Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lawrence Durrell's poem "Matapan" is a richly evocative meditation on memory, place, and the intertwining of human experience with the timeless landscape of Greece. Cape Matapan, the southernmost point of mainland Greece, serves as a gateway to the Aegean Sea and the mythic islands that have inspired countless legends and stories. Through this poem, Durrell explores the profound connection between the physical geography of Greece and the spiritual and emotional journeys of those who traverse its lands and waters.

The poem opens with a sense of finality and separation: "Unrevisited perhaps forever / Southward from the capes of smoke." The idea of leaving something behind "forever" introduces the theme of irrevocable change and the passage of time. The reference to "capes of smoke" suggests a place shrouded in mystery or memory, where the boundaries between past and present blur, merging into the "waters [that] are one." This opening sets the tone for the poem, where the physical and metaphysical intertwine, creating a landscape that is both real and symbolic.

Durrell's description of the peninsula as pointing "Three fingers down the night" conjures an image of Matapan as a physical and spiritual threshold, a place where the known world ends and the unknown begins. The "corridor of darkness" leading to "the islands" suggests a journey into the depths of the self or into the mythic past, where "Andros, Delos and Santorin" emerge as abstract, almost mythical, destinations. These islands, described as "more lovely," are not just geographical locations but symbols of beauty, history, and myth.

The islands themselves are depicted as "formless, yet made in marble," a paradox that captures their dual nature as both real and ethereal. The statues with "stone vines for hair" evoke the classical past, where mythology "walks in a wave" and the islands themselves are imbued with a timeless, almost otherworldly quality. The sea, "penumbra" of these islands, is a space of transition, where the boundaries between reality and myth, time and eternity, are fluid.

As the poem progresses, Durrell reflects on the experience of leaving the hills behind, a departure that feels both inevitable and disorienting: "Leaving you, hills, we were unaware / Or only as sleepwalkers are aware." The image of "a key turned in the heart, a letter / Posted under the door of an empty house" suggests a sense of finality and loss, as if something precious has been left behind, irretrievably locked away. Matapan becomes an "identity, a trial of conduct," a place that challenges and transforms those who encounter it.

Durrell's language captures the elemental forces at play in this landscape: the "surges" of the sea, the "thistle and trefoil blowing," the "end of everything known / A beginning of water." These images convey a sense of renewal and transformation, as Matapan becomes a place where "sorrow and beauty" are eternally intertwined, creating a deep and enduring connection between the human experience and the natural world.

The poem also explores the theme of love and its limitations: "Here we learned that the lover / Is contained by love, not containing." This reflection suggests that love, like the landscape, is something that encompasses and shapes us, rather than something we can control or possess. The imagery of "the lucky in summer" tying up their boats, the "cicada's small machine," and the "brown / Hands about the tiller unbuckled" evokes the simple, yet profound, experiences of life in this timeless setting.

As the poem draws to a close, Durrell shifts his focus to the symbolic and the eternal. The "two dark-blue Aegean eyes" painted on the prows of boats, alongside the inscription "God the Just," evoke the deep connection between the spiritual and the everyday in Greek life. The "dog-rose abloom in bowls," "faces of wishing children in the wells," and the "timeless urchin / Carrying the wooden swallow" are images that connect the present to the past, the living to the mythic.

The final stanza of the poem is a meditation on memory and the passage of time. The "late winter of mist and pelicans," the "man kiss[ing] his wife and child good-bye," and the "olive-press" evoke a sense of both continuity and change. The image of memory "opened in him like a vein" suggests that the past is ever-present, flowing through us and shaping our experiences. The poem concludes with the haunting image of the man and his wife "Far out on the blue / Like notes of music on a page," their presence eternal yet distant, their "singing" too far to hear but always there, resonating in the silence.

In "Matapan," Durrell masterfully weaves together the physical landscape of Greece with the inner landscapes of memory, love, and identity. The poem captures the timeless quality of the Greek islands and the sea, where mythology and reality coexist, and where the human experience is inextricably linked to the natural world. Through his evocative language and imagery, Durrell invites the reader to explore the profound connections between place, memory, and the self, creating a meditation on the beauty and sorrow of life’s journey.

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