Keats' Need to Challenge Shakespeare

On reading “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art” by Keats I was reminded of our discussion on Tuesday of how Keats strived to be remembered alongside Shakespeare and Milton, as their equal. This is made apparent in the footnote, which reveals Keats copied this poem into his collection of Shakespeare’s poems, physically placing his poetry in the same book as Shakespeare. His approach to the sonnet form in this context I also read as a direct challenge to Shakespeare’s sonnets. Specifically the footnote’s reference to a north star reminded me of the line “It [love] is the star to every wandering bark” in Shakespeare’s sonnet 116. Keats directly challenges Shakespeare, using the same images and connections as Shakespeare but in his own way, to force the issue of comparison between them. In light of the information that Keats was dismissed by his contemporaries due to his lower class and education, these decisions in his poetry make all the more sense, he had to force the issue of putting himself in conversation with the greats, it never would have happened organically. The first part of Keats’ sonnet can be read as addressing all of these things. HEe wishes he had the steadfast nature of the star to help him as he struggles to gain acceptance as a poet, while he is currently “in lone splendor hung aloft” (2). He sees himself high above his peers but alone, removed from the ‘natural’ cycle of poets from higher class upbringings, a star removed from the natural imagery. The background information from Tuesday’s class significantly altered my reading of all the poems for Thursday. 

Star Light, Star Bright

The Speaker is talking to the North Star in this poem.The North Star doesn't move around at night, which is why the speaker admires it's "stedfastness." 

Bright Star is airy and beautiful while still managing to focus on a very complicated human desire. In the very first line, the speaker tells “the Bright Star” that he wishes to be like that star. We learn the speaker’s desire without (ever) finding out who the speaker is, when he is speaking, or where he is speaking. What we do know about the speaker is that he wants to be like the bright star. In the second line of the poem, the speaker says what he doesn’t want. This is an immediate switch from desire to lack of desire. He then goes on to explain what the bright star does for the next six lines in order to emphasize what he hopes to not be like. I found this very strange at first because he unexpectedly spoke of things he wouldn’t want to have in common with the star after saying he wanted to be just like the bright star. 

In line nine the speaker reveals his true desire, the one trait he truly wants to have in common with the star is stedfastness. The speaker desires to never change and to be forever still on his lover’s breast and if he can’t, he rather die swooning over her. I find it interesting that we know nothing about the speaker, especially his placement in time, besides his desire to be unchanging like the bright star. The language the speaker uses made the timing of this poem really stand out to me. The spelling of some words are archaic and I believe uncommon in 1848. One example would be eremite. I understand that Keats probably used this word out of the respect of the rhyme scheme and music of the poem but the language still makes me question the speaker’s placement in time. Overall, I think Keats did a phenomenal job describing a complicated thought without giving much detail or background about the person who thinks that thought. 

Blurred Lines between Imagination and Reality

While reading “The Eve of St. Agnes” I kept asking myself, why is the speaker telling this story. Or rather, why is this speaker telling us this story. The poem begins with a Beadsman praying in the woods who stumbles upon a lively party in a castle on the eve of the feast of St. Agnes, the patron saint of virgins. Inside the castle at the party is a young lady named Madeline who is eager to go to sleep so she can dream of her lover, Porphyro. While Madeline is fervently waiting going to sleep, Porphyro concocts a plan to trick and older woman named Angela into letting his hide in Madeline’s closet until she goes to sleep so he can convince her to run away with him. The poem ends with Madeline and Porphyro seemingly successfully running away. The speaker does not reveal what happens to Madeline and Porphyro after they escape, but he does include that the Beadsman and Angela both die. This poem left me confused and pondering many questions. The significance of the narrative within this poem is unclear, the characters and speaker are not particularly complex and the ending reveals nothing of the star-crossed lovers’ future. Maybe all these unclear, unanswered questions are the point of the poem. The lines between fantasy, dreams, imagination and reality are continuously blurred, making a statement on how these lines are blurred in real life. Everyone has experienced waking up from a deep sleep and not realizing whether or not the dream has ended. It is also unclear if Keats’ commentary on the mysteries of the imagination were intentional or if “The Eve of St. Agnes” is a failed attempt at a romantic poem who’s only redemption was the ambiguous lines between fantasy and reality was accidental.

