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A scent of Esparto grass — and again I recall
That hour we spent by the weir of the paper-mill
Watching together the curving thunderous fall
Of frothing amber, bemused by the roar until
My mind was as blank as the speckless sheets that wound
On the hot steel ironing-rollers perpetually turning
In the humming dark rooms of the mill: all sense and discerning
By the stunning and dazzling oblivion of hill-waters drowned.
And my heart was empty of memory and hope and desire
Till, rousing, I looked afresh on your face as you gazed —
Behind you an old gnarled fruit-tree in one still fire
Of innumerable flame in the sun of October blazed,
Scarlet and gold that the first white frost would spill
With eddying flicker and patter of dead leaves falling —
looked on your face, as an outcast from Eden recalling
A vision of Eve as she dallied bewildered and still.
By the serpent-encircled tree of knowledge that flamed
With gold and scarlet of good and evil, her eyes
Rapt on the river of life: then bright and untamed
By the labour and sorrow and fear of a world that dies
Your ignorant eyes looked up into mine; and I knew
That never our hearts should be one till your young lips had tasted
The core of the bitter-sweet fruit, and wise and toil-wasted
You should stand at my shoulder an outcast from Eden too.
Wilfrid Wilson Gibson’s By the Weir is a haunting meditation on memory, the passage of time, and the inevitable loss of innocence. Through vivid sensory imagery and mythological allusions, Gibson constructs a moment of suspended consciousness, where the speaker’s recollection of a shared experience by a paper-mill weir becomes a metaphor for both personal and universal human longing. The poem’s emotional depth is enriched by its interplay of natural and industrial imagery, its evocation of Edenic myth, and its poignant exploration of the divide between innocence and experience.
Gibson (1878–1962) was a Georgian poet whose work often focused on rural life, labor, and the psychological undercurrents of human experience. Writing in the early 20th century, Gibson belonged to a generation that straddled the Victorian moral certainties and the modernist fragmentation that followed World War I. Though not as experimental as his modernist contemporaries, Gibson’s poetry is marked by a keen attention to the emotional lives of ordinary people, often set against the backdrop of industrial and natural landscapes.
By the Weir reflects this duality—the poem is situated at a paper-mill, a site of mechanical production, yet it is infused with the organic imagery of water, trees, and seasonal change. The early 20th century saw rapid industrialization, and Gibson’s work frequently grappled with the tension between human labor and the natural world. The weir, a man-made structure controlling the flow of water, becomes symbolic of human attempts to harness and contain nature, much as the speaker seeks to contain memory and emotion.
The poem opens with a sensory trigger—"A scent of Esparto grass"—that catapults the speaker into memory. This olfactory cue grounds the recollection in physicality, a technique reminiscent of Proustian involuntary memory. The weir’s "curving thunderous fall / Of frothing amber" overwhelms the senses, rendering the speaker’s mind "blank as the speckless sheets" produced by the mill. The comparison of the mind to blank paper suggests a momentary erasure of thought, an escape from consciousness into pure sensation.
The "humming dark rooms of the mill" contrast with the dazzling rush of water, creating a tension between industrial monotony and natural vitality. The speaker’s mind is "drowned" in sensory oblivion, a state both overwhelming and purgative. This submersion parallels the mythic motif of water as a symbol of both destruction and renewal—an idea echoed in T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, where water signifies both life and death.
The poem’s central metaphor draws upon the biblical story of Eden. The speaker’s companion is implicitly compared to Eve, standing before "the serpent-encircled tree of knowledge"—here represented by an "old gnarled fruit-tree" ablaze in autumnal colors. The "innumerable flame" of scarlet and gold suggests both beauty and transience, foreshadowing the inevitable fall.
The speaker’s gaze upon the companion’s face evokes a moment of epiphany: he recognizes that their union is impossible while she remains innocent. Only by tasting "the core of the bitter-sweet fruit"—experiencing knowledge, suffering, and labor—can she join him in exile from Eden. This moment is both tender and tragic, as the speaker acknowledges that love requires shared experience, even if that experience is one of loss.
The imagery of frost and falling leaves ("eddying flicker and patter of dead leaves falling") reinforces the theme of impermanence. Autumn, a season of decay, mirrors the transition from innocence to experience, much as the biblical Fall marks humanity’s expulsion from paradise.
Gibson’s treatment of nature and memory invites comparison with Romantic poets like Wordsworth, who also explored the interplay between sensory experience and recollection. In Tintern Abbey, Wordsworth writes of the "aching joys" and "dizzy raptures" of youthful perception, later tempered by a more mature, reflective understanding. Similarly, Gibson’s speaker moves from sensory absorption ("bemused by the roar") to a melancholic realization about the necessity of suffering.
However, Gibson’s vision is less consolatory than Wordsworth’s. Where Wordsworth finds solace in "the still, sad music of humanity," Gibson’s speaker remains fixated on the inevitability of loss. The poem’s closing lines—"wise and toil-wasted / You should stand at my shoulder an outcast from Eden too"—suggest that wisdom comes at the price of joy, a more pessimistic stance than Romantic idealism.
The poem is structured as a flashback, triggered by a sensory detail that resurrects the past. The speaker’s memory is not merely nostalgic but deeply ambivalent—he recalls a moment of shared stillness, yet this memory is tinged with the knowledge of inevitable change. The weir, with its perpetual motion, becomes a metaphor for time itself: relentless, cyclical, yet carrying the speaker toward an irreversible future.
The central tension of the poem lies in the speaker’s recognition that love requires mutual understanding, which can only come through shared suffering. His companion’s "ignorant eyes" are "untamed / By the labour and sorrow and fear of a world that dies," marking her as still untouched by life’s hardships. The speaker’s desire for union is thus also a desire for her fall—a paradox that lends the poem its tragic weight.
This theme aligns Gibson with other early 20th-century writers who questioned the cost of enlightenment. Like Yeats’ "The Second Coming" or Hardy’s "The Darkling Thrush," By the Weir suggests that wisdom is inseparable from disillusionment.
The paper-mill, with its "hot steel ironing-rollers," represents human industry imposing order on nature. Yet the weir’s "frothing amber" water resists containment, just as the autumnal tree’s fiery colors defy the mechanized world. The poem subtly critiques industrialization, suggesting that even amid human constructs, nature’s beauty and brutality persist.
The poem’s power lies in its unresolved longing. The speaker yearns for connection but recognizes its impossibility without shared suffering. The final lines are heartbreaking in their resignation: love cannot exist in innocence, only in mutual exile. This bittersweet realization resonates with anyone who has felt the divide between past joy and present wisdom.
By the Weir is a masterful fusion of sensory immediacy and mythic depth. Through its interplay of industrial and natural imagery, its invocation of Eden, and its poignant meditation on time and loss, Gibson crafts a poem that is both intimate and universal. The speaker’s recognition that love demands shared experience—even at the cost of innocence—renders the poem a moving exploration of human vulnerability. In its quiet yet devastating way, By the Weir captures the eternal tension between the desire to preserve beauty and the inevitability of its dissolution.
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