As an English major, poetry has always been one of my least favorite things to study, especially Jon Donne. What the hell was going on with that guy?
But every once in a while I'll read a poem and feel this connection. I become somewhat obsessed with it. I'll read it over and over and ponder the meaning. I think about the way it makes me feel, and how the poets felt when they wrote it.
I was in a British Literature class last fall, and I found a bunch of poems that I fell in love with. I've decided that I love British poets way more than American poets.
Anyways, I had to give a presentation on John Keats. This man has a heartbreaking story. If anyone has seen the recently released movie Bright Star, that movie is about him and his sweetheart Fanny Brawne.
The poem "When I have Fears that I may Cease to Be", comes after he finds out that he is dying.
Here it is:
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Beautiful. Simple words in the grand scheme of poetry, yet impactful, is that a word? It should be.
This next poem made me laugh, because it is exactly the way I feel, and it was written some 2 or 3 hundred years ago...
The Lover: A Ballad
By Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
At length, by so much importunity press'd,
Take, C——, at once, the inside of my breast;
This stupid indiff'rence so often you blame,
Is not owing to nature, to fear, or to shame:
I am not as cold as a virgin in lead,
Nor is Sunday's sermon so strong in my head:
I know but too well how time flies along,
That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young.
But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy
Long years of repentance for moments of joy,
Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find
Good sense and good nature so equally join'd?)
Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine;
Not meanly would boast, nor would lewdly design;
Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain,
For I would have the power, tho' not give the pain.
No pedant, yet learned; no rake-helly gay,
Or laughing, because he has nothing to say;
To all my whole sex obliging and free,
Yet never be fond of any but me;
In public preserve the decorum that's just,
And shew in his eyes he is true to his trust;
Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow,
But not fulsomely pert, nor yet foppishly low.
But when the long hours of public are past,
And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last,
May ev'ry fond pleasure that moment endear;
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear!
Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd,
He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud.
Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live,
And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive.
And that my delight may be solidly fix'd,
Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd;
In whose tender bosom my soul may confide,
Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsel can guide.
From such a dear lover as here I describe,
No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe;
But till this astonishing creature I know,
As I long have liv'd chaste, I will keep myself so.
I never will share with the wanton coquette,
Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit.
The toasters and songsters may try all their art,
But never shall enter the pass of my heart.
I loath the lewd rake, the dress'd fopling despise:
Before such pursuers the nice virgin flies:
And as Ovid has sweetly in parable told,
We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold.
She's basically saying that she's not a prude, nor overly religious, she's just waiting for a guy that isn't a total jerk. Someone who's nice in public around his friends, and sweet and funny in private. She wants a friend and a lover. That's something I'm still waiting for.
