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Saturday, September 1, 2018

Shakespeare as a dramatist

William Shakespeare belongs to 16 th century English literature. He was born in 23 rd April, 1564 and he dominated the Elizabethan literature. He was considered a genius playwright as well as poet in English literature. He cannot get proper education. He has written round about 36 play and 154 sonnets. He has deal with motifs of life like birth, death, marriage, religion, love in his plays and poems. His plays are written in verse and so they are identified as poetic plays. This plays are classified under four categories according to dramatic type. They are Tragedy, Comedy, Tragicomedy and History plays. Shakespeare has used metaphorical language while writing plays. He has exhaustively used all the poetic devises in his plays. He has immortalized his characters by giving them universal touch. Shake pear soon turned to the stage, and become first an actor, and then playwright. In 1592 he was well known as a successful author. His play can broadly be put under seven groups. (1) The early Comedies: The early comedies or Shakespeare the comedy of manner , love’s labor’s lost and other comedies are immature plays of Shakespeare , which put him height of success in his dramatic career .The character of these plays are less finished finished and marked with artistic lapses in character portrayal. (2) The English histories: the history plays like Richard-2, Henry -4, part-1 and Henary-5 king john and many other. In this historical plays Shakespeare presents British history of three hundred years and create a nice picture of English Kings. This historical plays gives a guides of kings of England, and there life style. In these plays we witness a rapid maturing of Shakespeare’s skill in plot construction and characterization. (3) The mature comedies of Shakespeare are ‘much ado about nothing’, ‘as you like it’ and many other. In these comedies we found the flower of Shakespeare comic genius. These plays are full of vitality and vivacity marked with relief from the strain of tragedy writing. Shakespeare comedies have been classified under four part 1) Romantic comedies 2) comedies free form romanticism 3) lighter comedies 4) dark comedies. Another classification of Shakespearean comedies is 1) Early comedies 2) Middle comedies 3) late comedies. In early comedies comic quality arises from the language in the dialogue, and speeches. The comic situations and comic characters are the essence of the comedy. His humor is many sided. referring to his multifold humor Dowden says : Shakespeare abounds in kindly mirth : he receive an exquisite pleasure from the alert with and bright good sense of a Rosalind, he can handle a fool as tenderly as any nurse qualified to take a baby from birth can deal with her charge.” (4) The Somber plays: In this group are all well that ends well, measure for measure and Troilus and Cressida. The reflected cynical disillusioned attitude to life, and a fondness for objectionable desire to expose the falsity of romance and to show the sordid reality of life. (5) The Great Tragedies: the great tragedies of Shakespeare are Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, King Lear, Romeo and Juliet. A tragedy is a tale of death or suffering, shake spear’s tragedies are also powerful tales of death and suffering, but Shakespearean tragedy is a something more than the story of death and suffering. The suffering is of such a powerful nature that it shakes the man and the hero writhes in the coils of insufferable agony. Hamlet in the state of his vacillation is literally on the rack. In the tragedy fate plays an important part in bringing about the tragedy. But in shake spear spit of external’s tragedy man is responsible for his tragic fall. In other word he believes in “character is destiny.” In each of his tragedy the hero catch in some fatal fall, and bed luck, which in spite of external circumstances lead him to his tragic doom. In Hamlet there is painful consciousness that duty is being neglected. Each hero has virtues above the average man, but it is not necessary that the hero may have virtues alone. (6) The roman plays: “are based on North’s tradition of Plutarch’s lives and though written at fairly wide intervals. Usually considered as a group. Antony and Cleopatra and Coriolanus follow the great period and while the former in soaring imagination and tragic power is truly great, both of them show some relation of tragic intensity” (Albert) (7) The last play –romans: the last play of Shakespeare Cymbeline. The winter’s tale and The Tempest, The mellowed maturity is the chief feature of forgiveness and reconciliation. The name ‘Dramatic romances’ applies very aptly to these plays for nether they are not tragedies pure and simple nor are they comedies scintillating with humor and fun. In other words in the play contain incidents are tragic but their end is happy. This play is combination of tragedy and comedy. (8) Pleasant humor. Shakespeare creates good humor. The sparking and vivacious heroes and Orlando in ‘As you like it’. His comedies primary aim is neither satire nor a correction of the evils prevalent. The theme of Shakespeare’s work is always fresh, in other words their freshness and their appeal is permanent in literature. We may read his dramas for the hundred times yet it can give same pleaser, when we read it first time. Dryden says that “was the man who of all modern and perhaps ancient poets had the largest and most comprehensive soul.” Shakespeare has, too the gift of universality, which alone gives permanence to literature. His characters recur in everygenration; they remain individuals, but yet they are types nor are his comedies all laughter, being true of life, they are Full of mirth in funeral and dirge in marriage.” The characters of Shakespeare have a permanent hold on the human mind. We have read novels and dramas and have read hundreds of character both male and female, but no one hold of gripes our attention as the character create image in our mind. Shakespeare’s characters do not lose their individuality. Another feature of his characterization is his objectivity. We admire humanity in his drama. He loves human being and has an infinite feeling of sympathy for his creation. We like Shakespeare because he likes us. Shakespeare has praised human being and human life. The beautiful lines on man presented in Hamlet, man in this work: “What a piece of work is man? How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties in form and moving, how expressive and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god, the beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. He touches the human heart and moves us to pity and sympathy. We appreciate Shakespeare for his admirable treatment of subject of love. Shakespeare presents variety of love in his plays. The element of romance makes his dramas highly interesting. In other words love keeps the interest of his plays. His fertile imagination is present everywhere in his plays. His language is grand and majestic. Shakespeare use extra ordinary language. · Conclusion Shakespeare was versatile genius. He creates great tragedies and many other plays. He also wrote sonnets. I think that when he write drama he use his heart for drama. He was not for one age but for all ages. Shakespeare was universal poet and dramatist. He creates best characters in his plays. All kind of characters we find in his drama. I think almost his plays are best work of Shakespeare, that’s why he was genius dramatist of Elizabethan era.


