The poem “The Song of the Terrible” by Hilda Morley immediately struck me as being unique. As I filtered through the Poetry Foundation, I knew I wanted to find a poem that would challenge me, its meaning hovering at the outskirts of my consciousness; it makes sense, conveys emotion, but I cannot yet explain why. Much of Morley’s work evoked this unknown feeling, but “The Song of the Terrible” attracted me because of the unique use of spacing, the complex imagery, and the way she spoke about love, not only romantically, but universally.
After reading through the poem multiple times — confusing images of sewing, singing, and smoking swirling through my head — I decided the best course of action would be to break up the poem and analyze it in parts, in the hopes of piecing it all together at the end. What I first noticed was that the spacing did most of that work for me. The beginning of the poem has spread out, alternating lines (almost mimicking the smoke from the fire she’s referencing) that give way to two larger blocks of text. Using these guidelines to split up the poem, I continued plowing ahead.
In the first, uniquely spaced section (“Finally, the fire… to “Finally then…), the speaker focused on the image of the fire. The speaker is trying to get it to light, but is unsuccessful until they have turned away and given up on the idea entirely. I was reminded of the phrase “a watched pot never boils.” A favorite amongst my wonderful (and very Polish) Nana, I remember being chastised with this phrase when I was very young as I impatiently “helped” make dinner at the end of the day. I wanted pierogis, and I wanted them now. The speaker seems to be experiencing similar, though less carb-related feelings; the fire does not take until they turn away to do something else, highlighting the importance of patience and the uncertain timing of life.
Starting in the second section, the speaker immediately contrasts words like “cleared” and “lightened” with “dark-red” or “wine-dark” imagery of leaves. ,At first I thought the speaker was using these descriptions to create important imagery, but upon more research of Morley on the Poetry Foundation, this intense and lively use of color is persistent throughout all of her works in the similar era of her writing. This discovery helped me hone in on the inclusion of these red colors as being more than the creation of imagery. In this section specifically, the speaker is describing a leaf that they have saved for their audience. The speaker compares the red leaf to a red, blood-filled heart, however, these images seem to contradict each other. Leaves, by design, are fleeting. When they turn red, they are prepared to drop from the trees and be blown away by the wind. A deep red heart is healthy, supporting life. The “message” the speaker references at the end of this section seems to tie into this contradiction; the heart — both love and life — are fleeting, yet we try to convince ourselves otherwise, that our deep-red hearts will not be blown away by the wind, but instead will stick to the tree throughout the winter.
Coming to the final block of text, the speaker switched to the third piece of imagery, sewing. This section proved the most difficult for me, even after I had spent a large portion of time breaking it down and looking for patterns. After referencing it in the section section, the speaker finally reveals that they are talking about love, in some capacity. The images of sewing confused me the most. The dark blood coming forward after the finger was pricked by the sewing needle seems to signify some sort of confronting of love and life through the earlier depictions of the heart. But, the immediate change into the idea of singing a ballad feels more like Hallmark movie love than the deep connections and thoughtful insights the speaker was addressing before. While I still have difficulty with this section, it appears the contradiction is once again the point. The speaker’s love is switching between a profound connection from deep within the blood of a heart, to a more superficial declaration of love because that is what the speaker believes is expected. The speaker chooses the word “should” when referencing the ballad to be sung, hinting at some uncertainty within itself. The speaker is balancing the external expectations of love with their own internal passions.
In the end, the messages in the first two sections (the uncertainty in the timing of life and love, and the balance of expectations), shows up in the last, and I believe the most important line, “& what was terrible / was simple”. It seems improbable that this uncertain love she references can at once be terrible (negatively connotated) and simple (positively to neutrally connotated). It was then that I realized that I was regarding uncertainty itself in the wrong connotation. Uncertainty does not have to be disheartening or unsettling. Whether it be in life, love, or anything in between, human beings are not quite fond of uncertainty, yet it surrounds us in all that we do. When faced with the vast expanses of life, everything is uncertain, nothing truly matters. To me, that is both terrifying and comforting. It provides the freedom to make choices and take risks since there is no correct way to do things.
In the end, there are still many things I don’t know about the poem. I have tried to piece together the ‘more correct’ response, but some details still elude me. The ever present contradictions and changing imagery still causes a few headaches upon my twentieth reread of the poem, but the idea that love, stemming from the dark-red heart, can exist in such a terrible and simple contradiction, spreads to nearly all aspects of life. Our love may be fleeting, we may express it superficially, but in the end it still proliferates through everything that we do. Nothing matters, and that is why it all does.
