The Lady of Shalott still haunts

by Gwen Herat

Among the multitude of readers, many have come across fictitious characters especially in poetry that resemble many events or happenings in our lives or even having our identities. It is at pensive moments they strike us. It could be from childhood, adulthood or even later.

Then suddenly we realise how very close to resemblances, emotionally or otherwise we have been carried to. Dream-poetry often plays tricks whereas works emotion-laden, tragedy or happiness baseige one and many. To top it all, dreams connect us on such barren stage and make us its players giving life to such characters.

It may sound a bit philosophical and in every man's life, philosophy plays its part unwittingly. The thinker analyses such a situation but the down-to-earth man, brushes them all aside. He who interacts on life's realities, are such ones. With time racing against us, we have little time to pause and ponder. It can arise from a poem, stanza or from a little literary gem.

As we sail down this winding river of improbable visions, imagination or even hallucinations, the human mind is bound to be gripped by such a framework which is the reason why we are totally different from beasts who too are born with feelings just like humans.

They struggle to survive with lack of brains or minds and rendered helpless, at times at the mercy of us all if they step out of their abodes. Literarily we find ourselves in other people's personalities or guises.

Complexes

We imitate them quite unaware that such things are happening and get deeper and deeper into such complexes where others notice our changes while we carry on regardless. As a teenager I found myself completely in the role of Lady of Shallot.

I still do not understand why or how I got involved; how I was influenced and what made me seep into her. Of course, all teenagers dream their Prince Charming come riding on a white steed or something to this effect. It is the time of adolescence and dreams that later disappear with time.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver

Little breedusk and shiver

Thro’ the wave that runs for ever

By the island in the river.

Flowing down to camelot

Four grey walls and four gray towvers

Over look a space of flowers

And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott

By the margin, willow-veiled

Slide the heavy barges trail'd

By slow horses, unhailed

The slallop flitteth silken-sailed

Skimming down to camelot

But who hath seen her wave her hand

Or at the casement seen her stand

Or is she known in all the land

The Lady of Shalott

Only reaoers reaping early

In among the bearded barley

Hear a song that echoes cheerly

Down to tower'd Camelot

And by the moon the reapers weary

Piling sheaves in upland airy

Listening. Whispers. ‘Tis the fairy’

Lady of Shalott.

In this simple lyrical poem a life is trapped with no explanation by the poet, beautiful and tragic, she is made a victim of fate which leads us to imagine whether Tennyson was psychic? Possibly dwelling in his thinking-power that assess the character built upon The Lady of Shalott. She is psychic, a force assumed to explain the medium of psychology.

In the ghastly tower around which the landscape stretches poised against the grey skies which she is not supposed to see but listen to the reapers reaping barley as they sing throughout the day.

Through grey haze of the heavens, the tall trees sweeping by reflected in her mirror, makes her sick and weary.

The curse

She was aware of the curse set upon her through which she was to die the moment she looked down to camelot.

She had very little life left. It was a matter of time when death would come riding by...

‘His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flowed

His coal-black curls as on he rode

As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flashed into the crustal mirror

‘Tirra lirra’ by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro’ the room

She saw the Water-Lily bloom

She saw the helmet and the plume

She look'd down to Camelot

out flew the web and floated wide

The mirror cracked from side to side

The curse is come upon me’ cried

The Lady of Shalott

Nightmare

Hoofbeats clattered on the winding roadway to Camelot. She winced as the horse gallopsed in the sunlight.

The nightmare had not ended. It was the beginning to eternity if that is where the boat was heading with her afloat. She left behind the casement window that forbade her to look down to Camelot as in patience she waited for Lancelot.

The dormers beneath the window spread in wild profusion as the river circled her tower.

The high castellated turrets rose into the afternoon sky which the Lady of Shallot hardly noticed as she lowered herself into the boat with the feel of Shallot hardly noticed as she lowered herself into the boat with the feel of the curse on her.

Uncomfortable sensation was moving towards as the bare Birch trees sped fast against the boat.

She had seen Lancelot just once and experienced a disquieting phenomenon. She knews the time was nigh; Lancelot was riding towards her with the rest through to Camelot while others continued, he paused a while to take a look into the boat.

‘Lying robes in snowy white

That loosly flew to left and right

The leaves upon her falling light

Thro’ the noises of the night

She floated down to camelot.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly

Till her blood was frozen slowly

And her eyes were darken'd wholly

Turned towards camelot

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side

Singing in her she died

The Lady of Shalott

Out upon the wharfs they came

Knight and burgher, Lord and dame

And round the prow they read her name

The Lady of Shalott

Who is this and what is here

And in the lighted palace near

But Lancelot mused a little space

He said, ‘She has a lovely face

God in his mercy lend her grace

The Lady of Shallot.

Many a time I had been psychic during my life even today and when later I realised they are all linked to the power-story of the poem, sometimes, the night moaned through every crevice of my heart but someone very much alive, broke the spell.

The Lady of Shalott was bonded to someone she never met but waited in exhaustion only to end up in tragedy and disaster. Like her's, there are people who connect to each other by some mystique power.

Call it telepathy or by any other name but the spiritual power in these combinations becomes reality with maturity as young people brush them aside.

But as youngster we did have vivid dreams and mine was an illusion of a handsome young rider of no identity.

It passed away but decades later, when I was hanging my baby's diapers on a clothline something happened.

That day was bright and sunny where I could hear even the birds sing upon trees when I saw an aircraft flying very high in the heavens which is very normal because I live close to the airport.

‘What if the plane crashed’, I thought,

Friend

That evening over the air (we had no TV then) I heard of a terrible plane crash that killed hundreds at the sametime I imagined. Was it telepathy or intution? I am still wondering. Perhaps Tennyson may have gone through this type of mystery.

Take note of this incredible thing that happened to my friend which she never expected. Call her Sathya (not her real name) She is about my age and long given up on romances or relationships.

A happy contented woman when she faced this amazing person for the first time and instantly fell deeply in love with him. She found her spirit stirring like never before.

Why it happened; how it happened is still a mystery. He was unaware of her feelings when they met many a time as she kept it locked tightly in her heart being aware he can never respond.

With her affection growing stronger every day and near explosion Sathya became dejected, miserable and unhappy.

Gone were her laughter and joy. They were seized by him without his knowledge.

Yet he could read between the lines but what was he to do? She is a prisoner in her body and soul. Like the LOS, she had given her heart to him.

Sathya is struggling and perhaps find her way to Camelot leaving behind Sir Lancelot whom she loves dearly, very dearly.

‘And down the river's dim expanse

Like some bold seer in a trance

Seeing all his mischance

With a glassy countenance.

Did she look to Camelot

To round up this human tragedy.

Tennyson wrote an epitaph from his other poem.

‘Tis better to have loved and lost/

Than never to have loved at all'.