Rolf Jacobsen’s Suddenly. In December

Suddenly. In December. I stand knee-deep in snow
Talk to you and get no answer. You’re keep quiet.
My love, now it’s happened after all. Our whole life,
the smiles, the tears and the courage. Your sewing machine
and the long nights of work. Finally our travels.
-under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar.
It all went so fast. Two staring eyes. Words
I couldn’t catch, that you said over and over.
And suddenly nothing more. You slept.
And now they’re all lying here, days and summer nights,
the grapes in Valladolid, the sunsets in Nemea
-under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar.
Quick as a switch flicking off,
the tracing behind the eye flesh out,
wiped from the slate of a life-span. Or may be not?
Your new dress, my face and our old stairs
and everything you brought to this house. Is it gone
-under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar/
Dear friend, where is happiness now,
your good hands, your young smile,
your hair’s wreath of light on your forehead and that
girlish glint in your eye, your spirit and
steady abundance of life and hope?
-under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar.
Dompanion beyond death. Take me down with you.
Side by side, let us see the unknown.
It’s so desolate here and the days are growing dark.
The words are few now and no one’s listening anymore.
Dearest, you who are sleeping. Eurydice.
-under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar.

This poem appeared in Rolf Jacobsen’s final poetry collection, Nattåpent (translated as Night Open, or Night Watch). Jacobsen was by this time 78 years old, a canonical poet, one of Norway’s most important cultural figures—and a grieving widower.

This collection contains many poems that conjure moments he shared with his wife, Petra, and the emotions brought by her passing. “Suddenly. In December” (“Plutselig. I December”) is a five-stanza poem set during the Christmas season, when Scandinavians traditionally spend time with family. Throughout Scandinavia, the Christmas holiday is three days long, from December 24 to 26, with national holidays observed on all three days, in part to allow for families and extended families to spend time together. (Jacobsen, who converted to Catholicism, going against the grain in the predominantly Lutheran nation in which society was mostly secular, also considered Christmas a religious holiday.) A holiday season such as Christmas is a time of year when loved ones who have passed away are often the most keenly missed and their absence most strongly felt. This is what Jacobsen expresses in this bittersweet poem.

In the poem’s opening line, a sudden and overwhelming sense of loss hits the speaker: “Suddenly. In December” as he stands “knee-deep in snow.” The next line begins: “Talk to you and get no answer. You’re keeping quiet.” The ample periods punctuate the suddenness of this feeling as well as its finality. By the end of the first stanza we realize that the reason the speaker gets no answer from his love is that he stands, knee-deep in snow, by the grave of his beloved, where she is buried “—under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar.”

All five stanzas, then, are words that the speaker is saying to the departed who he knows cannot hear him, yet to whom he continues speaking. He recalls details of their long life together: “your sewing machine / and the long nights of work” and “your new dress, my face and our old stairs.” He mourns her: “Dear friend, where is our happiness now, / your good hands, your young smile.” Finally, he longs to be reunited with her: “Companion beyond death. Take me down with you.” Each mournful stanza ends with the repeated line, “—under the snow. Under the wreath of cedar.” The repetition underscores the finality of the speaker’s loss—each set of ruminations ends in death—yet the repetition also communicates the speaker’s resistance to this fact.

The wreath of cedar, a traditional symbol of Christmas, also ironically marks December as a season of death, as evergreens are the only things that grow during the darkest, coldest month of the year in Norway, and therefore the only tribute that can be freshly picked from the outdoors and placed on a snowy grave.

In the poem’s next-to-last line, the speaker calls to his beloved: “Dearest, you who are sleeping. Eurydice.” The speaker here imagines himself as Apollo’s son Orpheus from Greek mythology, who, mourning the death of his wife, Eurydice, composed music so beautiful and sorrowful that, when played, touched even the heart of Hades, lord of the underworld.

Composing this poem in his simple and sweet style was Jacobsen’s way of playing “music” that mourns a lost love so deeply and beautifully that anyone hearing it must pause, suddenly, and be moved.

Bibliography
Jacobsen, Rolf. North in the World: Selected Poems of Rolf Jacobsen, a Bilingual Edition. 2nd ed. Edited and translated by Roger Greenwald. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002.

Categories: Literature, World Literature

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