Dover Beach
"Dover Beach" is a short lyric poem by the English poet Matthew
Arnold.[1] It was first published in 1867 in the collection New Poems, but
surviving notes indicate its composition may have begun as early as 1849. The
most likely date is 1851
The title, locale and subject of the poem's descriptive opening lines is
the shore of the English ferry port of Dover, Kent, facing Calais, France, at
theStrait of Dover, the narrowest part (21 miles) of the English Channel, where
Arnold honeymooned in 1851
Analysis
In
Collini's opinion, "Dover Beach" is a difficult poem to analyze, and
some of its passages and metaphors have become so well known that they are hard
to see with "fresh eyes".[3] Arnold begins with a naturalistic and detailed nightscape of
the beach at Dover in which auditory imagery plays a significant role[4] ("Listen! you hear the
grating roar"). The beach, however, is bare, with only a hint of humanity
in a light that "gleams and is gone".[5] Reflecting the traditional notion that
the poem was written during Arnold's honeymoon (see composition section), one
critic notes that "the speaker might be talking to his bride".
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies
fair
Upon the straits; —on the French
coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs
of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the
tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the
night-air!
Only,
from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the
moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating
roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw
back, and fling,
At their return, up the high
strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again
begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and
bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Arnold looks at two aspects of
this scene, its soundscape (in the first and second stanzas) and the retreating
action of the tide (in the third stanza). He hears the sound of the sea as
"the eternal note of sadness". Sophocles, a 5th century BC Greek
playwright who wrote tragedies on fate and the will of the gods, also heard
this sound as he stood upon the shore of the Aegean Sea.[7][8]Critics
differ widely on how to interpret this image of the Greek classical age. One
sees a difference between Sophocles interpreting the "note of
sadness" humanistically, while Arnold in the industrial nineteenth century
hears in this sound the retreat of religion and faith.[9] A more recent
critic connects the two as artists, Sophocles the tragedian, Arnold the lyric
poet, each attempting to transform this note of sadness into "a higher
order of experience".
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægæan, and it
brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and
flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a
thought,
Hearing it by this distant
northern sea.
Having examined the soundscape,
Arnold turns to the action of the tide itself and sees in its retreat a
metaphor for the loss of faith in the modern age, once again expressed in an
auditory image ("But now I only hear / Its melancholy, long, withdrawing
roar"). This third stanza begins with an image not of sadness, but of
"joyous fulness" similar in beauty to the image with which the poem
opens
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and
round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright
girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long,
withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast
edges drear[15]
And naked shingles of the world.
The
final stanza begins with an appeal to love, then moves on to the famous ending
metaphor. Critics have varied in their interpretation of the first two lines;
one calls them a "perfunctory gesture ... swallowed up by the poem's
powerfully dark picture",[16] while another sees in them "a stand against a
world of broken faith".Midway between these is one of Arnold's biographers,
who describes being "true / To one another" as "a precarious
notion" in a world that has become "a maze of confusion".
The metaphor with which the poem
ends is most likely an allusion to a passage in Thucydides' account of the
Peloponnesian War. He describes an ancient battle that occurred on a similar
beach during the Athenian invasion of Sicily. The battle took place at night;
the attacking army became disoriented while fighting in the darkness and many
of their soldiers inadvertently killed each other.[19] This final
image has also been variously interpreted by the critics. Culler calls the
"darkling plain" Arnold's "central statement" of the human
condition.[20] Pratt sees the final line as "only metaphor"
and thus susceptible to the "uncertainty" of poetic language.[21]
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world,
which seems
To lie before us like a land of
dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so
new,
Hath really neither joy, nor
love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor
help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling
plain
Swept with confused alarms of
struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by
night.
"The poem's
discourse", Honan tells us, "shifts literally and symbolically from
the present, to Sophocles on the Aegean, from Medieval Europe back to the
present—and the auditory and visual images are dramatic and mimetic and
didactic. Exploring the dark terror that lies beneath his happiness in love,
the speaker resolves to love—and exigencies of history and the nexus between
lovers are the poem's real issues. That lovers may be 'true / To one another'
is a precarious notion: love in the modern city momentarily gives peace, but
nothing else in a post-medieval society reflects or confirms the faithfulness
of lovers. Devoid of love and light the world is a maze of confusion left by
'retreating' faith."
