I’d like to respond to a comment a reader made about the Edna St. Vincent Millay sonnet posted yesterday, which begins, If I should learn, in some quite casual way. She feels the poem is callous and unfeeling.
Archive for January, 2008
It is hard to separate the historical Brigid, who died in the first quarter of the sixth century, and whose feast we celebrate on Feb. 1, from the spiritual Brigid, who has affinity with the mother of the Celtic gods.
The problem is accentuated by the fact that her festival falls on the day of Imbolc, the Celtic season that marks the coming of light after the dark days of winter.
I have been thinking lately about poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950). We were reciting her poems for each other one morning in Vermont.
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh