What Silence Can Do: Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

My grandfather once told me he hated poetry because of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” Despite being the child of German immigrants in the less-than-ideal New York City public school system in the first half of the 20^th century, a man who learned to read by having individual English words thrown up on a wall one-by-one (as opposed to hearing sounds strung together), my grandfather became, as an adult, a voracious reader. Yet, he remained (and perhaps still is) rather opposed to poetry, all because of his initial forced experience with Coleridge’s long poem. My grandfather, like the Wedding Guest, could not “choose but hear” and was thus made weary (18) (38).

Last week I discussed sound in Coleridge’s “Frost at Midnight.” Sound and the senses are what draw me to Coleridge’s work. I had long avoided “Rime” because of my grandfather’s omen (what many parallels there are here, weirdly, with the poem itself). Upon encountering it for the first time, I was amazed by how difficult the poem was to follow (even with the glosses, which often served to only confuse me further at points, sometimes similar to Eliot’s notes on The Waste Land). But I was further amazed by how monosyllabic and non-melodic the poem sounded.

The voice of the Mariner, while eloquent or melodramatic, often relies on repetition of key phrases that are almost childlike. “Water, water every where,” he recalls. “And all the boards did shrink; / Water, water, every where, / Nor any drop to drink” (119-122). At times, I found myself laughing at the poem because of its “darkness” that was told in such a simple spirit. Examples abound of this kind of repeated vocabulary: “As idle as a painted ship / Upon a painted ocean” (117-118), “Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs / Upon the slimy sea” (125-126), “A weary time! a weary time! / How glazed each weary eye” (145-146), and “Alone, alone, all, all, alone, / Alone on the wide wide sea!” (232-233). I found the last example actually moving and indicative of one of the ways the repetition works in the poem. Although it is haunting and ghostly, the narrative often seems rather plodding, not unlike being out on the sea where, in every direction, everything looks the same wave to wave “on the wide wide sea!” We feel adrift like the mariner himself does, or did.

The repetition also gives voice to the “silence” of the poem. The crew finds themselves mute, and this silence is a curse and a tragedy: “And every tongue, through utter drought, / Was withered at the root; / We could not speak, nore more than if / We had been choked with soot” (135-139). For “all dumb we stood!” (159) – this not long before each crew member, save the Mariner, drops dead like the albatross he shot at the start of the poem. They become silent like the sea – save a recognized boy, they are undifferentiated and alike, like the waves to each wave. The silence, from the moon (or nature in general), and from ghosts, heightens the supernatural quality of the piece.

Perhaps the Mariner feels too ill-equipped to tell this tale, though he feels, as he relates by the end of “Rime,” that it is his duty to do so. “O happy living things!” he cries. “No tongue Their beauty might declare” (282-283). Those things that are happy and living, like those that are sad and dead, cannot be described by the tongue.

But silence moves and acts in the poem: dead things are like things alive – i.e, life-in-Death. They are certainly different, but the similarity is striking. “But soon there breathed a wind on me, / Nor sound nor motion made: / Its path was not upon the sea, / In ripple or in shade,” the Mariner relates, showing how the wind could breath and act without sound or motion (452-455). Later, there is “No voice; but oh! The silence sank / Like music on my heart” (498-499). Silence sinks; silence somehow comes and goes without sound or motion. This paradox transgressed throughout the poem seems its central tension and force. How it relates to the overall framing of the poem with the held up wedding guest I don’t know, but it does seem like maybe it has to do with motion/inertia. The “moving” or riveting tale is told completely to a man who is stopped; it is the story of a journey, but a failed journey. Something happens and, yet, nothing really does happen. Instead we find our poor guest, and perhaps ourselves, as “he went like one that hath been stunned” (622). We go, yet we are knocked to a standstill. Perhaps this paradox made no sense to my grandfather, a man who was and is always on-the-go and traveling and has no time for archaic-sounding rimes, told by ancient mariners or otherwise. Yet exploring this tension is what gives the poem, I think, its bizarre power and makes one feel a little less forlorn (623).

