Friday, March 27, 2009

Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Rime of the Ancient Mariner
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Link to text: http://darkwing.uoregon.edu/~rbear/ballads.html#THE%20RIME

Being in Loyola's production of "The Pirates of Penzance," I found "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" very interesting. Even though the poem is relatively recent, the legend of the poem has had a resounding effect on our culture. The "Pirates of the Caribean" series copies scenes from the poem almost directly. Pirate Captain Jack Sparrow and company end up in a frozen wasteland, they deal with slimy things in the form of Davy Jones, and a supernatural character plays dice for the crew's souls.

The sea has always mystified us; especially us land-lubbers. It is dark, deep, and huge, with unknown lands beyond the horizon. The concept of sea monsters still intrigues us, as evident in movies in "Jaws." The narrative of "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" taps into our fear of the sea, and combines the supernatural with the natural, real world. Although everything that happens is very real to the ancient mariner, his story seems to suggest that he may be hallicinating from dehydration and/or being on a ship with a bunch of dead bodies. Both Coleridge and Wordsworth were fascinated by the proto-psychology that was being developed in their day. As a result, this poem also has a psycho-analytic side. The multiple layers are one reason this poem has been as influential as it has been.

(Come see the Pirates of Penzance, starring me, next weekend!)

-B

Friday, March 20, 2009

The Nightingale


The Nightingale
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Text can be found here: http://www.online-literature.com/coleridge/642/

The Romantic poets were oft criticized as committing "pathetic fallacy" in later years. They were seen as projectors, projecting their own human feelings and moods on inanimate objects. They would see the weeping willow as sad and crying, and a crumbling castle as dieing and old. Of course, the weeping willow is not sad, its just chilling as a tree. This is why the romantics were seen as unrealistic, and well, romantic. However, humans have been projecting their own qualities on things that have no ability to fear since the dawn of humanity. The Greeks and Romans created myths about the world around them; in Christendom, for example, we often view the snake as evil and vile because of Adam and Eve. Projection is nothing new, the Romantics just embraced it.

The Nightingale by Coleridge is interesting because it tries to reverse projection. Throughout the poem, Coleridge is critiquing how Western thinkers have viewed the Nightingale as melancholy and sad. Instead, Coleridge hears the nightingale's song as a celebration of life. He truly enjoys it, and thinks it is a shame that so many people hear it as sad.

Nevertheless, Coleridge is committing the same crime that he is railing against. Instead of not projecting his feelings on the nightingale, he's just projecting feelings different than the traditional ideas. Actual nightingales aren't happy or sad when they sing, they are just singing to attract a mate in order to perpetuate the species. Perhaps, though, Coleridge's projection isn't all that bad. When we see the nightingale's song as a happy song, I think it would push us to more to protect the earth we all share. So maybe the Romantics' projection isn't such an awful "pathetic fallacy."

Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey

Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey
By William Wordsworth

Kinda long; the text can be found here: http://www.rc.umd.edu/rchs/reader/tabbey.html

Here is what Tintern Abbey looks like to us this very day:




This poem is fascinating to me because it explores the Romantics' concept of the "sublime." In the poem, Wordsworth describes this mood as:

that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world
Is lighten'd:—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

I think that the last line of this stanza is particularly interesting. The idea of something being "sublime" is an idea that philosophers have discussed since ancient times. Basically, we have this feeling when are confronted by something that reminds us of our smallness. We are filled with awe and terror at the same time, like when see a huge mountain or vast dessert, or even a tiger or bear. It reminds us that we aren't the creators of this world, we are merely inhabitants.

The last line suggests that when we witness the sublime, we see some sort of "inner life" of things. Wordsworth seems to focus way more on the joyous half of the sublime mood, as opposed to the frightening part. He seems to suggest that when we see the sublime, we are privy to the inherent harmony of the earth. We even feel that we are part of this harmony. When we witness a sublime scene, all of our earthly cares and stresses go away. It is a distraction from our material world, and it soothes us. The sublime mood is a divine experience. Wordsworth is telling us that we should celebrate this.

Also, sublime is a pretty rockin' 90's band.

Peace,
-B

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Last of the Flock

The Last of the Flock
By William Wordsworth

In distant countries I have been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads alone.
But such a one, on English ground,
And in the broad high-way, I met;
Along the broad high-way he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet.
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And in his arms a lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turned aside,
As if he wished himself to hide:
Then with his coat he made essay
To wipe those briny tears away.
I follow'd him, and said, "My friend
What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
--"Shame on me, Sir! this lusty lamb,
He makes my tears to flow.
To-day I fetched him from the rock;
He is the last of all my flock."

When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran.
Though little given to care and thought,
Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;
And other sheep from her I raised,
As healthy sheep as you might see,
And then I married, and was rich
As I could wish to be;
Of sheep I numbered a full score,
And every year increas'd my store.

Year after year my stock it grew,
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the mountain did they feed;
They throve, and we at home did thrive.
--This lusty lamb of all my store
Is all that is alive;
And now I care not if we die,
And perish all of poverty.

Six children, Sir! had I to feed,
Hard labour in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our grief,
I of the parish ask'd relief.
They said I was a wealthy man;
My sheep upon the mountain fed,
And it was fit that thence I took
Whereof to buy us bread:
"Do this; how can we give to you,"
They cried, "what to the poor is due?"

