There are some heights in Wessex, shaped as if by a kindly hand
For thinking, dreaming, dying on, and at crises when I stand,
Say, on Ingpen Beacon eastward, or on Wylls-Neck westwardly,
I seem where I was before my birth, and after death may be.
In the lowlands I have no comrade, not even the lone man’s friend –
Her who suffereth long and is kind; accepts what he is too weak to mend:
Down there they are dubious and askance; there nobody thinks as I,
But mind-chains do not clank where one’s next neighbour is the sky.
In the towns I am tracked by phantoms having weird detective ways –
Shadows of beings who fellowed with myself of earlier days:
They hang about at places, and they say harsh heavy things –
Men with a frigid sneer, and women with tart disparagings.
Down there I seem to be false to myself, my simple self that was,
And is not now, and I see him watching, wondering what crass cause
Can have merged him into such a strange continuator as this,
Who yet has something in common with himself, my chrysalis.
I cannot go to the great grey Plain; there’s a figure against the moon,
Nobody sees it but I, and it makes my breast beat out of tune;
I cannot go to the tall-spired town, being barred by the forms now passed
For everybody but me, in whose long vision they stand there fast.
There’s a ghost at Yell’ham Bottom chiding loud at the fall of the night,
There’s a ghost in Froom-side Vale, thin lipped and vague, in a shroud of white,
There is one in the railway-train whenever I do not want it near,
I see its profile against the pane, saying what I would not hear.
As for one rare fair woman, I am now but a thought of hers,
I enter her mind and another thought succeeds me that she prefers;
Yet my love for her in its fulness she herself even did not know;
Well, time cures hearts of tenderness, and now I can let her go.
So I am found on Ingpen Beacon, or on Wylls-Neck to the west,
Or else on homely Bulbarrow, or little Pilsdon Crest,
Where men have never cared to haunt, nor women have walked with me,
And ghosts then keep their distance; and I know some liberty.
Thomas Hardy's poem "Wessex Heights" is a profound exploration of isolation, memory, and the internal landscape of the human psyche. Through vivid imagery and a complex interplay between physical and emotional spaces, Hardy crafts a deeply personal narrative that resonates with universal themes of alienation and the search for solace.
The poem opens with a striking personification of the Wessex landscape, describing the heights as "shaped as if by a kindly hand / For thinking, dreaming, dying on." This immediately establishes the intimate connection between the speaker and the natural world, suggesting that these elevated spaces serve as a refuge for contemplation and existential reflection. The mention of "crises" further emphasizes the emotional significance of these locations, positioning them as sanctuaries in times of turmoil.
Hardy's use of specific place names, such as Ingpen Beacon and Wylls-Neck, grounds the poem in a tangible geography while simultaneously imbuing these locations with a mythic quality. The speaker's assertion that in these places, he seems to be where he was "before my birth, and after death may be" transcends the physical realm, hinting at a spiritual or metaphysical connection to the landscape that extends beyond the boundaries of mortal existence.
The contrast between the heights and the lowlands is a central motif throughout the poem. In the lowlands, the speaker feels alienated and misunderstood, surrounded by people who are "dubious and askance" and who "nobody thinks as I." This sense of isolation is further emphasized by the absence of even "the lone man's friend," a poignant allusion to the comfort of solitude that eludes the speaker in populated areas. The imagery of "mind-chains" that "do not clank where one's next neighbour is the sky" powerfully conveys the liberating effect of the heights, where the speaker finds freedom from social constraints and judgments.
Hardy's masterful use of ghostly imagery pervades the poem, creating a haunting atmosphere that blurs the lines between past and present, reality and memory. The "phantoms having weird detective ways" and the "shadows of beings who fellowed with myself of earlier days" suggest a persistent intrusion of the past into the speaker's present consciousness. These spectral figures, with their "frigid sneer" and "tart disparagings," embody the weight of past relationships and societal expectations that continue to haunt the speaker.
The poem also delves into the complex nature of identity and self-perception. The speaker's reflection on his "simple self that was, / And is not now" reveals a profound sense of disconnection from his former identity. The image of watching himself as a "strange continuator" highlights the psychological distance between past and present selves, raising questions about the nature of personal growth and change.
Hardy's exploration of lost love adds another layer of emotional depth to the poem. The speaker's acknowledgment that he is "now but a thought of hers" and that "time cures hearts of tenderness" speaks to the transient nature of human relationships and the inevitable fading of even the most intense emotions. This bittersweet acceptance of loss contributes to the overall tone of melancholic resignation that permeates the poem.
The final stanza brings the narrative full circle, returning to the Wessex heights where the speaker finds a measure of peace and "liberty." The list of specific locations - Ingpen Beacon, Wylls-Neck, Bulbarrow, and Pilsdon Crest - reinforces the importance of place in the speaker's quest for solitude and self-understanding. The assertion that "ghosts then keep their distance" in these remote areas suggests a hard-won respite from the psychological burdens that plague the speaker elsewhere.
In conclusion, "Wessex Heights" is a masterful examination of the human condition, exploring themes of isolation, memory, and the search for authentic selfhood through the lens of Hardy's distinctive Wessex landscape. The poem's intricate weaving of physical and psychological spaces creates a rich tapestry of meaning, inviting readers to reflect on their own relationships with place, memory, and identity. Hardy's nuanced portrayal of the speaker's inner turmoil, set against the backdrop of the timeless Wessex heights, offers a poignant meditation on the complexities of human experience and the enduring power of landscape to shape our emotional and spiritual lives.