Posts Tagged ‘romantic poetry’
Betwixt and Between ©
Our time of loving
Was like our quarrels,
More or less.
Love had chance
So had ennui
In equal measure;
Time went its rounds
But we didn’t count,
-So much the better.
We turn dust bit by bit
And in Fairlawns
Time has stopped for us:
And yet things remembered
Between us illumine
The essence of roses, and weeds too-
And silence of Things
Blows back and forth.
John Keats (1795-1821)
Poet of whom Mathew Arnold said thus:’Keats is with Shakespeare.’Rightly so. Since Shakespeare none had written as richly sensuous as Keats.
Keats used to write snatches of poems as it occurred to him on any paper on hand which he tucked away as some book-marker for later. By this manner he had lost many verses either because the poetic inspiration had eased or by forgetfulness. In the spring of 1819 a nightingale had built her nest near his friend Charles Brown’s house. Keats who was very observant of these things once heard the nightingale sing and was captivated. One morning he took his chair from the breakfast table to the plot of grass under a plum tree and sat there for a couple of hours. When he went into the house again he had the rough draft of the Ode in so many scraps of papers. Because of his friends persuasion he went over the verses till he had put them in its proper form. It has since become one of the greatest poems ever penned in English language.
while at the house of Leigh Hunt ,who,the talks having turned upon crickets -the cheerful little grasshopper of the fireside’-proposed to Keats that they should each write a sonnet on the double theme. Hunt was fond of such friendly competition. When Keats produced in a shorter time, an infinitely better sonnet than his own, Cowden Clarke, the only other person present, recorded the unalloyed pleasure in his friend’s triumph. ‘The poetry of earth is never dead:…’
John Keats gave up medicine for the poetic muse. One night around eleven o’clock he came to his friend Brown’s house. He was feverish and in an excitable state. At his friend’s request he took to bed. He coughed a little and a drop of blood fell on the sheet. A little later when his friend went check if he was alright found him examining the sheet. ‘Bring me the candle, Brown, and let me see this blood.’
After examining it he announced with a calmness,which was all the more striking, he said,’ I know the color of that blood; it is arterial blood. I cannot be deceived in that color; that drop of blood is my death warrant- I must die.
LORD GEORGE GORDON BYRON, 6TH BARON (British)
(1788 – 1824)
A gifted poet with dashing looks with an added advantage of the rank, it was, as the poet himself confessed, that he found himself overnight famous – despite all the accomplishment his congenital clubfoot drove him to despair and as a child loved the solitude of the tombs and there it must have first filled him with the transcience of earthly glory.
His attitude of ironic despair and his aspirations for political liberty made him the universal symbol of the Romantic poet. Partly his personality and largely his poetry captured the imagination of Europe.
Born to a strong willed heiress and a profligate father who deserted his mother after having almost spent her money, Byron had a unstable childhood, part of it was spent in Scotland and in London.
He attended Harrow (1801 – ’03) and Trinity College, Cambridge (1805-’08) and then departed with his companion John Cam Hobhouse on a European Tour (1809-’11). In 1812 he gave his politically radical maiden speech in the House of the Lords and published his autobiographical poem ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’. Byron was then swept into a tide of fame and unfortunate love affairs; during this period he wrote the oriental tales ‘The Giaour’ and the ‘Bride of Abydos’ (1813) and ‘the Corsair’ and ‘Lara’ (1814). He made a disastrous marriage in 1815 and his involvement with his pretty and shallow half-sister ended in a scandal which made the poet an outcast in London social circles. He was divorced in the following year and then embarked into a selfimposed exile to Europe. During his last years, he wrote ‘Don Juan’, a masterpiece in its genre and the ‘Prophecy of Dante’ and ‘Cain’ (1821).
He entered into the fight for Greek independence (1823-’24). During the misadventures that followed Byron steadfastly helped the Greek cause and he died of a fever.