It is about a relationship.... A relationship with writing. The "lover" is writing. It's a fickle creature, as any writer knows. The references to love, such as "a waltz through your empty bed" refer to being abandoned by your muse.
"Oh, where is your inflammatory writ
Your text that would incite a light be lit"
Where is your ability to write something so powerfully emotive that it can induce passion in anyone who reads it?
"Our music deserving, devotion unswerving
Cry "Do I deserve her?" with unflagging fervor
Well, no we do not if we cannot get over it"
"Her" here means the muse, more or less. She's saying if you constantly worry about your inspiration leaving you ("do I deserve her?") or not being good enough to be a writer, you will never write anything of value ("Well, no we do not...")
"And what's it mean when suddenly we're spent
And tell me true ambition came and reared its head and went far from you"
This is about the frustration of being suddenly inspired, and writing furiously, only to suddenly find you can't think what comes next. Inspiration comes in fits and spurts, and if you rely only on these moments of "ambition" we will never finish what we've begun.
"Even mollusks have weddings, though solemn and leaden
But you dirge for the dead, and take no jam on your bread
Just a supper of salt and a waltz through your empty bed"
I think this a description of how life is going on all around you, but you can't see it, because you're so depressed wishing your inspiration would come back. As I said before, the "empty bed" refers to being left without inspiration, alone.
"And all at once it came to me
And I wrote and hunched 'till four-thirty
But that vestal light, it burns out with the night"
I agree with others interpretation here: Suddenly inspiration does strike, and she writes and writes trying to capture it before it's gone, despite the inconvenience of the time at which it has come. Then by morning, the inspiration is gone and she's left on her own again.
In spite of all the time that we spent on it
On one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet"
I think it's important here to note the meaning of "bedraggled": Overused, exhausted, worn out. She's been going over and over her writing, revising all the spirit out of it, leaving only a "ghost" of the emotion it once bore.
"While outside, the wild boars root
Without bending a bough underfoot
Oh it breaks my heart, I don't know how they do it
So don't ask me"
I may be wrong, but I interpreted this verse as referring to the simple poetry and grace of living. It expresses her frustration at not being able to capture the grace of of the boars (not literally) in her writing- "I don't know how they do it, so don't ask me!" The boars have naturally mastered something she cannot even begin to grasp.
"And as for my inflammatory writ
Well, I write it an I was not inflamed one bit
Advice from the master derailed that disaster
He said "Hand that pen over to me, poetaster!""
Here she finally learns not to rely on her inspiration; now she can write emotive poetry without being inflamed herself at the time. She learned from "the master" who helped her fix her "disaster" of a poem.
"While across the great plains, keen and lovely and awful
Ululate the last Great American Novels
An unlawful lot, left to stutter and freeze, floodlit
But at least they didn't run, to their undying credit"
I must admit this verse mostly escapes me. I think Annelise's interpretation is pretty good. Listening to it again, I think maybe there shouldn't be an "and" between "keen" and "lovely"? So it should read "Keen lovely and awful". Keening is another term for a wailing, much like ululate, so that makes a bit more sense.
It is about a relationship.... A relationship with writing. The "lover" is writing. It's a fickle creature, as any writer knows. The references to love, such as "a waltz through your empty bed" refer to being abandoned by your muse. "Oh, where is your inflammatory writ Your text that would incite a light be lit"
Where is your ability to write something so powerfully emotive that it can induce passion in anyone who reads it?
"Our music deserving, devotion unswerving Cry "Do I deserve her?" with unflagging fervor Well, no we do not if we cannot get over it"
"Her" here means the muse, more or less. She's saying if you constantly worry about your inspiration leaving you ("do I deserve her?") or not being good enough to be a writer, you will never write anything of value ("Well, no we do not...")
"And what's it mean when suddenly we're spent And tell me true ambition came and reared its head and went far from you"
This is about the frustration of being suddenly inspired, and writing furiously, only to suddenly find you can't think what comes next. Inspiration comes in fits and spurts, and if you rely only on these moments of "ambition" we will never finish what we've begun.
"Even mollusks have weddings, though solemn and leaden But you dirge for the dead, and take no jam on your bread Just a supper of salt and a waltz through your empty bed"
I think this a description of how life is going on all around you, but you can't see it, because you're so depressed wishing your inspiration would come back. As I said before, the "empty bed" refers to being left without inspiration, alone.
"And all at once it came to me And I wrote and hunched 'till four-thirty But that vestal light, it burns out with the night"
I agree with others interpretation here: Suddenly inspiration does strike, and she writes and writes trying to capture it before it's gone, despite the inconvenience of the time at which it has come. Then by morning, the inspiration is gone and she's left on her own again.
In spite of all the time that we spent on it On one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet"
I think it's important here to note the meaning of "bedraggled": Overused, exhausted, worn out. She's been going over and over her writing, revising all the spirit out of it, leaving only a "ghost" of the emotion it once bore.
"While outside, the wild boars root Without bending a bough underfoot Oh it breaks my heart, I don't know how they do it So don't ask me"
I may be wrong, but I interpreted this verse as referring to the simple poetry and grace of living. It expresses her frustration at not being able to capture the grace of of the boars (not literally) in her writing- "I don't know how they do it, so don't ask me!" The boars have naturally mastered something she cannot even begin to grasp.
"And as for my inflammatory writ Well, I write it an I was not inflamed one bit Advice from the master derailed that disaster He said "Hand that pen over to me, poetaster!""
Here she finally learns not to rely on her inspiration; now she can write emotive poetry without being inflamed herself at the time. She learned from "the master" who helped her fix her "disaster" of a poem.
"While across the great plains, keen and lovely and awful Ululate the last Great American Novels An unlawful lot, left to stutter and freeze, floodlit But at least they didn't run, to their undying credit"
I must admit this verse mostly escapes me. I think Annelise's interpretation is pretty good. Listening to it again, I think maybe there shouldn't be an "and" between "keen" and "lovely"? So it should read "Keen lovely and awful". Keening is another term for a wailing, much like ululate, so that makes a bit more sense.