Free Verse
“Love After Love” is written in free verse; the poet does not use any regular rhyme scheme or traditional metrical pattern. At first glance, the structure of the poem seems pretty bare-bones, but a closer look confirms that these bones are good bones.
For instance, the poem unfolds in series of four, nicely carved stanzas. Ranging from three to five lines long, the stanzas have a pleasing appearance on the page: close enough in length to seem unified, but different enough to add interest.
Mirroring the poem’s short, straightforward structure, the diction of the poem (that is, the poet’s choice of words) is also very simple, including many commonplace, single-syllable words. In fact, the word “elation” is arguably the only example of higher-level vocabulary in the entire poem. Notice how that one memorable word stands out, setting a joyful mood.
In keeping with the conversational, free verse structure of the poem, almost half of the poem’s lines are enjambed, ending with white space instead of a punctuation mark, causing each of the enjambed lines to spill over into the next line. Line 9 even spills over into the next stanza, heightening the emotional description of the “stranger who has loved you/ all your life.” This ample use of enjambment helps vary the rhythm of the poem.
So does the poet’s fondness for caesura—a strong pause within a single line of verse, indicated by the use of a comma or period within the line. Walcott is actually pretty famous for his use of caesurae (that’s how you spell the word when you’re talking about more than one caesura). In “Love After Love” he uses the technique a whopping eleven times. Line 4 displays the use of medial caesura, a strong pause in the middle of the line that splits it into two equal parts. Line 6, an end-stopped line, contains two caesurae, in the form of a comma and a period that precede the final period at the end of the line. Line 9 offers a good example of initial caesura, which occurs near the beginning of the line. Just for fun, see if you can identify the other seven caesurae in the poem.
Walcott is so enamored of the caesura, in fact, that he has no patience for poets who are clumsy in their use of this technique, claiming that a poorly executed caesura is like a galloping horse that collapses and breaks its leg mid-stride. In contrast, Walcott expertly employs word repetition and grammatical parallelism to complement his use of caesura (for example, “at your own door, in your own mirror” in line 4), enhancing the calm, deliberate, rhythmic beauty of the poem.
So, what’s with all the pausing? Is this poem just trying to kill time between its beginning and end? Is it getting paid by the hour or something? Well, when you think about it, the pauses here are not just empty spaces of nothingness. They’re opportunities for reflection. Rather than just continuing to live life as usual, this poem instructs its reader to step back, reassess, and recalibrate. There’s a cause for the pause, in other words. The speaker wants us to stop, in order to appreciate ourselves all over again.