Break Break Break

I truly enjoyed writing about Alfred Lord Tennyson. The way he is able to tackle, or touch on, tough subjects in the simplest of ways never ceases to amaze me. Although he wrote some long poems like The Charge of the Light Brigade and Ulysses, his simpler poems had more of an affect on me. Break, Break, Break is a perfect example of Tennyson's genius. He displays complete mastery of the language through simplicity. He also demonstrates that he has the ability to align syntax to subject matter. Here he talks about waves crashing on a rocky shore. Obviously he is talking about much more than just water, but ill get to that a little later. At first i did not realize is, but when i read it out loud it was revealed to me that the flow of the language is that of waves breaking on the shore. The poem builds suspense like a wave right before it crashes against the shore. However at the last second it calms, it breaks. It is like going up a mountain and then feeling a sudden drop off. Tennyson does this intentionally. It is as if the reader is there reading that poem out loud. It is obvious that Tennyson spent many a day  by the waters edge. But not any waters edge. This is not a shore in New Jersey or Delaware or Maryland. These are sharp crags. This is Maine or Massachusetts. These are cold dark rocks getting slammed by relentless waves. Tennyson paints that picture. The tempo is up and down, the intensity is unsteady, however the waves are constant. This also helps to develop the meaning of the poem. Like these waves, no matter the suspense or energy a day brings, it breaks, it ends. And when it ends it will never be again. Just as a wave flows back in to the ocean after it crashes so does a day flow into time, into memory.  No matter how excited one line makes us it can never stay. Everything that goes up must come down. It also seems that the first three stanzas are all building up to the fourth, the ultimate break. "Break, break, break." All the energy is gone. All the suspense is ruined. All the joy that the first three stanzas brought, that that day brought, is all gone, never to be reproduced. We may get close, we may see a similar wave, we may experience something similar, however it is never exactly the same. We never get that moment back. This idea is both the beauty and tragedy of human existence. Like everything there is good and bad. The sea may be beautiful, but if the aforementioned ships hit the aforementioned rocks, (both beautiful in their own right) there would be catastrophe. This idea plagues human existence, but it also makes every day worth living. I think that is Tennyson's point. It may be presented in a somber way, but it is a statement of fact. If the same wave broke twice, what would be the joy in watching the ocean? Something needs to be temporary to be worth while.