If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.
In a published book
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I couldn't help but ...
From guest waydownuponjoy (contact)
identify with this poem as so many of us have had that 'secret love' and often wonder where they are! Her description of 'snooping' into another's paper on the train sets the scene for this sonnet that says so much in a quiet sort-of-way! I'm sure that she had so many more thoughts to the dynamics of the occurence but at the moment changed the tone of those thoughts with her dynamite last two lines. I read her biography and was thrilled to learn of her life and what made Edna so special! A good sharing here and I was glad to find it! joy;) -
To me she speaks of refined restraint,
not admitting even to her conscious self
what memories remain, what could have been;
as she distracts herself with normality.
But when in the privacy of her own room...
Aesthete -
The first two comments speak of indifference and that is also what I first thought, but as I read it again I think I picked up some cues that suggest something somewhat different. The title "Quite Casual Way" when applied to being in public suggests that she'd merely hide the hurt, out of maybe social decorum or maybe even a belief that such a display in an indifferent situation would not honor the memory. Or more likely, that due to whatever history they shared, it seems to be a remote one, of some time gone by, like a former love.
I think the key lines are:
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
"such a place" for me suggests merely that it isn't the proper place to mourn, or proper place to mourn this person.
The piece reminds me of a situation, like an ex-lover or friend, who, though she might not be closely connected to now, still there are memories of who they were, the importance they once played in her life, and so there is a sadness, but not the kind that incites a break in decorum. It's more a sadness for the way life turned out, and now how it is finalized.
It's another possibility anyway.
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This poem reminds me of "The Story of an Hour," written by Kate Chopin in which a wife is so overcome with joy because her freedom from her husband (Mr.Millard) after his death she dies of a heart attack...from joy instead of grief. However this poem does indeed seem more about indifference. Both portray a kind of an usually almost contradicting character "the happy widow," or
"the indifferent widow,". -
This reads like indifference to me. Good sonnet form.
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I am still in wonder at how little of her work is read. I love this, it's beautifully formed and subtle. Another point of view, greif takes many forms. Silence is one of them.
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