second poem, especially the second half.
Thank you, Gary, for reading and commenting on my two poems. I am glad the comment was a positive one!
I liked how The Light of the World has an all-encompassing feel to it rather than being a specifically Christian message.
As for Ophelia, I get the feeling I’m seeing half rhymes and internal rhymes at the end of lines rather than a purely blank verse sonnet – though I may just be projecting too much.
I’ve always felt Ophelia’s part and character was underused in ‘Hamlet’ (maybe because we like to see tragic characters make good before they depart, one way or the other), so I’m glad to read such a moving piece, complete with a nod to Hamlet’s famous ‘to be’ speech.
Thanks for the reads.
There are indeed a number of incidental near rhymes in Ophelia.
Departed lips/ambivalence
Strewn/foredoomed
Sweet/sleep
Bourn/adorned
Grasped/tasked
And a phantom rhyme begging for and hinting at a pairing that is anticipated but never arrives:
Brown/(drown)
Such pairings were serendipitous and, to my ear, do, in fact, make the poem more lyrical and melodious than it would have been without them.
Thanks, Paul, for the nice catch.
The neighbors ambivalence/perchance, too; and perhaps the distant prayer/hair.
For another rhyme denier, how about drink/(sink)?
James, These are both excellent Did you go straight to blank verse for Ophelia, or was conventional rhyme in your sights at first?
I have to wonder: ever thought of taking on Elaine (Waterhouse, Rosehthal [R’s is less well known than W’s efforts, but has a romantic history in social commentary, music, and even crime]) in verse?
Julian,
Ophelia was blank verse from the get-go.
With SCP I have posted poems on Bruegel, Rembrandt, Michelangelo and now Millais and Hunt. I will look over your suggestions and see what my Muse has to say about it.
Two beautiful works of art and two matching and beautiful poems, James – I especially like the Holman Hunt piece: ‘But as he waits, he turns his head …’ So simple, but sublime. Great work – well done.
Ty, James. “Simple” is always best when it can be pulled off.
James, these are simply wonderful. I was so entranced by “Ophelia” that I never noticed that it was in blank verse. I first encountered the Pre-Raphaelites at Wightwick Manor in middle England, and later, the superb collection in the Lady Lever gallery near to Liverpool. Eleven hours a day for six months is dedication indeed. I am in awe of these guys. Thank you for a most enlightening read.
You’re very welcome, Jeff. I’ll have to research that Liverpool venue in case I’m ever in the neighborhood!