William Shakespeare belongs to 16 th century English literature. He was born in 23 rd April, 1564 and he dominated the Elizabethan literature. He was considered a genius playwright as well as poet in English literature. He cannot get proper education. He has written round about 36 play and 154 sonnets. He has deal with motifs of life like birth, death, marriage, religion, love in his plays and poems. His plays are written in verse and so they are identified as poetic plays. This plays are classified under four categories according to dramatic type. They are Tragedy, Comedy, Tragicomedy and History plays.
Shakespeare has used metaphorical language while writing plays. He has exhaustively used all the poetic devises in his plays. He has immortalized his characters by giving them universal touch. Shake pear soon turned to the stage, and become first an actor, and then playwright. In 1592 he was well known as a successful author. His play can broadly be put under seven groups.
(1) The early Comedies: The early comedies or Shakespeare the comedy of manner , love’s labor’s lost and other comedies are immature plays of Shakespeare , which put him height of success in his dramatic career .The character of these plays are less finished finished and marked with artistic
lapses in character portrayal.
(2) The English histories: the history plays like Richard-2, Henry -4, part-1 and Henary-5 king john and many other. In this historical plays Shakespeare presents British history of three hundred years and create a nice picture of English Kings. This historical plays gives a guides of kings of England, and there life style. In these plays we witness a rapid maturing of Shakespeare’s skill in plot construction and characterization.
(3) The mature comedies of Shakespeare are ‘much ado about nothing’, ‘as you like it’ and many other. In these comedies we found the flower of Shakespeare comic genius. These plays are full of vitality and vivacity marked with relief from the strain of tragedy writing. Shakespeare comedies have been classified under four part 1) Romantic comedies 2) comedies free form romanticism 3) lighter comedies 4) dark comedies. Another classification of Shakespearean comedies is 1) Early comedies 2) Middle comedies 3) late comedies.
In early comedies comic quality arises from the language in the dialogue, and speeches. The comic situations and comic characters are the essence of the comedy. His humor is many sided. referring to his multifold humor
Dowden says :
Shakespeare abounds in kindly mirth : he receive an exquisite pleasure from the alert with and bright good sense of a Rosalind, he can handle a fool as tenderly as any nurse qualified to take a baby from birth can deal with her charge.”
(4) The Somber plays:
In this group are all well that ends well, measure for measure and Troilus and Cressida. The reflected cynical disillusioned attitude to life, and a fondness for objectionable desire to expose the falsity of romance and to show the sordid reality of life.
(5) The Great Tragedies: the great tragedies of Shakespeare are Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, King Lear, Romeo and Juliet. A tragedy is a tale of death or suffering, shake spear’s tragedies are also powerful tales of death and suffering, but Shakespearean tragedy is a something more than the story of death and suffering. The suffering is of such a powerful nature that it shakes the man and the hero writhes in the coils of insufferable agony. Hamlet in the state of his vacillation is literally on the rack. In the tragedy fate plays an important part in bringing about the tragedy. But in shake spear spit of external’s tragedy man is responsible for his tragic fall. In other word he believes in “character is destiny.” In each of his tragedy the hero catch in some fatal fall, and bed luck, which in spite of external circumstances lead him to his tragic doom.
In Hamlet there is painful consciousness that duty is being neglected. Each hero has virtues above the average man, but it is not necessary that the hero may have virtues alone.
(6) The roman plays: “are based on North’s tradition of Plutarch’s lives and though written at fairly wide intervals. Usually considered as a group. Antony and Cleopatra and Coriolanus follow the great period and while the former in soaring imagination and tragic power is truly great, both of them show some relation of tragic intensity” (Albert)
(7) The last play –romans: the last play of Shakespeare Cymbeline. The winter’s tale and The Tempest, The mellowed maturity is the chief feature of forgiveness and reconciliation. The name ‘Dramatic romances’ applies very aptly to these plays for nether they are not tragedies pure and simple nor are they comedies scintillating with humor and fun. In other words in the play contain incidents are tragic but their end is happy. This play is combination of tragedy and comedy.
(8) Pleasant humor. Shakespeare creates good humor. The sparking and vivacious heroes and Orlando in ‘As you like it’. His comedies primary aim is neither satire nor a correction of the evils prevalent.
The theme of Shakespeare’s work is always fresh, in other words their freshness and their appeal is permanent in literature. We may read his dramas for the hundred times yet it can give same pleaser, when we read it first time.
Dryden says that “was the man who of all modern and perhaps ancient poets had the largest and most comprehensive soul.” Shakespeare has, too the gift of universality, which alone gives permanence to literature. His characters recur in everygenration; they remain individuals, but yet they are types nor are his comedies all laughter, being true of life, they are
Full of mirth in funeral and dirge in marriage.” The characters of Shakespeare have a permanent hold on the human mind. We have read novels and dramas and have read hundreds of character both male and female, but no one hold of gripes our attention as the character create image in our mind. Shakespeare’s characters do not lose their individuality. Another feature of his characterization is his objectivity.
We admire humanity in his drama. He loves human being and has an infinite feeling of sympathy for his creation. We like Shakespeare because he likes us.
Shakespeare has praised human being and human life. The beautiful lines on man presented in Hamlet, man in this work:
“What a piece of work is man? How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties in form and moving, how expressive and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god, the beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. He touches the human heart and moves us to pity and sympathy.
We appreciate Shakespeare for his admirable treatment of subject of love. Shakespeare presents variety of love in his plays. The element of romance makes his dramas highly interesting. In other words love keeps the interest of his plays. His fertile imagination is present everywhere in his plays. His language is grand and majestic. Shakespeare use extra ordinary language.
· Conclusion
Shakespeare was versatile genius. He creates great tragedies and many other plays. He also wrote sonnets. I think that when he write drama he use his heart for drama. He was not for one age but for all ages. Shakespeare was universal poet and dramatist. He creates best characters in his plays. All kind of characters we find in his drama. I think almost his plays are best work of Shakespeare, that’s why he was genius dramatist of Elizabethan era.

