The Spider's Web -- E B White

Guest poem submitted by Emily Cowan:

(Poem #608) The Spider's Web The spider, dropping down from twig, Unfolds a plan of her devising, A thin premeditated rig To use in rising. And all that journey down through space, In cool descent and loyal hearted, She spins a ladder to the place From where she started. Thus I, gone forth as spiders do In spider's web a truth discerning, Attach one silken thread to you For my returning. -- E B White

Original title: "Natural History"

Years ago, on Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac (a daily radio broadcast
of history, culture & poetry), I heard him read "The Spider", by E.B. White.
I'm pretty sure it was called "The Spider"; it may have been called "The
Web". It's about a spider's web that causes the author to think about
attachment and love. It is a beautiful poem and is actually a love poem, I
believe. Either that, or a poem about an obsession. I was trying to get over
an obsessive love affair at the time and so found it very personally
meaningful. But long after getting over that person, I've remembered the
beauty and simple eloquence of the poem. I'd love to see it here.

[I managed to found the poem on the web (nice little serendipitous pun
there), and sent it to Emily - t.]

Yep, that's the one.  Not quite as stunning now as when I heard it, probably
because I'm not broken-hearted anymore, but beautiful anyway. I like it
because it illustrates how we draw so many parallels between our lives and
nature. It's such a human trait to read personal and spiritual meaning into
nature, who is just going along taking care of her own business.

White also attributes all kinds of human thinking and feeling to this tiny
insect: planning (organization), forethought, loyalty. Shows us what's on
his mind, really. I wonder how he is going forth like a spider? Perhaps to
procure the day's sustenance? Or some other, longer journey, that requires
an attachment during his absence? Who is he reassuring with this thread?
Himself or his beloved? Poetically, I especially like the way the last line
of each verse is significantly shorter than the others; I think it makes the
line ring in a much more pronounced, yet quiet, way. Less is more.

Emily.

[Links]

Obviously, Donne's great Valediction, which uses a different conceit to
express much the same basic idea: poem #330