Poem of the week: The Caterpillar - Robert Graves

Today's poem is from a great English poet of the 20th century, Robert Graves. Often thought of as a war poet, this poem shows his more whimsical side. I love the nursery-rhyme feel that he creates, and yet the depth of meaning in his extended metaphor: we think far too much about today, and by holding on to what pleasures we can find right now we forget to seek out eternal things.

(For those playing along at home, see below for my thoughts on the meaning of last week's poem)

The Caterpillar
by Robert Graves

Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A creeping, coloured caterpillar,
I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray,
I nibble it leaf by leaf away.

Down beneath grow dandelions,
Daisies, old-man's-looking-glasses;
Rooks flap croaking across the lane.
I eat and swallow and eat again.

Here come raindrops helter-skelter;
I munch and nibble unregarding:
Hawthorn leaves are juicy and firm.
I'll mind my business: I'm a good worm.

When I'm old, tired, melancholy,
I'll build a leaf-green mausoleum
Close by, here on this lovely spray,
And die and dream the ages away.

Some say worms win resurrection,
With white wings beating flitter-flutter,
But wings or a sound sleep, why should I care?
Either way I'll miss my share.

Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A hungry, hairy caterpillar,
I crawl on my high and swinging seat,
And eat, eat, eat—as one ought to eat.



P.S. Last week I promised my thoughts on Deborah Digges's poem,  The wind blows through the doors of my heart. Here goes:

For me, it is a marvelous description of the upheaval that life can bring to our inner-selves, when a strong emotion (positive or negative; grief or falling in love) comes along and blows out the old status-quo. It feels like chaos, like loss, like disaster - but in fact it is only in the upper rooms. The basement of the heart, what we may think of as the Soul or the Id, is left as untouched as the dead, but up above nothing is left untouched, and "we will never lie down again."

I think this is perhaps what I love about Digges's poem: she conveys that feeling without making the meaning too obvious; you feel what it is about and then layer your own meaning on top. For you, the meaning may have been different, but I think the emotions were the same, right?