Sunday, August 26, 2018

"Ode On Immortality" by William Wordsworth : Summary and Analysis.

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Full Title: "Ode; Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood"

Summary
The speaker begins by declaring that there was a time when nature seemed mystical to him, like a dream, "Apparelled in celestial light." But now all of that is gone. No matter what he does, "The things which I have seen I now can see no more."
In the second stanza the speaker says that even though he can still see the rainbow, the rose, the moon, and the sun, and even though they are still beautiful, something is different...something has been lost: "But yet I know, where'er I go, / That there hath past away a glory from the earth." The speaker is saddened by the birds singing and the lambs jumping in the third stanza. Soon, however, he resolves not to be depressed, because it will only put a damper on the beauty of the season. He declares that all of the earth is happy, and exhorts the shepherd boy to shout.
In the fourth stanza the speaker continues to be a part of the joy of the season, saying that it would be wrong to be "sullen / While Earth herself in adorning, / And the Children are culling / On every side, / In a thousand valleys far and wide." However, when he sees a tree, a field, and later a pansy at his feet, they again give him a strong feeling that something is amiss. He asks, "Whither is fled the visionary gleam? / Where is it now, the glory and the dream?"
The fifth stanza contains arguably the most famous line of the poem: "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting." He goes on to say that as infants we have some memory of heaven, but as we grow we lose that connection: "Heaven lies about us in our infancy!" As children this connection with heaven causes us to experience nature's glory more clearly. Once we are grown, the connection is lost. In the sixth stanza, the speaker says that as soon as we get to earth, everything conspires to help us forget the place we came from: heaven. "Forget the glories he hath known, and that imperial palace whence he came."
In the seventh stanza the speaker sees (or imagines) a six-year-old boy, and foresees the rest of his life. He says that the child will learn from his experiences, but that he will spend most of his effort on imitation: "And with new joy and pride / The little Actor cons another part." It seems to the speaker that his whole life will essentially be "endless imitation." In the eighth stanza the speaker speaks directly to the child, calling him a philosopher. The speaker cannot understand why the child, who is so close to heaven in his youth, would rush to grow into an adult. He asks him, "Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke / The years to bring the inevitable yoke, / Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?" In the ninth stanza (which is the longest at 38 lines) the speaker experiences a flood of joy when he realizes that through memory he will always be able to connect to his childhood, and through his childhood to nature. In the tenth stanza the speaker harkens back to the beginning of the poem, asking the same creatures that earlier made him sad with their sounds to sing out: "Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!" Even though he admits that he has lost some of the glory of nature as he has grown out of childhood, he is comforted by the knowledge that he can rely on his memory. In the final stanza the speaker says that nature is still the stem of everything is his life, bringing him insight, fueling his memories and his belief that his soul is immortal: "To me the meanest flower that blows can give / Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."


