Nostalgia, The Milkman

A poem that resonates with my childhood memories.

I was a little boy, and this poem brought to mind memories deeply hidden in my unconscious.

The Milkman
by Christopher Morley (1890–1957)

"Early in the morning, when the dawn is on the roofs,
You hear his wheels come rolling, you hear his horse's hoofs;
You hear the bottles clinking, and then he drives away:
You yawn in bed, turn over, and begin another day!

The old-time dairy maids are dear to every poet's heart—
I'd rather be the dairy man and drive a little cart,
And bustle round the village in the early morning blue,
And hang my reins upon a hook, as I've seen Casey do."

This poem is about the simple and nostalgic routine of a milkman delivering his product in the early morning. The first stanza describes how quiet the morning is when the milkman arrives. At the beginning of a new day, the familiar and comforting sounds of wheels, horse's hooves, and bottles clinking are heard. Still in bed, I hear these sounds but remain cozy half-asleep, turning over and drifting back to sleep.

The poet is enamored with the simplicity of the milkman's tasks, such as hanging the reins on a hook. The quiet, rhythmic life that comes with the job is a source of delight. The mention of Casey, a real or imagined milkman, adds a personal touch that makes the milkman's routine seem ordinary and special. The poem truly evokes a sense of nostalgia for a simpler time, a quiet rhythm of life in a small village where the very presence of the milkman in the early morning is soothing.

There was no village in my case. We lived in a fourth-floor walk-up apartment in the Bronx. I even remember apartment number 3B. My memory is amazing. Our neighborhood felt like a village for a little boy coming of age in simpler times. Instead of big, impersonal supermarkets, we had small stores. There were grocery stores, shoemakers who would repair and shine shoes, drug stores, butcher stores, and more. The owners stayed the same. The neighbors knew them, and they knew us. For a little kid, it was magical.

However, such an urban background only emphasizes the rural nostalgia the poem inspires. I am sorry that the magic has gone—not because of my age, but because everything is in huge, impersonal supermarkets. My observation is that our world is now hostile and alienating.