They sent you in to say farewell to me,
No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes
That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun
Just now when you came hither; and again,
When you have left me, all the shimmering
Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun
Put round about you warm invisible arms
As might a lover, decking you with light.
I go toward darkness though I lie so still.
If I could see the sun, I should look up
And drink the light until my eyes were blind;
I should kneel down and kiss the blades of grass,
And I should call the birds with such a voice,
With such a longing, tremulous and keen,
That they would fly to me and on the breast
Bear evermore to tree-tops and to fields
The kiss I gave them.
Sappho, tell me this,
Was I not sometimes fair? My eyes, my mouth,
My hair that loved the wind, were they not worth
The breath of love upon them? Yet he passed,
And he will pass to-night when all the air
Is blue with twilight; but I shall not see.
I shall have gone forever. Hold my hands,
Hold fast, that Death may never come between;
Swear by the gods you will not let me go;
Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love—
But you will not assuage him. He alone
Of all the gods will take no gifts from men.
I am afraid, afraid.
Sappho, lean down.
Last night the fever gave a dream to me,
It takes my life and gives me only a dream.
I thought I saw him stand, the man I love,
Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes
Fixed on me as I entered, while he drew
Silently toward me—he who night by night
Goes by my door without a thought of me—
Neared me and put his hand behind my head,
And leaning toward me, kissed me on the mouth.
That was a little dream for Death to give,
Too short to take the whole of life for, yet
I woke with lips made quiet by a kiss.
The dream is worth the dying. Do not smile
So sadly on me with your shining eyes,
You who can set your sorrow to a song
And ease your hurt by singing. But to me
My songs are less than sea-sand that the wind
Drives stinging over me and bears away.
I have no care what place the grains may fall,
Nor of my songs, if Time shall blow them back,
As land-wind breaks the lines of dying foam
Along the bright wet beaches, scattering
The flakes once more against the laboring sea,
Into oblivion. What do I care
To please Apollo since Love does not hear?
Your words will live forever, men will say
"She was the perfect lover"—I shall die,
I loved too much to live. Go Sappho, go—
I hate your hands that beat so full of life,
Go, lest my hatred hurt you. I shall die,
But you will live to love and love again.
He might have loved some other spring than this;
I should have kept my life—I let it go.
He would not love me now though Cypris bound
Her girdle round me. I am Death's, not Love's.
Go from me, Sappho, back to find the sun.
I am alone, alone. O Cyprian…
Sara Teasdale's "Erinna" stands as one of the most emotionally powerful and literarily sophisticated dramatic monologues in early twentieth-century American poetry. Written in the voice of the ancient Greek poetess Erinna as she lies dying, the poem represents a masterful convergence of classical inspiration and modern sensibility, creating a work that transcends its historical moment to speak to universal themes of mortality, unfulfilled love, and artistic legacy. Through her reimagining of this ancient figure, Teasdale crafts a meditation on the intersection of life, death, and art that resonates with profound emotional authenticity while demonstrating remarkable technical skill and cultural awareness.
To fully appreciate Teasdale's achievement in "Erinna," one must first understand both the historical figure who inspired it and the cultural moment in which Teasdale wrote. Erinna was a real ancient Greek poetess, contemporary with Sappho, who died young—likely in her teens or early twenties—leaving behind only fragments of her work. The most famous of these fragments comes from her poem "The Distaff," a lament for her childhood friend Baucis who died shortly after marriage. This historical backdrop provides Teasdale with a framework of tragic youth, unfulfilled potential, and the poignant relationship between female poets in antiquity.
Teasdale's choice to dramatize this figure must be understood within the context of early twentieth-century American poetry's fascination with classical antiquity. The period saw poets like Ezra Pound, H.D., and others drawing extensively from Greek and Roman sources, seeking to revitalize modern verse through engagement with classical forms and themes. However, Teasdale's approach differs significantly from that of her Modernist contemporaries. Where Pound and others often fragmented and reconstructed classical materials in deliberately challenging ways, Teasdale maintains a more traditional narrative coherence while infusing her classical subject matter with deeply personal emotional intensity.
The poem also reflects the particular challenges faced by women poets in the early twentieth century. Writing during the suffrage movement and the emerging "New Woman" era, Teasdale and her contemporaries grappled with questions of female artistic identity, the relationship between love and art, and the cost of creative expression. In choosing Erinna—a figure who died young and left only fragments—Teasdale explores the tragic potential of female artistic silencing while simultaneously giving voice to that silence through her own poetic craft.