Analysis
"Ode; Intimations of Immortality" is a long and rather complicated poem about Wordsworth's connection to nature and his struggle to understand humanity's failure to recognize the value of the natural world. The poem is elegiac in that it is about the regret of loss. Wordsworth is saddened by the fact that time has stripped away much of nature's glory, depriving him of the wild spontaneity he exhibited as a child.
As seen in "The world is too much with us," Wordsworth believes that the loss stems from being too caught up in material possessions. As we grow up, we spend more and more time trying to figure out how to attain wealth, all the while becoming more and more distanced from nature. The poem is characterized by a strange sense of duality. Even though the world around the speaker is beautiful, peaceful, and serene, he is sad and angry because of what he (and humanity) has lost. Because nature is a kind of religion to Wordsworth, he knows that it is wrong to be depressed in nature's midst and pulls himself out of his depression for as long as he can.
In the seventh stanza especially, Wordsworth examines the transitory state of childhood. He is pained to see a child's close proximity to nature being replaced by a foolish acting game in which the child pretends to be an adult before he actually is. Instead, Wordsworth wants the child to hold onto the glory of nature that only a person in the flush of youth can appreciate.
In the ninth, tenth and eleventh stanzas Wordsworth manages to reconcile the emotions and questions he has explored throughout the poem. He realizes that even though he has lost his awareness of the glory of nature, he had it once, and can still remember it. The memory of nature's glory will have to be enough to sustain him, and he ultimately decides that it is. Anything that we have, for however short a time, can never be taken away completely, because it will forever be held in our memory.

Sunday, August 19, 2018

"Immortality :Ode " by Wordsworth: Text

The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. (Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up") There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy. Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all. Oh evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May-morning, And the Children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:— I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! —But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone; The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learn{e}d art A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That Nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:— Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

For Literature Note

The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
(Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")


There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday;—
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy.
Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
—But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learn{e}d art
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity;
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That Nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Thursday, August 16, 2018

"Tintern Abbey" by Wordsworth: Summary and Analysis.



