"Evening in Arcadia" by Thomas Cole‘The Keyhole’ by Lynn Michael Martin The Society April 24, 2019 Beauty, Poetry 5 Comments Here shut behind an oaken door I stay, left in a room paneled with times long gone, and learn to know the passing of the day, for day and I await the selfsame dawn. My window faces west, my door is closed against the east, and since I’ve seen no sun except the sun forgotten, I supposed that I should never see a day begun. Thus from a child, I was the form of doubt, and wrote my sonnets to the western lights, and watched the stars till they had all gone out, Singing, like sons of dusk, to sleepless nights. But when the light falls on the keyhole’s rim, I’ll sing of dawn, and day shall be my hymn. Lynn Michael Martin lives in Hagerstown, MD. He edits the Curator, a poetry publication, and loves to read Middle English literature. Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Related 5 Responses Bruce E. Wren April 24, 2019 Interesting, and well written. I would be interested in seeing more of Mr. Martin’s works. Reply Martin Rizley April 25, 2019 A very intriguing poem. I must confess I find it enigmatic, and am not sure I grasp its meaning. What is this place from which you write, shut behind an oaken door and with your window facing west? Are you referring to a person who is old and bedridden, confined to a westward facing room, or is the language entirely symbolic? .What seems clear to me is that the poem is about hope. You seem to write as one whose theme from childhood has been the classic poetic theme of mutability– the ephemeral character of everything in this mortal life, symbolized by sunsets, dusk, fading stars, etc.– you yourself being the “form of doubt,” i. e, of a doubting, skeptical outlook. But as you draw nearer to life´s end, you see a “ray of hope” shining through a keyhole, and are led to hope for the arrival of dawn, a rebirth, as it were. Am I approximating the meaning of your poem? Reply Lynn Martin July 13, 2019 Martin, you are fairly close to my intent, though I think of the poem as more speaking from a particular state of mind than a particular age. Though I’m usually an optimist, sometimes it seems that I’ve spent much of my life not believing. Also, my poems tend to be written when I’m feeling depressed; hence writing my sonnets “to the western lights.” But even in those times, I realize that hope is real, though it is hard to sense. Reply Monty April 25, 2019 Is “panelled” spelt with only one ‘L’ on that side of the pond? Does ‘gone’ rhyme with ‘dawn’ on that side of the pond? Reply Lynn Martin July 13, 2019 Monty, on this side of the pond, I believe that “panelled” can be spelled either way, though with a single L is preferable. The same is true of “traveller,” which for some reason I always want to spell with two Ls, while my fellow Americans tend to use one. I suppose I should grow consistent in some way. And “gone” does rhyme with “dawn” in most American dialects. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.