The Chronically Ill Woman Sits Alone at the Bay Window
Thoughts, Poetry, and Creative Writing Prompts on Longing, as Inspired by "The Lady of Shalott"
“‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said the Lady of Shalott.”
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
A LITERATURE LESSON ON LONGING
This post tonight is fun and sad. It’s fun because it’s just a tad different from my usual offerings. And it’s sad because the circumstances that inspired it are less than desirable. Whether you consider yourself bookish or not, I still think this post is for you. I hope to take you on a journey through longing and end with a new poem and a creative writing prompt for all you writers out there. And I hope to teach you a thing or two along the way.
As many of you know, I am a longtime English teacher turned professor, and I have taught AP Language and AP Literature, as well as Creative Writing, College Rhetoric, and more, for two decades. My education, profession, and life commitment to literature and the arts have shaped the way I see the world. I can’t help but live and breathe the literary canon throughout my own experiences. When I am grasping too much at the past or the present, I think of Fitzgerald’s Jay Gatsby. When I am overwhelmed by existential angst in this modern world and trying to find my purpose in it, I think of Hemingway and his Jake Barnes. If I am yearning to be seen and known for who I truly am and not just a woman who is sick and limited, I think of Jane Eyre. When I want more meaning than the domestic sphere and feel like the writing life is my dearest muse, I think of Jo March.
Truly, the list can go on and on.
So, when I found myself missing out on the beautiful things we planned for this vacation—again and again—and when I found myself in bed or on the couch—day after day—yearning for the world outside, you can bet I was thinking of “The Lady of Shalott” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
“The Lady of Shalott” is a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and it explores themes of isolation, artistry, and the tension between reality and imagination. It tells the story of a mysterious woman, Elaine, who lives alone in a tower on the island of Shalott, upstream from Camelot. Cursed to weave a magic web without ever looking directly at the outside world, she views life only through the reflections in her mirror. The poem contrasts the confined, shadowy existence of the Lady with the vibrancy of the world she longs to join, symbolizing the struggle between creative isolation and the desire for human connection.
The lore surrounding Tennyson’s Lady has inspired a cult following and a myriad of artistic iterations, most notably the Pre-Raphaelites of the Victorian Period and John William Waterhouse’s painting, which is featured in the dominant photo above.
I have always been taken by “The Lady of Shalott,” as have been my students, because of the many ways one can interpret the lyrical ballad. Yes, Tennyson intended it to be a creative meditation of the artist’s lot—being that the artist must endure great isolation to refine and produce their craft—but my students, over the many years, have read themselves into Elaine’s longing. And I have, too.
One can insert whatever personal struggles they have experienced as their “curse” and “how” and “why” they must interact with the outside world. Some students understood the poem through a gendered perspective, which is a frequent reading: “It is hard for women to be in the world of men,” some would say. Other students resonated with the role of outsider: “I come from Cuba. My parents immigrated here when I was little. I feel lost between two worlds.” Or “I have always felt alone in this world because I’m too introverted… I’m too smart… I’m too sensitive… I’m too depressed… I’m too anxious…”
You name it… they said it! Why? Because longing is a universal human experience. And because of this, my students told me everything in their essays and in our class discussions. This is how emotionally impacting “The Lady of Shalott” is on a careful reader.
If you have read “The Lady of Shalott,” but it’s been a while, I warmly encourage you to revisit the tale. If you have never read it, you absolutely must do yourself the favor of reading it now. This is linked to the 1842 version, which tends to be the more widely read and studied one (and is my favorite because of those last lines—oof!). I have shared an excerpt below that particularly resonates with the poem I wrote, “The Chronically Ill Woman Sits Alone at the Bay Window,” which was inspired by the Lady, which I will also share with you below.
As we enter the new year, there is often a great sense of longing. We long to be better, do better, feel better… How can “The Lady of Shalott” meet you today as you examine and unpack your own longing? And more importantly, how can God meet you in your longing in a way that the world never can?
THE LADY OF SHALOTT by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1842 version Part II (excerpt) There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed: "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott. READ THE WHOLE POEM HERE: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45360/the-lady-of-shalott-1842
Listen to Loreena McKennitt sing “The Land of Shalott.” I loved playing this for my students.
MY MODERN LAMENT IN RESPONSE TO “THE LADY OF SHALOTT”
And here is my poem, written as a modern take on "The Lady of Shalott.” My curse isn’t mystical lore; rather, it is the curse of chronic illness that keeps me home most days so that I am unable to work, join my husband and daughter in outings, or make other meaningful memories outside my confines. And instead of looking through a mirror in a castle tower, I am peering through the large bay window at our vacation rental in South Carolina.