The poem Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey is generally known as Tintern Abbey written in 1798 by the father of Romanticism William Wordsworth. Tintern Abbey is one of the triumphs of Wordsworth's genius. It may he called a condensed spiritual autobiography of the poet. It deals with the subjective experiences of the poet, and traces the growth of his mind through different periods of his life. Nature and its influence on the poet in various stage forms the main theme of the poem. The poem deal with the influence of Nature on the boy, the growing youth, and the man. The poet has expressed his tender feeling towards nature.
He has specially recollected his poetic idea of Tintern Abbey where he had gone first time in 1793. This is his second visit to this place. Wordsworth has expressed his intense faith in nature.
There is Wordsworth’s realization of God in nature. He got sensuous delight in it and it is all in all to him. Tintern Abbey impressed him most when he had first visited this place. He has again come to the same place where there are lofty cliffs, the plots of cottage ground, orchards groves and copses. He is glad to see again hedgerows, sportive wood, pastoral farms and green doors. This lonely place, the banks of the river and rolling waters from the mountain springs present a beautiful panoramic light. The solitary place remands the poet of vagrant dwellers and hermits’ cave.
The poem is in five sections. The first section establishes the setting for the meditation. But it emphasizes the passage of time: five years have passed, five summers, five long winters… But when the poet is back to this place of natural beauty and serenity, it is still essentially the same. The poem opens with a slow, dragging rhythm and the repetition of the word ‘five’ all designed to emphasize the weight of time which has separated the poet from this scene. The following lines develop a clear, visual picture of the scent. The view presented is a blend of wildness and order. He can see the entirely natural cliffs and waterfalls; he can see the hedges around the fields of the people; and he can see wreaths of smoke probably coming from some hermits making fire in their cave hermitages. These images evoke not only a pure nature as one might expect, they evoke a life of the common people in harmony with the nature.
Fon notes visit
The second section begins with the meditation. The poet now realizes that these ‘beauteous’ forms have always been with him, deep-seated in his mind, wherever he went. This vision has been “Felt in the blood, and felt alone the heart” that is. It has affected his whole being. They were not absent from his mind like form the mind of a man born blind. In hours of weariness, frustration and anxiety, these things of nature used to make him feel sweet sensations in his very blood, and he used to feel it at the level of the impulse (heart) rather than in his waking consciousness and through reasoning. From this point onward Wordsworth begins to consider the sublime of nature, and his mystical awareness becomes clear.
For notes , visitWordsworth’s idea was that human beings are naturally uncorrupted.
The poet studies nature with open eyes and imaginative mind. He has been the lover of nature form the core of his heart, and with purer mind. He feels a sensation of love for nature in his blood. He feels high pleasure and deep power of joy in natural objects. The beatings of his heart are full of the fire of nature’s love. He concentrates attention to Sylvan Wye – a majestic and worth seeing river. He is reminded of the pictures of the past visit and ponders over his future years. On his first visit to this place he bounded over the mountains by the sides of the deep rivers and the lovely streams. In the past the soundings haunted him like a passion. The tall rock, the mountain and the deep and gloomy wood were then to him like an appetite. But that time is gone now. In nature he finds the sad music of humanity.
The third section contains a kind of doubt; the poet is probably reflecting the reader’s possible doubts so that he can go on to justify how he is right and what he means. He doubts, for just a moment, whether this thought about the influence of the nature is vain, but he can’t go on. He exclaims: “yet, oh! How often, amid the joyless daylight, fretful and unprofitable fever of the world have I turned to thee (nature)” for inspiration and peace of mind. He thanks the ‘Sylvan Wye’ for the everlasting influence it has imprinted on his mind; his spirit has very often turned to this river for inspiration when he was losing the peace of mind or the path and meaning of life. The river here becomes the symbol of spirituality.
Though the poet has become serious and perplexed in the fourth section the nature gives him courage and spirit enough to stand there with a sense of delight and pleasure. This is so typical of Wordsworth that it seems he can’t write poetry without recounting his personal experiences, especially those of his childhood. Here he also begins from the earliest of his days! It was first the coarse pleasures in his ‘boyish days’, which have all gone by now. “That time is past and all its aching joys are now no more, and all its dizzy raptures”. But the poet does not mourn for them; he doesn’t even grumble about their loss. Clearly, he has gained something in return: “other gifts have followed; for such loss… for I have learnt to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity”. This is a philosophic statement about maturing, about the development of personality, and of the poetic or philosophic mind as well. So now the poet is able to feel a joy of elevated thought, a sense sublime, and far more deeply interfused. He feels a sense of sublime and the working of a supreme power in the light of the setting sun, in round oceans and in the blue sky. He is of opinion that a motion and a spirit impel all thinking things. Therefore Wordsworth claims that he is a lover of the meadows and of all which we see from this green earth. Nature is a nurse, a guide and the guardian of his heart and soul. The poet comes to one important conclusion: for all the formative influences, he is now consciously in love with the nature. He has become a thoughtful lover of the meadows, the woods and the mountains. Though his ears and eyes seem to create the other half of all these sensations, the nature is the actual source of these sublime thoughts.
The fifth and last section continues with the same meditation from where the poet addresses his younger sister Dorothy, whom he blesses and gives advice about what he has learnt. He says that he can hear the voice of his own youth when he hears her speak, the language of his former heart; he can also “read my former pleasure in the soothing lights of thy wild eyes’. He is excited to look at his own youthful image in her. He says that nature has never betrayed his heart and that is why they had been living from joy to joy. Nature can impress the mind with quietness and beauty, and feed it lofty thoughts, that no evil tongues of the human society can corrupt their hearts with any amount of contact with it.
The poet then begins to address the moon in his reverie, and to ask the nature to bestow his sister with their blessings. Let the moon shine on her solitary walk, and let the mountain winds blow their breeze on her. When the present youthful ecstasies are over, as they did with him, let her mind become the palace of the lovely forms and thought about the nature, so that she can enjoy and understand life and overcome the vexations of living in a harsh human society. The conclusion to the poem takes us almost cyclically, back to a physical view of the ‘steep woods’, ‘lofty cliffs’ and ‘green pastoral landscape’ in which the meditation of the poem is happening.

Notes
The poet has expressed his honest and natural feelings to Nature’s Superiority. The language is so simple and lucid that one is not tired of reading it again and again. The sweetness of style touches the heart of a reader. The medium of this poem is neither ballad nor lyric but an elevated blank verse. The blank verse that is used in it is low-toned, familiar, and moves with sureness, sereneness and inevitable ease. It has the quiet pulse, suggestive of 'central peace', which is felt in all his great poetry. This is the beauty of Wordsworth’s languag

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

"Tintern Abbey" by Wordsworth : Text.



Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.—Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:—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. If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft—
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.—I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, not any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence—wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

"On first looking into Chapman's Homer" by John Keats: Summary and Analysis.



‘On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer’ is a sonnet composed by Romantic poet John Keats (1795-1821) in October 1816, when he was just 20 years old. The poem focuses on Keats’s initial encounter with an English translation of Homer’s poetry by George Chapman (c. 1559-1634), likening the experience to that of an astronomer discovering a new planet or an explorer sighting an unknown land.
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific — and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
The form of the poem is, specifically, an
Italian or a Petrarchan sonnet rather than an English sonnet – which seems odd, given the poem’s focus on English literature (the English Chapman’s translation of epic poetry), but which makes more sense given the poem’s other subject, namely the Mediterranean as a seat of literary culture (Homer, the Greek poet whom Chapman translated). The first four lines discuss the poet’s travels in the ‘realms of gold’ (whether these are real travels or travels in the imagination remains unclear), and the second quatrain introduces Homer, epic Greek poet who wrote The Iliad and The Odyssey , which tell the story of the Trojan War and Odysseus’ journey home following the war.
But Keats could not appreciate Homer because he cannot read Greek. So he cannot read Homer’s words. That is, until he encounters George Chapman’s English translation of Homer, at which point the world of the ancient Greek poet is suddenly and magically opened up to him. The final six-line unit (or sestet) of the poem then likens the poet’s
experience of ‘discovering’ Homer to the discovery of a new planet (sure enough, the planet Uranus had been discovered by William Herschel in 1781) and to a Spanish conquistador’s sighting of the Pacific ocean. (This is the sort of thing a Metaphysical Poet like John Donne had done in his poetry in the early seventeenth century.) These two analogies are linked subtly through Keats’s use of the word ‘swims’ (‘a new planet swims into his ken’), with this watery word leading into the description of Cortez staring at the Pacific.
So much for what the poem is about; but we should also look at how Keats says it. At the moment when the poet discovers Chapman’s translation, for instance – a translation which makes available to the poet this whole world of Homer’s imagination – the language of Keats’s line becomes clear and plain: ‘Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold’. This subtly contrasts with the earlier use of grander or polysyllabic words (‘realms’, ‘kingdoms’, ‘fealty’, ‘Apollo’, ‘demesne’, ‘serene’), reflecting the sudden simplicity and ease with which Keats can approach Homer, through Chapman’s English version.
Note: the poem contains a factual error: it was Balboa, rather than Cortez, who would have stood ‘Silent, upon a peak in Darien’ (Cortez conquered the North American lands of modern-day Mexico; Darien is in Panama at the top of South America). Whether this error mars the poem or not depends on your view of poetry (and assuming that the error is an error on Keats’s part, rather than artistic licence).

Monday, August 13, 2018

A short but very important information about Hamlet.

A short but very important information about Hamlet.

Sunday, August 12, 2018

"On first looking into Chapman's Homer" by John Keats : Text



Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Saturday, August 11, 2018

An essay on "The Sun Raising" by John Donne as a philosophic and metaphysical poem.


At the beginning of the 17th century the love poetry of John Donne expressed a strong and independent spirit. He combined in his lyrics passionate emotional intensity with keen and active intelligence displayed in logical analysis and verbal wit, especially the extensive use of puns, equivocations, and the conceit or extended metaphor. All these features in some sense work in a principle of contraries. Dr. Johnson, noted Donne's fondness for conceits, which he called "discordia concors", the "discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike". This kind of peculiar poetic vision and practice, however, had much to do with the kind of culture he inherited, a culture, which, based on medieval world view and ethos, suddenly seemed to change in the face of the Copernican science and new geographical discoveries. Donne faced a moral vacuum and experienced the unstable nature of the universe. So he tried to find out a resolution, first in the Neo-Platonic theory and then finally in the traditional Christian religion. The Sun Rising may be said to be an intellectual exercise in reversing the contemporary Copernican heliocentric system, in which the sun was given a dominant centrality. Donne makes the lovers undercut that centrality by playing the part of the decentred earth and asserting their former supremacy in the geometric Ptolemic context.

It has been suggested, for instance, by J.B. Leishman that the poem was partly inspired by the 13th elegy of the 1st Book of Ovid's Amores. . But speaker's irreverence and the use of extravagant conceits are without precedent:

"Busy old fool, unruly sun

Why dost thou thus

Through the window and through curtains call on us?"

At one this kind of address of the sun reverses the tradition of hundreds of Petrarchan and Elizabethan love-poems, in which the sun is a touchstone of ecstatic tribute—"the golden eye of heaven", "Hyperion" etc. In this respect, the poem can be marked as an inverted aubade, in which the sun is pursued through three stanzas of sustained exhilaration.