Critics have questioned the
unity of the poem, noting that the sea of the opening stanza does not appear in
the final stanza, while the "darkling plain" of the final line is not
apparent in the opening. Various solutions to this problem have been proffered.
One critic saw the "darkling plain" with which the poem ends as
comparable
to the "naked shingles of the world". "Shingles" here
means flat beach cobbles, characteristic of some wave-swept coasts. Another
found the poem "emotionally convincing" even if its logic may be
questionable.[27] The same critic notes that "the poem upends our
expectations of metaphor" and sees in this the central power of the poem.[28] The poem's
historicism creates another complicating dynamic. Beginning in the present it
shifts to the classical age of Greece, then (with its concerns for the sea of
faith) it turns to Medieval Europe, before finally returning to the present.[24] The form of
the poem itself has drawn considerable comment. Critics have noted the careful
diction in the opening description,[29] the overall, spell-binding rhythm and cadence of the
poem[30] and its dramatic character.[31] One commentator sees the strophe-antistrophe of the ode
at work in the poem, with an ending that contains something of the "cata-strophe"
of tragedy.[32] Finally, one critic sees the complexity of the poem's
structure resulting in "the first major 'free-verse' poem in the
language".
Composition
According to Tinker and Lowry,
"a draft of the first twenty-eight lines of the poem" was written in
pencil "on the back of a folded sheet of paper containing notes on the
career of Empedocles".[34]Allott concludes that the notes are probably from
around 1849-50. "Empedocles on Etna", again according to
Allott, was probably written 1849-52; the notes on Empedocles are likely to be
contemporary with the writing of that poem.
The final line of this draft is:
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah love &c
Tinker and Lowry conclude that
this "seem[s] to indicate that the last nine lines of the poem as we know
it were already in existence when the portion regarding the ebb and flow of the
sea at Dover was composed." This would make the manuscript "a prelude
to the concluding paragraph" of the poem in which "there is no
reference to the sea or tides"
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world,
which seems
To lie before us like a land of
dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so
new,
Hath really neither joy, nor
love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor
help from pain;
And we are here as on a darkling
plain
Swept with confused alarms of
struggle and flight,
Where
ignorant armies clash by night.
Arnold's visits to Dover may
also provide some clue to the date of composition. Allott has Arnold in Dover
in June 1851 and again in October of that year "on his return from his
delayed continental honeymoon". To critics who conclude that ll. 1-28 were
written at Dover and ll. 29-37 "were rescued from some discarded
poem" Allott suggests the contrary, i.e., that the final lines "were
written at Dover in late June," while "ll. 29-37 were written in
London shortly afterwards"
Influence
William Butler Yeats responds
directly to Arnold's pessimism in his four-line poem, "The Nineteenth
Century and After" (1929):
Though the great song return no
more
There's keen delight in what we
have:
The rattle of pebbles on the
shore
Under the receding wave.
Anthony Hecht, U.S. Poet
Laureate, replied to "Dover Beach" in his poem "The Dover
Bitch".
So there stood Matthew Arnold
and this girl
With the cliffs of England
crumbling away behind them,
And he said to her, "Try to
be true to me,
And I'll do the same for you,
for things are bad
All over, etc. etc."
The anonymous figure to whom
Arnold addresses his poem becomes the subject of Hecht's poem. In Hecht's poem
she "caught the bitter allusion to the sea", imagined "what his
whiskers would feel like / On the back of her neck", and felt sad as she
looked out across the channel. "And then she got really angry" at the
thought that she had become "a sort of mournful cosmic last resort".
After which she says "one or two unprintable things".
But you mustn't judge her by
that. What I mean to say is,
She's really all right. I still
see her once in a while
And she always treats me right.
Kenneth and Miriam Allott,
referring to "Dover Bitch" as "an irreverent jeu d'esprit",
nonetheless see, particularly in the
line
"a sort of mournful cosmic last resort", an extension of the original
poem's main theme.[39]
"Dover
Beach" has been mentioned in a number of novels, plays, poems, and films
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