This poem has been taught in so many Southern Literature classes, it may itself be a kind of cliche. Some find this poem simplistic and trite. Others have written volumes deciphering it.
I love this poem; it has everything a great poem needs while consuming only 14 lines.
The poem first, then a few comments below:
Piazza Piece
by John Crowe Ransom
—I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying
To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small
And listen to an old man not at all,
They want the young men’s whispering and sighing.
But see the roses on your trellis dying
And hear the spectral singing of the moon;
For I must have my lovely lady soon,
I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying.
—I am a lady young in beauty waiting
Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.
But what gray man among the vines is this
Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream?
Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream!
I am a lady young in beauty waiting.
***
This poem rewards slow reading. You can speed-read it in 30 seconds or less and get the basic information… but this poem is not about conveying basic information. It is about two interesting characters.
First: Who is this man?!? At first he seems to be old and humble, wearing his dustcoat, and admitting he’s not what she’s looking for. He’s trying and apparently failing to get her attention. But later in the first stanza, we can see this man is not to be trifled with. He points ominously to the roses dying, and warns her to ‘hear the spectral singing of the moon.’ The what?!? Is this some kind of wizard or necromancer? or even worse? Or is this just an average middle-aged man, who understands how beautiful things grow old and die? I love the mystery…. we are not told exactly who he is. By being potentially any one of these things, the man is all of them at once.
The lady in waiting? We know her much better. Probably we have all met her and rolled our eyes at her. This fainting-Scarlett-O’Hara act makes us laugh, and also makes us cringe. A man of some deep wisdom (and maybe possessing dark powers) is wooing her, trying to tell her things of great meaning. Her response: demand he get back or else she’ll scream. Ah, the cluelessness of youth.
The first and last lines of each stanza, ‘I am a gentleman… / I am a lady…’ make this feel like a set piece in a high school play. For me, these lines give the poem a kind of formality that help me pay attention to it.
I love the word ‘spectral’ in this poem. The word refers to a thing which is ghostlike; but also to natural patterns found within nature (in waves of light, sound, etc.). To be honest I still don’t know what the ‘spectral singing of the moon’ is. But if this guy does, I’m keeping an eye on him.