THE CHRONICALLY ILL WOMAN SITS ALONE AT THE BAY WINDOW by Kimberly Phinney “‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said the Lady of Shalott.” –Alfred, Lord Tennyson I. I sit brittle-hearted, by the bay window, as the world plays on without me in it. Through it, I can see life unfolding in its picture frame, as I watch the people come and go— going about their ways: talking, smiling, and pushing strollers and little girls on pink bicycles, while two little boys croon in glee. One chases after the other, bursting with being. And for a moment, I pretend he stops to wave at me— with his bright eyes and dark wild curls atop his head— just so I might be seen, just so I might have a reason to smile and be smiled at. But no one looks my way. II. It all goes on like moving art, or a small tableau for God. There are young lovers and old ones, too, strolling hand-in-hand. There are dog walkers and loud talkers, a stray cat or two. Sometimes, I see a rare winter bird held in bare elm arms or an errant squirrel busy in his toil. Here and there, people work in their yards and gardens to beautify their lots under the shine of a generous day. This domestic landscape looks so untroubled, so alive— so unlike my insides, as I ache behind this pane. III Through it, like the Lady's looking glass, I watch the bright December sun— for hours— pace faithfully through her footpath, casting light and shadows on the pale green walls of this house— light fluttering and then glimmering and then crumpling into the flat, black night— shadows looming and then falling and then growing in mass as the day fades to dark— so much like me and the shadows inside my skin I am half-sick of. IV. As I watch other people’s lives play out like something on the big screen, I pretend they are all deliriously happy like those Norman Rockwell scenes I studied dutifully in school— even though I know their lives aren’t perfect, even though I know they have burdens of their own, even though I know Heaven won't come down. Yes, I’ve lived too long to lie to myself. But, right now, as everything else seems to be burning around me, as I miss more and more of my own life and most days hardly recognize it, I need to believe they are all okay— warm, held, laughing, and safe in their homes this very night without a trouble in the world: the lovers, all asleep in bliss and wrapped in the other’s arms, the children, all prized more than hearts can hold and tucked in to dream the sweetest dreams that only children can, and the dogs, all curled tightly at their owner’s feet or a warm fireplace. V. Somehow, this pretending gives me a flicker of hope in my shadows, that life can be like that one day— and that someday God will see fit to heal me and fully restore what has been lost, so I might leave my perch here, at this bay window, where I feel so alone and broken, and take my husband’s and daughter’s hands, and join the world once more— whole and healed— in its prosaic bliss.
“THE LADY OF SHALOTT” CREATIVE WRITING PROMPT: THE TOWER WITHIN
You’ve spent years trapped in an invisible tower—its walls built not of stone but of pain, loss, and fear. Perhaps it’s the weight of chronic illness that chains you to your bed, the relentless pull of mental illness that shrouds the world in shadows, or the ache of grief that freezes you in place. The outside world feels like a distant dream, full of light and life you long for but cannot touch.
Choose your direction:
THE BATTLE WITHIN: From your perch, the world moves on below you: the vibrant hum of voices in the street, the warmth of laughter shared among friends, the gentle rhythm of days that feel out of reach. You watch as people walk freely, oblivious to the prison that holds you captive. Their lives seem effortless, full of motion and light, while yours feels stagnant and shrouded in shadow.
Write about a single day in this tower. Describe the sights and sounds of the life you observe from your window. What emotions stir within you as you watch others experience the joys you long for? How do you cope with the silence and stillness of your confinement? What role does your faith play? Reflect on the moments of beauty or connection that manage to seep through the cracks of your isolation. Are there things you cling to—dreams, memories, or small acts of hope—that keep you going?
THE JOURNEY BEYOND: One day, you sense a shift. Whether it’s a soft voice whispering from within, a fleeting memory of joy, or a person reaching out to you, something cracks the walls of your confinement. The temptation to remain in the safety of what you know is strong, but so is the glimmer of a life you’ve been longing for. Slowly, you begin to imagine what might lie beyond your tower. Write about the moment you decide to confront the forces that have trapped you. What does your tower look like? How does it feel to imagine stepping into the world again? How do you imagine God’s presence in this moment? As you take your first steps, describe the challenges and triumphs of facing the things that have held you back. Will the journey be smooth, or will you stumble along the way? Most importantly, what is waiting for you on the other side of the walls that have trapped you?
I BID ADIEU
I hope you enjoyed this journey of longing through “The Lady of Shalott,” poetry, and a creative writing prompt. If you write or create anything from today’s post, I’d love to hear from you. If you learned anything new or enjoyed a particular part, I’d love to hear from you, too! Also, if you have any literary favorites you’d like me to teach about in the future, just let me know! I’d love to become your favorite teacher! Do you see all those exclamation points? Can you tell I am excited?
Until we meet again, my friends, I pray these early days of 2025 are good to you. Go gently and may your longings cease in God’s presence. God bless you.
You belong here,
me
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Thanks so much for introducing more folks to Tennyson's poem! Your poem is elevated for being tied to and buiilt on "The Lady of Shalott." All of its feelings and yours mingle and interweave in meaning. They inform each other.
I did something similar with Sylvia Plath's "Wintering," and poured in all my longing around the psalm I will never sing, Psalm 89, at the Christmas Eve Vigil Mass. (I'm at the midnight service, which uses a different psalm.)
i burst into tears at "this pane." longing is, indeed, universal and this felt like a whirlwind through its starkness and wishes for something different. i am absolutely going to ponder your prompt. what a wonderful idea! <3