Hartford History Center

"Of Hartford in a Purple Light"

The kinetic wall exhibition on display in the Downtown Library is comprised of images from the library’s Hartford History Center collection. The photographs were chosen with Wallace Stevens’ poem, “Of Hartford in a Purple Light,” in mind.

“Of Hartford in a Purple Light” is a poetic interpretation of Hartford’s landscape – both the concrete and the fanciful that define our city and nurture our community.

The majority of photographs in this exhibition are of downtown Hartford and date from the late 1800s through the 1950s, marking a period of tremendous growth for the city. The 1950s were chosen as the endpoint for this exhibition because Stevens, once vice president of the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company, died in Hartford, August, 1955. “Of Hartford in a Purple Light” was published by Knopf in The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens in 1954. Collected Poems earned Stevens a Pulitzer Prize in 1955.

This exhibition is part of the Downtown Library's Grand Opening celebration. For more information on Grand Opening events, click here.

"Of Hartford in a Purple Light"

By Wallace Stevens

A long time you have been making the trip
From Havre to Hartford, Master Soleil,
Bringing the lights of Norway and all that.

A long time the ocean has come with you,
Shaking the water off, like a poodle,
That splatters incessant thousands of drops,

Each drop a petty tricolor. For this,
The aunts in Pasadena, remembering,
Abhor the plaster of the western horses,

Souvenirs of museums. But, Master, there are
Lights masculine and lights feminine.
What is this purple, this parasol,

This stage-light of the Opera?
It is like a region full of intonings.
It is Hartford seen in a purple light.

A moment ago, light masculine,
Working, with big hands, on the town,
Arranging its heroic attitudes.

But now as in an amour of women
Purple sets purple round. Look, Master,
See the river, the railroad, the cathedral…

When male light fell on the naked back
Of the town, the river, the railroad were clear.
Now, every muscle slops away.

Hi! Whisk it, poodle, flick the spray
Of the ocean, ever-freshening,
On the irised hunks, the stone bouquet.