Hardy constructs that last sentence of "The Darkling Thrush" to balance disbelief against faith so delicately and evenly that you're never sure whether despair or hope emerges as the dominant mood. I think of it as one of the great poetic epitomes of agnosticism. The thrush does seem to know something, and Hardy doesn't dismiss such knowing as ridiculous, and yet he remains unaware of the hypothetical blessed Hope. Though he positioned himself as a rationalist in response to pious believers, Hardy loved to create these moments of tenable agnosticism; another great example is the end of "The Shadow on the Stone" where he chooses not to destroy his illusion that his wife's ghost is with him in their garden after her death.

Mark, hope you don't mind, I copied your note here and posted it also under the thread "another thrush" a little back, as it applied so directly to a conversation about knowledge there -- thanks much!

Here is where Mark Doty reposted the item.

(Only took three tries. I'm amazed that so many newcomers are able to navigate this software...)

I like your use of the word “constructs” here, Mark H. It seems to me too many of these responses presume Hardy is writing a position paper, instead of making a poem. Hardy is, if nothing else, a craftsman, is skillfully following the grain of his material, and in that way, hopes to come to something said truly. What is true is that hope and faith and even often joy are about as substanceless as any idea of the “future” (they all lean on next to nothing) and yet are as equally a part of human experience as doubt and despair. That he would he would marry them, trying with great energy to remove the seam, I would say, is the result of Hardy's “honest craftsmanship”, however homely, and is why there is always something creditable about Hardy’s poems even when they are banal, as they often are.

Note: although there is quite a bit of talk here about Hardy’s rationalism, it might be important to mention that few English poets write as often about ghosts, hauntings, visions, the significance of the unseen, the presence of the past etc.

Thanks, August, I didn't know how to do what you did there.

I'll chime in with two quick notes:

Regarding substance, the latest two Marks, Halliday and Turpin, along with Mark the first to this discussion, Doty, define the magnetic, poignant force of the poem as I feel it. What "I could think" there "trembled through" . . . there's a ghostly quality to his uncertainty, if that makes sense.

Regarding form, if we try this again-- which I'm inclined to do-- in a month or so, I will try to make it easy and clear for first-time participants and others to get the structure: guide people toward seeing all the separate threads first, before they start one of their own.

I'll also try to communicate the simple device-- which I just learned yesterday-- of copying a thread-discussions address from the address bar of the browser and pasting it into one's post. (I assume people know about highlighting and copying text.)

And I will be trying to encourage communication between the community of customary Fraysters and my poet friends. To whom I am very grateful for their participation.
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Hardy seems to be talking about the fact that creatures other than man , who have nothing invested in thinking their species special or blessed in any way, have the ability to withstand and transcend trauma, and ironically appear stronger, nobler for the struggle. The song of the thrush is theatrical, a tad melodramatic, but for poetic effect it does serve to remind the author, lately suffering a depressed mood, that life isn't about the all of existence between in place only to confirm, challenge, or test the philosophy he has developed from the gathered wisdom he has read; there is sorrow, of course, but life goes on separate from expectations and personal bitterness and beauty is not only possible despite awful events and traffic circumstances, but in fact exists, plain, clear, unselfconscious. We have the poet here at the moment when a small perception gives rise to an ongoing re-examination of ideas and relations that have sustained one so far and to appreciate the truth that what a cosmology should be a loose fitting suit rather than a tight fit. Which is to say that Hardy finds himself awakened to the possibility that even as life goes on, it needn't be a grudging trudge, and that one can experience the wider variety of emotional and aesthetic life than before, when one found himself sure of their ideas and knowing everything without experiencing a tenth of what the world has in store. This is the state where situations seem about to make sense, to come to a resolution that will reconcile itself with narrative strategies one has absorbed as a map to existence, but which remain open ended, seeming to wait for another incident , another nuance to be added; Hardy, I think, admits that he must accept the ambiguity that makes up much of what he comes across.

nao.