the Sidenotes are Strange

For the most part the notes on the side of the poem read to me like footnotes but more authentic, since they appear to be a part of the poem. I’m not sure how it was formatted originally, though (?). Still, I felt they were things that I could have figured out if I’d read the poem carefully, and this made them seem more like anxiety on the poet’s (speaker's?) part—a way for him to be a part of a poem that perhaps leaves him out, as well as a way for him to be sure that the reader understood the plot of the poem. Perhaps this is because Coleridge, so focused on language, didn’t take care to make sure—or thought that he didn’t, at least—that the actual plot of the poem was clear. In that sense, this then makes the plot even more important, because he takes time he doesn’t take in other poems to explain it. Although it is maybe evident in other poems to a lesser degree—at least in “This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison” he starts out with a description of the setting (one that is then layered interestingly again with the anthology’s footnote—he only describes the incident as “an accident, which disabled him from walking”—I get the impression Coleridge might be less than enthused to know that the exact nature of the accident was described for the reader along with the poem).

Around line 119 of “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” the side note “And the Albatross beings to be avenged” seemed to give the notes a purpose they didn't have before. I couldn’t find anything in the accompanying stanza—“Water, water, every where…” (119) that I would have been able to clearly interprete as the albatross being avenged without having read the note. It felt like the first one that added something completely new to the poem. Of course, this may only indicate that there is something in every note that adds a new understanding to the poem, it is just more subtle in some places than others. The notes definitely serve as a way for the poet (speaker?) to control when the reader realizes what is happening. The inconsistency is odd, though—there are some points, such as the note for lines 216-219 “His shipmates drop down dead”—where the sentiment in the side note is pretty obvious from the stanza—“With a heavy thump, a lifeless lump/They dropped down one by one” (218-9).

I suppose that despite the inconsistency in their usefullness as far as understanding plot, all of the foot notes work to add another layer to the poem’s narrative. There is the story, then the Mariner telling it to the Wedding guest, then the speaker telling the story of the Mariner telling his story to the guest, then a further speaker writing the explanatory notes, and then the poet (we can maybe condense some of those—we could consider the notes the poet, or the notes the speaker of the poem, or all three the same—but they can be separated, too). The distance that this creates is mythlike—as though Coleridge wanted to create a new myth and throw it back through time so that it wasn’t a new story anymore. 

Not within the narrative, but another aspect of the story are all the implied times that the Mariner has had/will continue to have to tell the story to different people. This is another odd aspect to the poem—it suggests that this story does not exist only within the poem. Not the base story, that is—this is only one story of the story being told, of which there are perhaps as many as there are people the Mariner runs into. This makes it even more mythic—it creates an illusion that there could be different versions to the story, that this poem is only one and therefore perhaps less valuable, and in a way succeeds in making the poem appear as though it is not as carefully constructed as it is.

The intricate construction to make the poem into a myth is interesting also when considering the expression “albatross around one’s neck” that we use now—the poem has become a myth we reference, which gives it another layer when we read it now.

Here’s a relevant song! (although it maybe confuses the metaphor since it tells you both to shoot your albatross down and let it go when it's already around your neck? still, interesting):

The Mariner's Setting

A major part of Coleridge’s appeal in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is his ability to enthrall the reader in the mariner’s tale. The audience becomes devoid of a physical setting when the mariner’s tale becomes the entire textual landscape, overshadowing the larger narrative it is part of. This separation occurs whenever the audience forgets the story is inside of a poem and that it does not constitute the poem entirely. Despite this performance of skill, it feels pertinent to, in fact, keep in mind the poem’s setting and to put that in dialogue with the somewhat obscured moral of the piece. The setting seems especially important because the story’s telling comes due to epiphany as the mariner recites at the end, “I pass, like night, from land to land;/ I have strange power of speech;/ That moment that his face I see,/ I know the man that must hear me:/ To him my tale I teach” (586-90). The mariner has no home and roams on telling his story, giving Coleridge endless settings in which to place this telling, which makes this particular utterance at this particular setting important.
So what can we glean from the comparison? Well if we want to utilize the historical author, it can be fathomed that the poem contains some of Coleridge’s own anxieties about marriage (his own marriage failing several years after the poem’s initial publication). The albatross, a vague and general symbol, could then come to represent anything from the promise of marriage to virginity; its white feathers like “moon-shine” (78) representing anything comparable to purity or hope.