Teasdale's technical mastery in "Erinna" manifests through her sophisticated use of dramatic monologue, a form perfected by Robert Browning and adapted here to create intimate psychological portraiture. The poem's structure as a deathbed confession to Sappho creates multiple layers of meaning: it is simultaneously a farewell between friends, a meditation on artistic legacy, and a final attempt at connection with the divine through both Love and Death.
The poem's imagery operates on several interconnected levels, creating a rich tapestry of sensory experience that emphasizes the contrast between life and death. The opening establishes this dichotomy immediately through the juxtaposition of light and darkness. Sappho comes from the sun-drenched world outside, bearing "shimmering / Great meadows" and warmth, while Erinna faces the approaching darkness of death. This light-dark imagery pervades the entire poem, with particular emphasis on the sun as a symbol of life, love, and artistic inspiration.
Teasdale's use of natural imagery—meadows, grass, birds, wind, sea—creates a pastoral backdrop that recalls classical Greek poetry while serving specific thematic purposes. The speaker's desire to "kneel down and kiss the blades of grass" and "call the birds with such a voice" reveals her desperate hunger for life and connection with the natural world. This longing takes on added poignancy given her approaching death, transforming simple natural phenomena into objects of profound desire.
The poem's metaphorical structure centers on the personification of Death and Love as competing gods. Death is portrayed as uniquely pitiless among the deities: "He alone / Of all the gods will take no gifts from men." This characterization draws from classical mythology while serving Teasdale's thematic purposes, emphasizing the finality and inexorability of death in contrast to the other gods who might be swayed by human offerings or prayers.
The dream sequence that forms the poem's emotional climax demonstrates Teasdale's psychological sophistication. The fever-induced vision of the beloved's kiss serves multiple functions: it provides momentary fulfillment of the speaker's deepest desire, it emphasizes the cruel irony of receiving love only in dreams at the moment of death, and it creates a complex emotional paradox where the speaker simultaneously treasures and resents this illusory gift. The line "That was a little dream for Death to give" encapsulates this paradox beautifully, suggesting both Death's cruelty and unexpected mercy.
The poem's central themes revolve around the intersection of love, death, and artistic creation. Teasdale explores these universal concerns through the specific lens of female experience, creating a work that speaks to both personal and cultural anxieties about unfulfilled potential and the cost of artistic dedication.
The theme of unrequited love dominates the poem's emotional landscape. Erinna's anguish stems not merely from dying young, but from dying without having experienced the love she craved. The beloved who "night by night / Goes by my door without a thought of me" represents not just personal rejection but the broader theme of life's cruel ironies. The speaker's declaration that "I loved too much to live" suggests that the intensity of her emotional experience has itself become a form of death sentence, a theme that resonates with Romantic and post-Romantic conceptions of the artist's relationship to feeling.
The poem's exploration of artistic legacy creates a complex dialogue between permanence and transience. Erinna's comparison of her songs to "sea-sand that the wind / Drives stinging over me and bears away" expresses deep pessimism about her own artistic survival, while her prediction that Sappho's "words will live forever" acknowledges the arbitrary nature of literary immortality. This theme gains additional resonance from the historical reality that Erinna's work survives only in fragments, while Sappho's reputation has indeed endured across millennia.
The relationship between the two poetesses provides a framework for exploring themes of artistic community and isolation. Sappho represents not only friendship but also the possibility of artistic survival and continued creation. Her presence at Erinna's deathbed serves as both comfort and torment—comfort in providing human connection, torment in representing the life and artistic future that Erinna will never have. The speaker's final command to Sappho to "Go from me, Sappho, back to find the sun" acknowledges this painful contrast while releasing her friend from the burden of witnessing her death.
The poem's emotional power derives from Teasdale's ability to create genuine psychological complexity within the dramatic monologue form. Erinna's voice shifts throughout the poem between despair and acceptance, tenderness and bitterness, creating a fully realized psychological portrait of someone facing death while grappling with profound regret.
The speaker's relationship with her own mortality evolves throughout the poem. Initially, she expresses fear and desperate clinging to life, begging Sappho to "Hold fast, that Death may never come between." However, as the poem progresses, this fear transforms into a complex mixture of resignation and defiance. The dream sequence marks a crucial turning point, where the speaker discovers that even Death's cruel gift of an illusory kiss can provide some measure of fulfillment: "The dream is worth the dying."
