The Voice

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By Thomas Hardy The Voice

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THE VOICE Thomas Hardy Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,Saying that now you are not as you wereWhen you had changed from the one who was all to me,But as at first, when our day was fair. Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,Standing as when I drew near to the townWhere you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,Even to the original air-blue gown! Or is it only the breeze in its listlessnessTravelling across the wet mead to me here,You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,Heard no more again far or near? Thus I; faltering forward,Leaves around me falling,Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,And the woman calling.

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Background ‘The Voice’ is one of the extraordinary group of poems written by Hardy between 1912 and 1913 after the death of his first wife, Emma. It is well documented that their marriage, especially in later years, was not a happy one. Nevertheless, her death was a real shock to Hardy. He had not anticipated it and may well have felt guilty about the lack of care he showed when she first became ill. He wrote: ‘I wrote just after Emma died, when I looked back at her as she had originally been, and when I felt miserable lest I had not treated her considerately in later life. However, I shall publish them as the only amends I make.’ He also wrote in a letter: ‘In spire of the differences between us, which it would be affection to deny, and certain painful delusions she suffered from at times, my life is intensely sad without her.’ In his bereavement, he often pictured Emma as she was in earlier years.

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Stanza 1 The syntax is quite convoluted, but the sense is clear, that is that the dead woman is trying to tell the poet that she is now like she was when they first met and they were in love, rather than the person she had become in later years.

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Stanza 2 While the poem mostly concentrates on the woman’s voice, we see here a poignant attempt at conjuring up from his memory a visual image of his wife, in a specific locality associated with his earlier deep feelings for her.

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Line 11 Wistlessness a coinage by Hardy The word “wistful” is common enough. Its primary meaning is “closely attentive.” So probably, the word “wistlessness” suggests a “fading away.”

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Line 13 Thus I introduces an image of the poet’s state of mind as his brief vision of his old wife fades

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Line 15 Thorn any bush with thorns, or perhaps, in this context, many bushes like brambles. There is no need to be specific; it is a metaphor for his state of mind.

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Exercises to assist a closer reding of the poem as a whole Reflect on the biographical background of the poem and explore together how you think the poet is feeling as he writes the first stanza. How much of this is communicated by the sound of the verse and the arrangement of the words? Consider, for example, the way the repetition of the words “call to me” extends the length of the line and the effect of the prevailing metrical pattern on the tone of the stanza.

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Read the second stanza. How would you read aloud the question which opens the stanza? How does the poet communicate his eagerness to bring back the memory of his wife, when she was younger, as he wants to remember her? Consider the change of tone in the third stanza considering how the poet’s mood has changed and why, how this is communicated so strongly to the reader, and what the image of the breeze means to you. Consider the third line of the third stanza and write down what, at the simplest level, the words mean to you. Then, discuss what the way the poet expressed this idea adds to your understanding and appreciation of his feelings.

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Consider how the layout of the last stanza is completely different and what visual image is created. Consider the very last line of the poem and its effects.

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THE VOICE Thomas Hardy Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,Saying that now you are not as you wereWhen you had changed from the one who was all to me,But as at first, when our day was fair. Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,Standing as when I drew near to the townWhere you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,Even to the original air-blue gown! Or is it only the breeze in its listlessnessTravelling across the wet mead to me here,You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,Heard no more again far or near? Thus I; faltering forward,Leaves around me falling,Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,And the woman calling.