The Unnerving Beauty of H.P. Lovecraft's "A Garden"

How poetry can create some of the most powerful imaginary landscapes

Apr 10, 2024

shallow focus photography of purple flower — Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Although it may seem ironic to bring one of the masters of horror up during the brightening of the year, there are still some macabre sights to be found in the shadier corners of nature—flowers struggling to break through the snow, remains of unlucky animals who did not last the winter, and the drearier moments of April showers.

I have talked about Howard Phillips Lovecraft’s fiction before on Senchas Claideb (you can read my thoughts at the link below), but rarely have I seen his poetry talked about in-depth. While he was far from the pseudo-bardic energies of Conan creator Robert E. Howard and the dreamy, unrestrained weirdness that is Clark Ashton Smith, Lovecraft’s poetry at least feels appropriately like fragmented ramblings of madness-stricken souls who were touched by the influences of his Mythos. None of them are perfect and many of their themes repeat, but I like imagining them as artifacts people who live in his imagined worlds might discover as they slowly uncover the terrifying mysteries of the cosmos and existence itself.

The first time I came across “A Garden” was, serendipitously enough, during National Poetry Month as well (April). I was a freshman in college and part of a writing club which observed a tradition called “Poetry Invasion.” This activity took place on the eve of Senior Capstone presentations; club members would run around campus with printed copies of poems and sidewalk chalk, displaying poetry on as many corners of the school as we could before night fell. I vaguely remember scrawling out “A Garden” in chalk on the asphalt between the college’s gym and musty art building just as twilight was hitting. Further up the way, I accompanied one of my friends as she wrote a verse from “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allen Poe, which complimented the presence of Lovecraft’s words nicely, I’d say.

As with most of my Lovecraftian experiences, it wasn’t until later that I actually got what “A Garden” was saying. Last year at Robert E. Howard Days 2023, the event celebrated the 100th anniversary of the Weird Tales pulp magazine in which Lovecraft (among other early speculative fiction writers) was regularly published. As part of the event’s porchlight poetry reading, the floor was opened to other Weird Tales contributors’ poems (not just Howard’s). I chose to read “A Garden”, having remembered it from years prior. In the rush to get a poem from a writer I enjoyed into the public view back in college, I hadn’t even read clearly past the first few lines I was able to write down with my chalk. A lot of the time, speaking any written word aloud helps a reader actually understand what is being said, which was the case when I read “A Garden” at Howard Days 2023:

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There’s an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there’s moss about the pool,
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent sunken pathways springs an herbage sparse and spare,
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.
There is not a living creature in the lonely space around,
And the hedge-encompass’d quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
Then a sadness settles o’er me, and a tremor seems to start:
For I know the flow’rs are shrivell’d hopes—the garden is my heart!

The meaning of the poem is rather straightforward; Lovecraft, ever gloomy yet still managing to conjure bleak beauty out of his difficult life, seems to describe the withering of his spirit. Anyone familiar with Lovecraft’s life, especially shortly after his childhood, will know that he experienced sudden poverty and the decay of the dilettante lifestyle he longed for after the passing of his maternal grandfather. It was due to his grandfather’s library filled with classic literature that Lovecraft became enamored with the craft of writing and the distant, imaginary worlds stories could transport readers to. That library nurtured Lovecraft’s “garden” but the years following his family’s descent led to its withering. Still, amidst the decay of his childhood and idyllic years, as in the natural world, new life still sprung out of it. Lovecraft created a new, dark garden where furtive life could lurk and the pale light of moon and stars, rather than the sun, nurtured blossoms of unnamable hues.

Although this poem was likely born out of pain and longing for the past, it is still a piece that brims with a dark, gothic beauty that Lovecraft, early in his career, sought to conjure up in his tales. Even though he claims his garden is decayed, it has nonetheless flourished beyond his death and formed a whole weald of horror that authors, readers, and artists can explore and nurture their own hearts and passions. Just as the immortal lines from the Necronomicon suggest, even the death that Lovecraft claims took hold of his garden died.

Thanks for reading this week’s post! What poem have you read that is by nature tragic or gloomy but has a certain beauty you can’t help but appreciate? Share it in the comments!

The Unnerving Beauty of H.P. Lovecraft's "A Garden"

How poetry can create some of the most powerful imaginary landscapes

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