Poetry

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.