At the end of the text itself, there seems to be little indication that the poem is explicitly about marriage. The narrator (whether it be the mariner or some form of omniscient third party) makes claims about a man’s relationship to God and what role solitude has in a life, but no direct lessons about marriage. Except in lines 601-4 where the narrator says, “O sweeter than the marriage-feast,/ ‘Tis sweeter far to me,/ To walk together to the kirk/ With a goodly company!-” Here, the narrator says he would prefer company to food, but “marriage-feast” can also be read more generally as the bounty of marriage. Thus, though through a stretch of interpretation, the narrator seems to say good company cannot come with marriage, that marriage in some way curses and corrupts company as the dead albatross corrupts the mariner’s voyage.

The Ancient Mariner's Sun and Moon

On the same note of repetition, Coleridge uses the sun and moon repeatedly throughout the poem as symbols to foreshadow what is coming in the mariner's tale. This begins at line 24, as the mariner first reports that "the sun camp up upon the left"and "higher" everyday until a storm came.
When the albatross first makes its appearance, it is known to be a good sign and is "glimmer[ing] the white moon-shine" (78). After the mariner shoots the albatross, "the Sun now rose upon the right" (82).
The sun and the moon not only contrast each other but they don't exist together. In Part 2, "the bloody Sun, at noon" is said to be "no bigger than the Moon". While the sun now symbolizes the vengeance of the albatross, the moon begins to symbolize the spirit that will guide the mariner home. This stanza represents their opposition as well as the idea that one is not bigger or better than the other.
The sun is repeatedly mentioned as the skeleton ship holding Death and Life-in-Death. The ship silhouette is set against the sun and "her sails glance in the Sun" as she gets closer and closer. In this section, the sun is linked heavily with this foreboding ship representing the crew's death.
As the mariner is stuck on this ship with a dead crew, he searches for hope and looks at the "moving Moon". This leads to him having loving thoughts towards the water-snakes because they are God's creatures which begins to break the spell.
The moon repeats its magic when "Beneath the lighting and the moon / The dead men gave a groan" (329 - 330).
Vengeance is brought up again when the "Sun, right above the mast" led the ship to suddenly jolt, leading the mariner to hit his head and be knocked out.
In his sleep, spirits begin to talk to each other, mentioning that the mariner's "great bright eye most silently / Up to the Moon is cast" which is why the ship is moving without any wind.
This is where an idea is revealed that the mariner has the ability to even hypnotize the moon as a way of aiding his journey.
I find this to be an interesting idea, especially since the moon affects the tides of the ocean. It's as if in looking at the moon with hope and love, the mariner ended up affecting the tide itself.

The Echos of "The Rime of The Ancient Mariner"

“Water, water, every where,

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, every where,

Nor any drop to drink”

(119-122)

            “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is marked by a familiar Coleridge trait – the recurrence of words and phrases.  Coleridge’s repetition of words can be attributed to the specificity of his language – he always uses precisely the right word for a given situation, and does not bother with synonyms.  In other cases, Coleridge uses repetition to give emphasis to certain words and phrases (for example, in “Rime” “And I blessed them unaware” (285) is repeated twice in order to suggest that the mariner has truly repented).  However, in “Rime,” repetition has a myriad of uses, from creating suspense for the reader to replicating the experience of the mariner on his ship.

            The repetition of words and phrases has the effect of elongating the poem, evoking for the reader the prolonged period in which the mariner was stranded on the calm ocean.  For example, the mariner states three times that it was, “A weary time” (145).  Not only does this repeated statement impress the tiredness of the men upon the reader – the repetition also makes the reader “weary” to have to read the same line over and over again.  In other cases, the repetition reflects the mariner’s confusion.  For instance, in one line he evokes, “the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky”.  Given the dehydrated state in which the mariner is in at this point in his story, it is fitting that he would be unable to synthesize the landscape.  Finally, the repetition is able to evoke the cyclical nature of the days that the mariner spent at sea, which themselves had a repeating, unaltered pattern.

