“And who has seen the moon, who has not seen / Her rise from out the chamber of the deep, / Flushed and grand and naked…” –D.H. Lawrence, Moonrise
At first blush, the poem Moonrise seems to be about nothing more than likening the moon to a naked woman, glowing with post-coital bliss.
Here. See for yourself. It’s a short and vivid poem:
The merits of my bawdy first impression of Moonrise stand reinforced by sampling another sensual lunar poem by Mr. Lawrence: Moon New-Risen. In that poem, Lawrence envisions the feminine moon making out with a masculine night sky. His fixation seems akin to a boy gazing at a nudie magazine. So why am I reading and blogging about his naughty poetry on Lit for Space? I blame Captain Kirk.
“They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains / the hottest blood of all…”
Captain Kirk quotes this bit of D.H. Lawrence’s poem Whales Weep Not! during Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. It’s a beautiful line and beautifully placed in the film. Kirk recites it to a lovely woman, though we should note she is also a heroic scientist to whom Kirk is indebted. Together they gaze at a pair of rescued humpback whales swimming through velvety lighting aboard a starship.
Kirk recites only the first line of “Whales Weep Not!” Wisely so. The rest of the poem ranges from highly sensual to downright erotic. It contains, among other things, a detailed depiction of whale genitalia fulfilling its biological function. Unabashedly, the poem goes all the way.
What does this have to do with Moonrise?
Without Star Trek IV’s well-placed D.H. Lawrence reference, I may never have happened upon Moonrise. I found it buried in a thick anthology of D.H. Lawrence’s Complete Poems. Thank you public libraries and interlibrary loan.
Humor me and read Moonrise again, especially if—like me—you could only see sex the first time you read it. Moonrise, like Whales Weep Not! is about much more than sex. Though it is a poem which employs sexuality powerfully and without apology. By a third reading, I caught hold of its climactic message.
The rising moon’s gorgeousness catapults both poet and reader toward a powerful notion. Within human passion, sparked by cosmic beauty, there is some quality which may hope to outlast even the literal moon’s existence. What a wonderfully defiant sentiment for a species utterly bound by time and space.
Questions for Comment
In what ways do you, or do you not, find the moon poetic? What elements of the cosmos do you find sensual, and why?