Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Haunted Houses

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

Focus on these stanzas:

“There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.”

Invariably, each of us encounters moments when something is crystal clear and obvious to us, though others seem not to see or notice it. Whether what’s obvious to us is something only perceived or a tangible and genuine experience is not important. It is part of our reality. In the two stanzas above from Longfellow’s Haunted Houses the speaker is aware of forms and sounds, which to him are obvious, but he expresses that the “stranger at my fireside,” cannot perceive the same things.

The Rules:

1. Think about a time (can be real or made-up) when you or someone you know has expressed this feeling of knowing something that others don’t notice. What were you/they sensing in that moment? Use a word bank like the one below with the five tangible sense to generate some imagery. Were you sensing anything that couldn’t be perceived with the five senses too?

2. Drawing from any or all of the images you’ve generated as inspiration, spend 15 minutes freewriting.

3. If you’re satisfied with your response and you want to share it, then feel free to use the comments section below to post your work.

Word Generator containing Columns - Sense, Sight, Sound, Touch/Feeling, Taste, Smell
Ethereal Illumination,
Muted limerence
Clouds of dust/Collapsing buildings
Giggling
Hoarse whisper
Impossible words
Pins and needles
Cold
Shrapnel
Salt
Bitterness
Impending Pavement Pizza
Fetid
Burning (caramel)
Cotton Candy

Andrew’s Response:

The steak had too much salt, but no one said

One word about the taste. They only grinned:

Some giggled at brash stories, passed the bread,

Ignored the burning roast, and let soups thin.

Not even whispers spoke of smoke – not here,

Where only beeping interrupted loud

And louder anecdotes … not over there,

Where things collapsed, and dressed the sun in shrouds.

The fridge will smell rank, fetid, and gross

Once weeks of too much plenty have gone by.

The steak will still have too much salt; the loss

Will seem no waste, while somewhere others cry.

The steak had too much salt, but no one said

One bitter word of taste or what’s left dead.

October 2023 - Workshop Shit!