However, any potentiality comic effect is undercut by a note of seriousness, applied in a dramatic manner. Donne's imagery, though bizarre and exaggerated as a 'pseudo-argument' asserts what every Platonist and Christian really believes. At certain moments, any man might be wrapt beyond mortality, in the eternal intimation of spiritual love. This belief leads Donne to gather his confidence and defy time:

"Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are rags of time."

From the philosophical point of view, this statement goes triumphantly over the assumed contempt for the sun, attesting that the world fittingly symbolised in the "school-boys" and "sowre prentices", the "country ants" and the "Court-huntsmen" is indeed tinged with illusions. In calling the material world unreal, the poet is saying with Plato, that even the world's princes and potentates are mere shadows, an imitation in time of the timeless ideals.

Such complex of ideas remains in the second stanza too. The sun and the lovers have actually changed roles, with the mistress for an instant becoming the sun, and her "eye-beams" blinding the usurped lord of light. Love is not a mere reflection of the lover's needs, subjective and transient; it is homage to beauty revealed and revered:

"She is all States, and all Princes, I,

Nothing else is:

…compar'd to this

All honour's mimic…"

Donne is here praising mutual love as an experience of supreme value that opposes the transitory material world and finally transcends it. But remarkably, transcendence of the physical world and mortality is accomplished not by denial of the body but by its fulfilment. Whereas Neo-Platonist like Baldasar Castiglione suggests in his The Book of the Courtier, that the lover can ascend to spiritual love only by leaving behind the impure body, Donne insists that transcendental spiritual love is also sexual indeed, that lovers transcend the physicality of existence by embracing the body.

On reaching this conclusion of supreme value, the lovers can invite the sun to carry on his business for they are beyond the reach of the co-ordinates of time in their world "contracted thus":

"Shine here to us, and thou art every where

This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere".

This world of love contains everything of value; it is the only one worth exploring and possessing. Hence the microcosm of love becomes and more important than the macrocosm.

At the beginning of the 17th century the love poetry of John Donne expressed a strong and independent spirit. He combined in his lyrics passionate emotional intensity with keen and active intelligence displayed in logical analysis and verbal wit, especially the extensive use of puns, equivocations, and the conceit or extended metaphor. All these features in some sense work in a principle of contraries. Dr. Johnson, noted Donne's fondness for conceits, which he called "discordia concors", the "discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike". This kind of peculiar poetic vision and practice, however, had much to do with the kind of culture he inherited, a culture, which, based on medieval world view and ethos, suddenly seemed to change in the face of the Copernican science and new geographical discoveries. Donne faced a moral vacuum and experienced the unstable nature of the universe. So he tried to find out a resolution, first in the Neo-Platonic theory and then finally in the traditional Christian religion. The Sun Rising may be said to be an intellectual exercise in reversing the contemporary Copernican heliocentric system, in which the sun was given a dominant centrality. Donne makes the lovers undercut that centrality by playing the part of the decentred earth and asserting their former supremacy in the geometric Ptolemic context.

It has been suggested, for instance, by J.B. Leishman that the poem was partly inspired by the 13th elegy of the 1st Book of Ovid's Amores. . But speaker's irreverence and the use of extravagant conceits are without precedent:

"Busy old fool, unruly sun

Why dost thou thus

Through the window and through curtains call on us?"

At one this kind of address of the sun reverses the tradition of hundreds of Petrarchan and Elizabethan love-poems, in which the sun is a touchstone of ecstatic tribute—"the golden eye of heaven", "Hyperion" etc. In this respect, the poem can be marked as an inverted aubade, in which the sun is pursued through three stanzas of sustained exhilaration.

However, any potentiality comic effect is undercut by a note of seriousness, applied in a dramatic manner. Donne's imagery, though bizarre and exaggerated as a 'pseudo-argument' asserts what every Platonist and Christian really believes. At certain moments, any man might be wrapt beyond mortality, in the eternal intimation of spiritual love. This belief leads Donne to gather his confidence and defy time:

"Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are rags of time."

From the philosophical point of view, this statement goes triumphantly over the assumed contempt for the sun, attesting that the world fittingly symbolised in the "school-boys" and "sowre prentices", the "country ants" and the "Court-huntsmen" is indeed tinged with illusions. In calling the material world unreal, the poet is saying with Plato, that even the world's princes and potentates are mere shadows, an imitation in time of the timeless ideals.