I sold a sheep as they had said,
And bought my little children bread,
And they were healthy with their food;
For me it never did me good.
A woeful time it was for me,
To see the end of all my gains,
The pretty flock which I had reared
With all my care and pains,
To see it melt like snow away!
For me it was a woeful day.

Another still! and still another!
A little lamb, and then its mother!
It was a vein that never stopp'd,
Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp'd.
Till thirty were not left alive
They dwindled, dwindled, one by one,
And I may say that many a time
I wished they all were gone:
They dwindled one by one away;
For me it was a woeful day.

To wicked deeds I was inclined,
And wicked fancies cross'd my mind,
And every man I chanc'd to see,
I thought he knew some ill of me.
No peace, no comfort could I find,
No ease, within doors or without,
And crazily, and wearily
I went my work about.
Oft-times I thought to run away;
For me it was a woeful day.

Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,
As dear as my own children be;
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.
Alas! it was an evil time;
God cursed me in my sore distress,
I prayed, yet every day I thought
I loved my children less;
And every week, and every day,
My flock, it seemed to melt away.

They dwindled. Sir, sad sight to see!
From ten to five, from five to three,
A lamb, a weather, and a ewe;
And then at last, from three to two;
And of my fifty, yesterday
I had but only one,
And here it lies upon my arm,
Alas! and I have none;
To-day I fetched it from the rock;
It is the last of all my flock.




Wordsworth seems to be pointing to a proto-workaholicism in this poem. However, instead of sweaty middle managers, his subject is the pastoral shepherd. In Wordsworth's day, at the peak of romanticism in England, shepherds were revered and idolized. City-dwellers imagined they lived an idyllic life out in the country, living incredibly close to nature. Most pastoral art shows shepherds lounging about their sheep in green pastures. This 18th century painting by Nicolas Poussin gives us a glimpse as to how intellectuals and romantics viewed the lives of shepherds:

As wonderful as this all seems, it is all a romantic fabrication. Being a shepherd can really suck. You are subject to the elements and totally dependent on the health of your sheep for a living. Why didn't all the romantics run from the cities and enjoy the "pastoral" life? There is definitely a reason. Life on the pastures looks appealing, but it is obvious that there is a lot of hard work involved.

Wordsworth is getting at this idea through the poem. In it, he breaks down the idyllic idea of a shepherd. Instead, the romantic shepherd is a broken, poor old man crying in the middle of the street. It is a very different view from the painting above. And the man doesn't even seem very venerable either. As the poem goes on, we learn that maybe the guy likes his sheep more than his own family. It is a specific twist on the romantic's notion of pastoral life.

The poem is an attack on certain socio-political movements of the time. First, as mentioned above, it tears apart the Romantic pastoral ideal. The poem shows that shepherding life is not easy; there is a ton of work involved. Second, the poem presents the plight of the real-life shepherd. During the 18th and 19th Centuries, the common land in Britain was abolished, and most land became private property. Prior to this, shepherds could graze their sheep on common land that was open to everyone. After the re-organization of the communities, it became impossible to be a shepherd unless you were rich enough to own a sizable amount of land. This was a huge social problem of the day, and we witness this issue in the poem. As life becomes harder and harder for the shepherd, his family suffers. Not only fiscally, but the shepherd actually starts to despise those mouths he has to feed. Although this is hardly a sympathic response, it is definitely understandable. Even today we can see how stressful jobs can tear families apart. So although it just describes an everyday occurance, this poem is clearly about social justice.

Wordsworth is railing against the cultural and political changes that were killing the livlihoods of a whole sector of society. Shepherding had been around for millenia, and now it was slowly dieing out. But at the same time, city-dwellers were almost coveting the shepherd's life. Wordsworth is pointing out the hypocrisy of idealizing a group of people while not trying to help actual humans.

--Barry

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Dorothy Wordsworth's Daffodils

I tried to find some pictures that reflected Dorothy Wordsworth's descriptions of daffodils in her journal. Here were some of the passages I was looking at:

When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow park we saw a few daffodils close to the water side. We fancied that the lake had floated the seeds ashore and that the little colony had so sprung up. But as we went along there were more and yet more and at last under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about and about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness and the rest tossed and reeled and danced and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the lake, they looked so gay ever glancing ever changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here and there a little knot and a few stragglers a few yards higher up but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity and unity and life of that one busy highway. We rested again and again.



This image reminded me of the "laughing" daffodils. They are shown against an alluring blue sky, signifying the end of winter and the return of life to the world.


I related these daffodils to the ones against the stone in the entry, although the environment is a little different. Either way, I think these seem like they are resting upon the rocks, just like Wordsworth says.

This is an awesome image of a field of daffodils, like the large "belt" Dorothy came across in 1802. The sheer number of daffodils is amazing, like a bunch of grounded stars in the daytime. I never been to a daffodil "farm" but it looks like it is an amazing experience.

One thing that really connected with me about Dorothy's work is that it seems really simple, yet it still describes things beautifully. That is why it is possible to find truly fitting images for her entry; her language is poetical, but still provides a down-to-earth explanation of the world around her. She is almost like a journalist, observing the natural world as it flourishes about her. I find I almost like her work better than her brothers, because she lets her descriptions speak for themselves; she does not need to embellish them with overly-figurative language and shrouded metaphor.

--B.E.