The poem
'But that was nothing to what things came out From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.' 'What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?' 'Nothing at all of any things like that.' 'What were they, then?' 'All sorts of queer things, Things never seen or heard or written about, Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch, Had anyone dared it. Marvellous creation, All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes, All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour, Though all came moving slowly out together.' 'Describe just one of them.' 'I am unable.' 'What were their colours?' 'Mostly nameless colours, Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish. Some had no colour.' 'Tell me, had they legs?' 'Not a leg or foot among them that I saw.' 'But did these things come out in any order?' What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week? Who else was present? How was the weather?' 'I was coming to that. It was half-past three On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining. The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu On thrity-seven shimmering instruments Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund. The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth, Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth, Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed them First in good Welsh and then in fluent English, Twisting his fingers in his chain of office, Welcoming the things. They came out on the sand, Not keeping time to the band, moving seaward Silently at a snail's pace. But at last The most odd, indescribable thing of all Which hardly one man there could see for wonder Did something recognizably a something.' 'Well, what?' 'It made a noise.' 'A frightening noise?' 'No, no.' 'A musical noise? A noise of scuffling?' 'No, but a very loud, respectable noise --- Like groaning to oneself on Sunday morning In Chapel, close before the second psalm.' 'What did the mayor do?' 'I was coming to that.'
This is in many ways an infuriating poem. Is it, in the same way that Waiting for Godot is more about the waiting than Godot, more about the state of mystery or indescribability rather than what the things coming out of the caves were? And isn't it a bit anti-Welsh in that it paints a picture of the narrator who can be seen(perhaps like the mayor) as a self-important, parochial windbag in the way that Neil Kinnock was sometimes portrayed.
Some further thoughts. The descriptive language of the man who witnessed the incident, is detailed and evocative. We see the brass band with its shimmering instruments and the Mayor feeling his chain of office either from nervousness or boredom. But he is quite unable to describe the creatures who appear from the sea caves. Wittgenstein’s Tractatus was published in German in 1921 and in this Wittgenstein famously…
Read the whole commentSome further thoughts.
The descriptive language of the man who witnessed the incident, is detailed and evocative. We see the brass band with its shimmering instruments and the Mayor feeling his chain of office either from nervousness or boredom. But he is quite unable to describe the creatures who appear from the sea caves.
Wittgenstein’s Tractatus was published in German in 1921 and in this Wittgenstein famously advocates that whereof we cannot speak we should remain silent. Welsh Incident was published in Grave’s Collected Poems in 1938 so I don’t really know when it was written – though it has a good chance of being after the Tractatus. If so one interpretation of the poem could be to demonstrate how lost we become when we do not have the language to describe an unusual incident and that, in a broader philosophical context it would be best not make grand metaphysical claims.
One student thought that the poem was simply funny.