Such complex of ideas remains in the second stanza too. The sun and the lovers have actually changed roles, with the mistress for an instant becoming the sun, and her "eye-beams" blinding the usurped lord of light. Love is not a mere reflection of the lover's needs, subjective and transient; it is homage to beauty revealed and revered:

"She is all States, and all Princes, I,

Nothing else is:

…compar'd to this

All honour's mimic…"

Donne is here praising mutual love as an experience of supreme value that opposes the transitory material world and finally transcends it. But remarkably, transcendence of the physical world and mortality is accomplished not by denial of the body but by its fulfilment. Whereas Neo-Platonist like Baldasar Castiglione suggests in his The Book of the Courtier, that the lover can ascend to spiritual love only by leaving behind the impure body, Donne insists that transcendental spiritual love is also sexual indeed, that lovers transcend the physicality of existence by embracing the body.

On reaching this conclusion of supreme value, the lovers can invite the sun to carry on his business for they are beyond the reach of the co-ordinates of time in their world "contracted thus":

"Shine here to us, and thou art every where

This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere".

This world of love contains everything of value; it is the only one worth exploring and possessing. Hence the microcosm of love becomes and more important than the macrocosm.

Friday, August 10, 2018

"Ode On melancholy" by John Keats : Summary and Analysis



Summary
The reader is not to go to the underworld (Lethe)., nor to drink wolf's-bane (a poison), nor to take nightshade (also a poison), nor to have anything to do with yew-berries, the beetle, the death-moth, and the owl (all symbolic of death). Death and all things associated with it numb the experience of anguish. When a melancholy mood comes to the individual, he should feed it by observing the beauty of roses, rainbows, and peonies. Or if the one he loves is angry, let him hold her hand and feed on the loveliness of her eyes. Melancholy dwells with beauty, "beauty that must die," joy, and pleasure. It is to be found at the very heart of delight, but only the strongly sensuous man perceives it there. He is the one who can have the deepest experience of melancholy.


Analysis
The "Ode to Melancholy" belongs to a class of eighteenth-century poems that have some form of melancholy as their theme. Such poetry came to be called the "Graveyard School of Poetry" and the best-known example of it is Thomas Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." The romantic poets inherited this tradition. One of the effects of this somber poetry about death, graveyards, the brevity of pleasure and of life was a pleasing feeling of melancholy.
Keats' special variation on the theme was to make the claim that the keenest experience of melancholy was to be obtained not from death but from the contemplation of beautiful objects because they were fated to die. Therefore the most sensuous Man, the man who can "burst Joy's grape against his palate fine," as Keats put it in a striking image, is capable of the liveliest response to melancholy. Keats' own experience of life and his individual temperament made him acutely aware of the close relationship between joy and sorrow. His happiness was constantly being chipped away by frustration. He was himself a very sensuous individual. In the "Ode to Melancholy," Keats, instead of rejecting melancholy, shows a healthy attraction toward it, for unless one keenly experiences it, he cannot appreciate joy.
The abruptness with which "Ode to Melancholy" begins is accounted for by the fact that the stanza with which the poem begins was originally the second stanza. The original first stanza was
Though you should build a bark of dead men's bones,
And rear a phantom gibbet for a mast,
Stitch creeds together for a sail, with groans
To fill it out, blood-stained and aghast;
Although your rudder be a dragon's tail
Long sever'd, yet still hard with agony,
Your cordage large uprootings from the skull
Of bald Medusa, certes you would fail
To find the Melancholy — whether she
Dreameth in any isle of Lethe dull.
We don't know why Keats rejected this original beginning stanza, but we can guess. He was straining to create images of death that would convey something of the repulsiveness of death — to give the reader a romantic shudder of the Gothic kind — and what he succeeded in doing was repulsive instead of delicately suggestive and was out of keeping with what he achieved in the rest of the poem. Moreover, he may have felt that two stanzas on death were more than enough. The stanza is crude and Keats realized it.
The stanza with which Keats decided to begin the poem is startling, but not crude. Keats brought together a remarkable collection of objects in the stanza. Lethe is a river in the classical underworld. Wolfsbane and nightshade are poisonous plants. The yew-berry is the seed (also poisonous) of the yewtree, which, because it is hardy and an evergreen, is traditionally planted in English graveyards. Replicas of a black beetle were frequently placed in tombs by Egyptians; to the Egyptians, the scarab or black beetle was a symbol of resurrection, but to Keats they were a symbol of death because of their association with tombs. The death-moth or butterfly represented the soul leaving the body at death. The owl was often associated with otherworldly symbols because of its nocturnal habits and its ominous hooting. Death is the common denominator of the displays in Keats' museum of natural history. The language of the stanza is vastly superior to that of the discarded stanza. Nothing in it can compare with calling nightshade the "ruby grape of Proserpine," the queen of the underworld, nor with making a rosary of yew-berries and thereby automatically suggesting prayers for the dying or the dead. The stanza is one of the richest and strangest in Keats' poetry.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

"Ode On Melancholy" by John Keats : Text



No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.