The poem's emotional climax occurs in the speaker's sudden turn against Sappho: "I hate your hands that beat so full of life, / Go, lest my hatred hurt you." This moment of raw honesty reveals the depths of Erinna's anguish and the natural human resentment that can arise when facing death while others continue to live. The immediate retraction—"I shall die, / But you will live to love and love again"—demonstrates both the speaker's fundamental goodness and her ability to transcend her own pain to acknowledge her friend's right to continued life and love.
"Erinna" can be productively compared to other dramatic monologues in the English tradition, particularly those that explore the intersection of love, death, and artistic creation. The poem shares thematic concerns with Browning's "My Last Duchess" and "Andrea del Sarto," though Teasdale's treatment is more emotionally direct and less ironically distanced than Browning's typically more complex character studies.
The poem also resonates with other works in the classical revival tradition of early twentieth-century poetry. H.D.'s "Oread" and other Greek-inspired lyrics share Teasdale's interest in reimagining classical figures, though H.D.'s approach tends toward greater imagistic compression and modernist fragmentation. Teasdale's maintenance of narrative coherence and emotional accessibility distinguishes her work within this tradition while demonstrating an alternative approach to classical inspiration.
Within Teasdale's own body of work, "Erinna" represents a sophisticated development of themes present throughout her poetry. Her frequent exploration of love's relationship to death, the tension between passion and peace, and the particular challenges faced by women in love find their fullest expression in this dramatic monologue. The poem's classical setting allows Teasdale to explore these themes with a universality and emotional intensity that might have been more difficult to achieve in a contemporary setting.
While avoiding overly reductive biographical interpretation, it is worth noting that "Erinna" reflects many of the personal concerns that shaped Teasdale's own life and artistic development. Like her imagined Erinna, Teasdale struggled with questions of love's relationship to art, the cost of emotional intensity, and the challenges of maintaining artistic identity within the constraints of early twentieth-century society.
Teasdale's own struggles with depression and her ultimate suicide in 1933 cast a retrospective shadow over "Erinna," though the poem should not be read merely as autobiographical confession. Rather, it represents Teasdale's ability to universalize personal emotional experience through the transformative power of poetic imagination. The poem's emotional authenticity derives not from direct autobiographical correspondence but from Teasdale's capacity to inhabit fully the psychological reality of her imagined speaker.
The poem engages with several philosophical questions that transcend its specific historical and literary context. The relationship between art and mortality, the nature of love and desire, and the question of what constitutes a meaningful life all receive sophisticated treatment within the poem's dramatic framework.
The speaker's final invocation of Cypress (Venus/Aphrodite) at the poem's conclusion suggests a complex relationship with the divine that moves beyond simple supplication toward a kind of philosophical acceptance. The broken-off address—"O Cyprian..."—implies both the inadequacy of divine intervention and the speaker's ultimate recognition that her fate lies beyond the realm of the gods' influence.
The poem's exploration of the relationship between dream and reality, particularly in the fever sequence, anticipates later philosophical and psychological investigations into the nature of consciousness and desire. The speaker's declaration that "The dream is worth the dying" suggests a sophisticated understanding of the relationship between imagination and experience that prefigures later developments in both psychology and philosophy.
Sara Teasdale's "Erinna" succeeds brilliantly in its ambitious goal of giving voice to a historically silenced figure while creating a work of enduring emotional and artistic power. Through her masterful use of dramatic monologue, sophisticated imagery, and profound psychological insight, Teasdale creates a poem that transcends its specific historical moment to speak to universal human experiences of love, loss, and the search for meaning in the face of mortality.
The poem's greatest achievement lies in its ability to balance classical inspiration with modern sensibility, creating a work that honors its ancient sources while speaking directly to contemporary concerns. Teasdale's Erinna becomes not merely a historical curiosity but a fully realized human being whose struggles with love, death, and artistic identity resonate across the centuries.
In giving voice to Erinna, Teasdale also implicitly addresses the broader question of female artistic silence and the ways in which later generations of women poets might recover and reimagine the experiences of their predecessors. The poem stands as both a lament for lost voices and a demonstration of poetry's power to resurrect and transform those voices through the alchemy of imagination and craft.
Ultimately, "Erinna" endures because it captures something essential about the human condition: our simultaneous fragility and resilience, our capacity for both love and loss, and our persistent faith in the power of art to transcend the limitations of individual mortality. In creating this powerful dramatic monologue, Teasdale ensures that both her imagined Erinna and her own poetic voice continue to speak to readers who, like the dying poetess, seek meaning and connection in the face of life's inevitable limitations and losses.
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