Course:Demain dès l'aube by Victor Hugo

CRWR 501P 003
Advanced Writing of Poetry
	Instructor:Dr. Bronwen Tate; Email: Bronwen.tate@ubc.ca; Office: Buchanan E #456;
Important Course Pages
	Inspirations & Influences;
Categories
	Sources of Inspiration and Influence Aardvark Book of Poems Book of Poems by a Living Poet Choufleur Conflicted, Ambivalent, or Antagonistic Feelings CRWR 501 People Encountered Before Twelve Essay Fiction Films Fox Gemini Music Orchid Otis Places Poem Composed Before 1945 Poetic Prose Sadcactussometimesblooms Song, Painting, Film, Etc. Souris Yarrow Yellow Silver

Published in 1856 as part of The Contemplations collection, Victor Hugo’s poem Demain dès l'aube (Tomorrow at Dawn) is largely a reflection on grief and loss, inspired by the death of his daughter who drowned in the Seine. The poem takes the readers on a journey of visiting his daughter’s grave:

Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens,

I will set out. You see, I know that you wait for me.I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.I can no longer remain far from you.I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts,Seeing nothing of outdoors, hearing no noiseAlone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed,Sorrowed, and the day for me will be as the night.I will not look at the gold of evening which falls,Nor the distant sails going down towards Harfleur,And when I arrive, I will place on your tombA bouquet of green holly and of flowering heather.

Although characteristic of a romanticism poem – a man alone in nature reflecting his sentiments – the poem itself lacks an appreciation for nature’s beauty. The speaker is only marking his landscapes, as if clearing his thoughts to remain only with his daughter. This level of disconnection and disassociation was startling and frightening for me. When I read this during Covid-19, the mourning that the speaker felt was transported into my heart. I felt his sorrow, which wasn’t a good thing to be feeling so strongly about at that time. I couldn’t find any solace in this piece, or any other voice in the poem that might have comforted me. This, in linkage to Hannah Arendt’s work, Responsibility and Judgement, made me question whether we really can find another companion, voice, or source of comfort in literature when we are in solitude. In my writings, I’ve always thought in the back of my mind that writers are to translate feelings into words. That by writing down experiences, someone in the world will be glad to know that they’re not alone in feeling this way, or that their feelings can be pinpointed into sentences. Maybe I should reread this poem and perhaps other thoughts will resurface, but I wonder now maybe it’s exactly just this disassociation with the entire world that renders the mourning voice in this poem so strong and intense.

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