“The Guitarist Tunes Up” is the poem that tells us about the difference between creative instinct and possessive instinct. (Ghreeza) Frances Cornford says that the guitarist is an artist who is well aware of the behaviour of the guitar¬¬ – an instrument made of wire and wood. He knows where and how should he strike on the strings of the guitar to bring about certain musical sounds. He bears creative instinct. He is not like a ‘lordly conqueror’ who possesses all wire and wood of the lands but cannot bring about any musical tone out of them.
The poet compares the guitarist (an artist) with a man who is in love with a loved woman. The lover knows how and what should he do to bring about desired reactions of his beloved before they play the sport of love. So, the guitarist is like the man who is in love with a woman and is not like the ‘lordly conqueror’.
The poem comprises 8 lines. The lines bear perfect rhymes. They are like couplets. Every succeeding line is two third of the first line except the last one. There is beautiful image of ‘wire and wood’ which suggests much much more meaning. The beauty of the poem lies in its suggestiveness, imagery and rhythm. Repetition, alliteration, assonance, consonance create lasting rhythmical effect on our ears.
If we look at this poem closely, we will see that it is full of simile- direct comparison with its elements between two persons, items and so on. Generally speaking, the most prominent comaprison in this poem is made between a guitarist with a guitar and a lover with a beloved person. The real musicians ask permisson before playing the instrument. The same thing is applied between a couple before making love. Whenever a lover wants to be happy, making love, with his beloved, there is no doudt that the request should be done by attention and full of respect. Another point regarding the ' The Guitarist Tunes up ' is that the word 'play' is an important word because it is 'play' with which we can make a link between a guitarist with a guitar and a lover with a beloved person.
I laid me down upon the shore And dreamed a little space; I heard the great waves break and roar; The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown Played with the pebbles grey; The waves came up, the waves went down, Most thundering and gay.