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"What lips my lips have kissed" by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Howdy!
Another audio-first production, this time a sonnet by the fabulous 20th century poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. This one was recorded on a hike up Provo Canyon (yes, again—hey, it’s just up the street and, frankly, it’s a pretty great canyon) shortly before we finally (!) got some snow.
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
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe
As I mention in the audio, there’s much to love about this poem. Mostly for me, it’s wonderful because it’s a love poem to herself. All sonnets are love poems, or they contain the echo of a love poem. In this poem, Milay is longing for the woman she used to be. The men in this poem? They’re forgotten. They have no faces and no bodies. They are “unremembered lads.” What Milay does remember is how they made her feel, long ago.
This is a poem about aging. She remembers those times back when she was young and beautiful and carefree, when the boys lined up. Those were in the summer, and now, in the poem, it’s winter. What were once branches full of noisy birds, now the “birds have vanished one by one” and in the present of the poem, those “boughs [are] more silent than before.”
What we can get from this poem is a feeling. We can take Milay’s nostalgia and try it on for a while. What do we remember from our summer times, and what does it feel like now, looking back? When our memories of faces has faded, what’s left? Milay’s poem invites you to just hold on to that feeling of used-to-be, and in holding it, find some pleasure in that, too.
All is well,
Jeff
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe
View all episodes
By Jeffrey Windsor
5
88 ratings
Howdy!
Another audio-first production, this time a sonnet by the fabulous 20th century poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. This one was recorded on a hike up Provo Canyon (yes, again—hey, it’s just up the street and, frankly, it’s a pretty great canyon) shortly before we finally (!) got some snow.
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
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe
As I mention in the audio, there’s much to love about this poem. Mostly for me, it’s wonderful because it’s a love poem to herself. All sonnets are love poems, or they contain the echo of a love poem. In this poem, Milay is longing for the woman she used to be. The men in this poem? They’re forgotten. They have no faces and no bodies. They are “unremembered lads.” What Milay does remember is how they made her feel, long ago.
This is a poem about aging. She remembers those times back when she was young and beautiful and carefree, when the boys lined up. Those were in the summer, and now, in the poem, it’s winter. What were once branches full of noisy birds, now the “birds have vanished one by one” and in the present of the poem, those “boughs [are] more silent than before.”
What we can get from this poem is a feeling. We can take Milay’s nostalgia and try it on for a while. What do we remember from our summer times, and what does it feel like now, looking back? When our memories of faces has faded, what’s left? Milay’s poem invites you to just hold on to that feeling of used-to-be, and in holding it, find some pleasure in that, too.
All is well,
Jeff
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe