On Thomas Hood's, "I Remember, I Remember."

Thomas Hood was a British poet, playwright, and humorist of some genius who lived during the first half of the 19th century.   He is known most popularly today, if he is known at all in this television-zombied culture, for a poem entitled, "I Remember, I Remember."  

It is a sentimental poem, to be sure, but it not without some depth and even a degree of the profound behind the simple words of childhood reflections.  When I first read it at a teen ager in High School, I thought little of it.  It did not speak to me as other poems had, or other works of literature.  It seemed too simple and almost childish, for its not so gentle tugging at the heartstrings, its cheaply sentimental and superficial emotional life.

Of  course I thought this.

I came across the poem again recently and realized that this is a poem that should not be taught in High School, nor even in college, for its meaning cannot possibly be understood without some good measure of a lifetime having been lived.   One is much too close to one's youth in High School, and what is needed here is perspective.   This is what the poem is about and what the implications of perspective are.   It is not a simple, sentimental, or cheap emotional tug at heartstrings.  Oh, no.  It is much more than that.   Beside the beautifully simple use of the language (this is no simple accomplishemnt)  the meaning of the whole is layered with deep, even darkly thoughtful tones.  

* * *

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born.
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in a morn.
It never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.


I remember, I remember,
The roses red and white.
The violets and the lily cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built
And where my brother set,
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!


I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing.
And thought the air must rush as fresh,
To swallows on the wing.
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.


I remember, I remember,
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance
But now tis little joy,
To know I'm farther off from Heaven,
Than when I was a boy.

* * *

No question, a delightful poem, filled with the fondest memories of a youth well-lived, and images kept real and alive of moments of great meaning and lasting memory.   But we must ask, "What else is in the poem?" or the poem is nothing.

Let us note the subject matter of each stanza:   We are first told that this is memory.   "I remember, I remember," -- a double pronouncement, as this is a crucial point.   The poet almost shouts, "note this!" by repeating it:  memory is being revived and that has much meaning, as does the act of remembering itself.  It takes focus, and concentration and most of all, will.   Taken together what we have here is more than an expression of thought but a meditation upon memories, their subject and the meaning.

Note that each stanza then gives us a memory involving the stimulation of some sense or another, the most powerful kinds of memory!  The brightness of the sun, the sight and smell of the roses, the exhilaration of the swing and the rushing of air against the skin, and finally, the contemplation of the wonder of the height of the fir-trees.   The flowers are such strong remembrances that they evoke another memory, that of his brother's planting a tree so long ago, among the lilac trees.

But pointedly, we are, in each stanza, brought immediately back to the present.   It is almost an intrusion but, it seems, a necessary one, for this is a meditation, and one must allow the thoughts to associate in any way they wish.   First the length of the day reminds the poet that in the present, he often wished his own death during the night.   The planting of the tree reminds him, with a hint of surprise, that the tree, after so many years, still lives.  Is the implication that the dear tree will probably live long after he is gone?     An analogy is made between riding on the swing and his soaring spirits, how they, "flew in feathers," back then, but today, oh, no, they are too heavy with the burdens of life and the passage of time.

Finally, he recalls reaching toward heaven in the contemplation of the height of the fir-trees, which reminds him that he now lives his life knowing that although Heaven was once well within his provenance, today, alas, Heaven may be forever out of reach, and he fears for his eternal soul. 

The poem thus begs us to contemplate the condition of our own souls.

A light and sentimental poem?

Thank you, Thomas Hood!

~ THOMAS HOOD ~

1799 - 1845  

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