Henry Longfellow: Upon Closer Inspection

     Upon first glance, Henry Longfellow's poems seemed rather traditional to the point of being plain.  They're normally  structured in the pretty standard abab format, which I guess he was well-known for.  But also, my immediate impression of them was that their meaning was equally simple: The Slave Singing at Midnight appeared to be merely about a Negro slave; The Day is Done seemed to be a mournful poem about a distressed man; Fire of Driftwood, I thought, was just about a couple talking about their pasts; and finally The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls really only made me think of a guy getting mugged or murdered in some town.  I really didn't understand these poems even after reading them over twice.
     But after studying them and doing a little research on the most complicated of these, I began to see something much deeper going on.  Of course this is the mark of a good poem, but it's hard to appreciate unless one actually attempts to delve into the nature of it. 
     I came to understand that The Slave Singing at Midnight wasn't merely about a Negro slave, but could apply to anyone.  When I found out that Longfellow was a widower of two marriages (losing both wives under very tragic circumstances and being pressured to follow his father's dreams), I began to see what this poem meant for him.  He seemed to feel imprisoned or enslaved himself in a spiritual sense, and because of that, perhaps he appreciated the Negroes captivity more than the average man.  He related this Negro in his poem to the enslaved Israelites in the Bible, and to Paul and Silas' imprisonment in the book of Acts.  He wondered toward the end how the Negro was able to sing the "psalm of David" and be glad, and asked when God would bring this man his freedom as He did for those mentioned in the Bible.  I think this question was more directed at Longfellow's own experiences, but that's only my interpretation.
     I can relate to almost all of his poems, and I feel the emotion emanating from each one of them so strongly that I wish I could write about them all (well, I did in my academic papers, so what I mean is I'd like to discuss it on a more personal level).  But I think my most favorite was Fire of Driftwood.  It reminded me a lot of my most recent relationship that ended exactly as Longfellow recounted it.  These are the parts of the poem that struck true:

... We spake of many a vanished scene,

      Of what we once had thought and said,

Of what had been, and might have been,

      And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,

      When first they feel, with secret pain,

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,

      And never can be one again;

The first slight swerving of the heart,

      That words are powerless to express,

And leave it still unsaid in part,

      Or say it in too great excess. 

     ...

And, as their splendor flashed and failed,

      We thought of wrecks upon the main,

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed

      And sent no answer back again.

     ...

Until they made themselves a part

      Of fancies floating through the brain,

The long-lost ventures of the heart,

      That send no answers back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!

      They were indeed too much akin,

The drift-wood fire without that burned,

      The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

I do often reflect on "what might have been" if the relationship had not failed, and I do have what he describes as a "secret pain" that our lives had to have "separate ends / and never can be one again."  The "first swerving" of, in this case his, "heart" was indeed impossible for him to express at first, and then after a long time he did in fact convey his sudden lack of feeling for me "in too great excess".  Still, I feel that much went left "unsaid in part": I'm confused about the whole ordeal, but he won't explain anything, so there is much that can be said but isn't.  And although some "fancies float" through my brain about what could have been, that relationship is a "long-lost venture" and he will receive nothing of me again though I call out to him.   
     Although this may seem very personal or private, Longfellow's poem shows me that it really isn't an uncommon misfortune.  Many can relate to it.  This is why his poem speaks to me so.  And perhaps others can use my more direct presentation to clarify the meaning of this poem for themselves - that is, IF I interpreted it correctly.  This is all according to my perception, and I'm interested to know what it might mean to others.  What do you think?




Longfellow, Henry. Fire of Drift-wood (1848): n.pag. Poetry Foundation. Web. 19 Oct 2012.

---. “The Slave Singing at Midnight.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym and Robert Levine. 8th. A. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2012. 599-600. Print.