Sorry to have been away from you for so long. I know I missed our poetry lesson last week. The truth of it is that I have not been reading poetry as much as I would like to lately and because of that have fallen behind on thinking about poetry as well as writing about it. Despite all this, I would like to continue our learning and investigation of the fine language arts.
I believe I have falsely given you all the impression that the classics and canon are of no use to us as consumers of fine poetry. Nothing could be further from the truth. The fact is that the classics and the canon are primarily intimidating. People back slowly away from them out of fear rather than out some preconceived notion of out-of-date-ness.
I was able to relearn that when observing in a local private school. In twelfth grade English, the students were working through a poetry unit in British Literature. It doesn't get stuffier or more classical than British Poetry. Especially an old Victorian like Alfred, Lord Tennyson. They looked at two poems of his "Ulysses" and "In Memoriam."
Now I still maintain that our incredibly fuzzy and subjective approach to poetry still works with the classics. You can still practice Feel First. Here are my tips when reading the classics.
- Do not be distracted by the rhyme scheme - if you catch yourself reading in a sing-song method, stop yourself. Read to the punctuation, not the line breaks.
- Do not focus on the strange language - focus on the rhythm and the beautiful imagery of these classic poets. That should get you through the Britishness.
- FEEL FIRST - remember this is about your feelings, use them to sort out and create meaning. Don't be bogged down my authorial intent!
Let us practice with something a little short. This poem is titled "In Memoriam." It is by Alfred, Lord Tennyson after his best friend died. He wrote an incredibly long poem about death, pain, life, heaven, and grief. Seriously good stuff. This is just one section of his poem that I love dearly.
In Memoriam L: Be near me
by Lord Alfred Tennyson
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII - L
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.
Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.
The great thing to me about the classics is that even if you don't love the poem or understand the poem, there is always something to take away from it. There are beautiful nuggets in here to cling onto. Just the repeated "be near me" is so human. It connects us to each other, so some loved on far away, and even to Lord Tennyson. "be near me when my faith is dry." "be near me when I fade away." What beautiful lines that stir my very soul. Incredible stuff.
So let us try something a bit longer. This is Tennyson's "Ulysses" which is another name for Odysseus. If you need a refresher on the general plot of the Odyssey, please consult the oracle. Even if you don't connect to the prior knowledge, there is a deeper human thing going on here. Feel First will help you find it.
Ulysses
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Be still my heart. There are some seriously powerful lines. We don't need to care about meters and the use of iambic pentameter in this poem to really get some powerful meaning out of the poem. I hope this line stirred you:
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
What a passage! "Life piled on life were all too little." Yes, that feeling of wanting more. That feeling of a need for adventure, to keep going, and to keep pushing your limits. "To follow knowledge like a sinking star, beyond the utmost bound of human thought." *Swoon*
Honestly, if these words did not stir as advocates for Christ, justice, and students, then I need to have a talk with you in private:
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Odin's Raven! That is good stuff. How can we not consider ourselves "one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."? True beauty.
I want you to remember that the classics are classics for a reason. There is serious beauty out here.
-Qoheleth.
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