            Repetition also creates tension for the reader.  For example, when the ship gains speed again, the mariner repeats that it did so, “With a short uneasy motion” (385).  This phrase, one that offers the suggestion of hope for the mariner, recurs in order to prolong the moment before the mariner is aware he will be able to sail safely home.  The repeated use of questions has a similar effect.  For instance, the mariner asks, “is that Woman all her crew? / Is that a Death? and are there two? /  Is Death that woman’s mate?” (187-189) as a skeleton-ship approaches.  This has the effect of prolonging the time that the reader spends contemplating the possibility of who is commanding the ship, and therefore stretches out the period of uncertainty.

            Finally, Coleridge’s association of certain words with certain objects or individuals helps to better define them for the reader.  For example, the mariner’s eye is consistently described as “glittering” (3).  Rather than use a synonym such as, “shining,” Coleridge repeats the word “glittering” not only because it is the most appropriate word (in that it directly elicits how the light plays off of the eye), but because it is a word that is tied to the reader’s recognition of the mariner.

            The overall effect of the repetition of words on the reader is similar to the hypnosis that the wedding guest experiences.  The repetition assists in drawing the reader into the text (and under the mariner’s spell) because it continues to preempt the unfolding of the mystery of the mariner.  The reader, like the wedding guest, falls down the rabbit hole of the old man’s tale and is meant to be left with similar “”forlorn” (623) feelings.

Commanding Nature: Coleridge vs Wordsworth

One of the things that stood out most about reading Coleridge for the first day was how much I thought about him in comparison to Wordsworth, given the emphasis the textbook puts on their relationship. The place where this was most apparent was in the second stanza of "This Lime Tee Bower My Prison" when Coleridge expresses his imaginings of the natural landscape his friends are seeing in commands to nature. "Slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious sun!...And kindle, thou blue ocean! (32-37)." He tells nature exactly what it should show to his friends, and even indicates he thinks it could do better with statements like "richlier burn.' This fits with the idea I raised in class that Coleridge feels a sense of competition with Wordsworth, wanting to show him that Coleridge too, has bonded with a splendid piece of nature all his own. In this sense he almost takes ownership of nature in a way Wordsworth does not; his bond with nature drives him to worry that his friends will not see the same splendor in it he does. I could not fathom Wordsworth issuing what amount to stage directions to nature, and I believe these lines offer a first glimpse of how Coleridge's appreciation of and relationship with nature are different than those of Wordsworth. I am not saying however, that Coleridge does not appreciate or feel superior to nature, but that he wants his friends to understand the beauty of the part of nature he has bonded with so badly he cannot help but worry over its presentation. Wordsworth, on the other hand, would likely take for granted that anyone visiting nature could not help but be struck by its beauty, especially if coming from the city like Charles.

Dejection: An Ode and This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison

After discussing "This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison" at length on Tuesday, I found "Dejection: An Ode" to be really interesting because it was Coleridge being able to find nothing beneficial in his misfortune. In the first poem, yes, Coleridge is definitely immature in his handling of the situation, but in the end, he feels better about himself. After having milk burn your foot, that's all you can really ask for. In "Dejection: An Ode" Coleridge just laments and complains and cannot find anything positive about his situation. He can't even try to imagination a way that it gets better other than being with someone else.
I wondered what the difference was between the two events that made it so impossible for him to find something positive out of his experience. In "This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison" Coleridge makes the garden around him into a completely new experience, realizing that he needed to discover that he could make his own nature walk in something so close to home. He used his imagination to make discoveries about the world that he wouldn't have found had he had the opportunity to be with his friends on their walk. In "Dejection: An Ode" he talks about how he is at Nature's mercy. In the first poem, he was able to work with it using his imagination, but in the second poem, he has no control over it at all. Nature appears to have taken away the power of his imagination. This struck me because it seemed to me that Coleridge saw nature and imagination as intertwined in a more positive light than the conclusion he comes to in "Dejection: An Ode". He really seems to be despondent and he seems like he's given up hope in nature. I kept looking for him to believe that nature, and the natural oder of the world, and that those things would allow something to work out in his favor, but instead, he seemed to end with less hope, wishing the woman the best, but knowing there was nothing positive coming his way.