Bird song in La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Something that I found odd about La Belle Dame Sans Merci was that the mention of bird song is only the lack thereof. In many of our readings bird song is used to show the beauty and happiness in something as simple as one small aspect of nature. Although this poem describes the emptiness and unhappiness that exists without bird song, I thought it was interesting that Keats did not mention bird song in the happy memories of the Knight. I began to wonder how mentioning bird song in a positive way would have changed the meaning of the poem. I think had he referenced a happier song, or just the existence of bird song during his tryst with the woman, it would have made the relationship more real and less superficial. The footnote describes the woman as a "supernatural femme fatale" and in the poem, it is clear that she has always taken advantage of men, telling them she loves them and then leaving them. This is evident in stanza ten, when Keats describes the dream, "I saw pale kings, and princes too, / Pale warriors, death pale were they all;/They cried --"La belle dame sans merci/ Hath thee in thrall!" (37-40). Here, Keats points out that this woman seduces any and all men, from royalty to warriors, and leaves them all broken hearted and emotionally devastated. He then goes on to say that this knight is just another one of her conquests, further proving that this woman only uses men and then leaves them. This moment in the poem cements her character as being superficial and cruel. If he had used the bird song to describe their relationship when the knight was happy and the relationship appeared loving, it would have made it seem much deeper than surface value. I think this would have ultimately weakened the poem. Bird song would have heightened the joy and added value to the love that the knight was feeling. This may have made the emotional reaction of the knight more pitiable, but it also would have changed the meaning of the poem. The woman's character would've been changed and it wouldn't have made as much sense because if the audience thought her relationship with the knight was genuine, the knight's dream would have made him a lot more conflicted. If that were the case, the poem would most likely have had to go on for several more stanzas, or risk the ending seeming too abrupt.

Imagination conquers nature

John Keats' "Le Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad" describes the speaker of the poem (who seems to be Keats) dreaming "on the cold hill's side" (36). This nicely connects to our discussion last class about Keats' charioteer and his convictions about the power of the imagination. The poem describes the speaker meeting a woman who takes him to "her elfin grot" (29). He creates this woman in his mind and from his description she is generous, "she found me roots of relish sweet" (25); she is is compassionate, "she said-- / I love thee true" (27-8), and she gentle, "and there she lulled me asleep" (33). Many of the other poets we have read could describe a woman from their past or who was still currently in their lives with beautiful descriptive language and vivid images, but Keats demonstrates his ability not just to write about and praise a woman, but to have the capacity to completely create an amazing woman with his mind. This poem is not just about how beautifully Keats can describe these images, it is also Keats showing off his ability to create unparalleled beauty without ever seeing it. 

He then shifts from his dream of the beautiful woman to the more frightening image that he sees next of "pale kings, and princes too" (37). These images come to him just as clearly as those of the woman, and he sees these figures as "Pale warriors, death pale were they all" (38). Once again Keats is demonstrating his ability to convey this powerful image to the reader, and to form an image that is so terrifying and vivid that it seems to frighten him. 

The poem concludes with his saying that these dreams are why he comes to the hill, even though "the sedge is wither'd from the lake, / and no birds sing" (47-8). These final lines read to me almost like a jab at other poets who describe nature because he seems to be saying that he can go somewhere without any inspiration from nature and still dream up these amazing images. He seems to be saying that he does not need external forces to inspire his poetry, that all the inspiration he finds to write such beautiful lines comes from within himself. 

La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad

In his poem, "La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad," Keats does two things in particular that intrigue me. Firstly, he twists literary tropes that are traditionally meant to suggest femininity so that they instead suggest decay, or at least decline. Below is an image from Charles Berger's "The Extravagant Shepherd." The image is "a literal portrait of a beauty" using the actual metaphors that were popular for describing female beauty in the 17th century. The image shows just how silly some of these metaphors actually are if you think about them. In Keats' poem, though, he uses a "lily on thy brow" to describe the knight's anguish (9). This is a new way of using the old-school flower image that usually described a woman's pale, beautiful skin. Keats turns a flower trope on its head again in the stanza when he writes that "a fading rose" was withering on the knight's cheeks (11). While roses traditionally suggest love and robust beauty, here the rose is actually suggesting decay. Keats' use of the flower images in this third stanza (as well as throughout the rest of the poem) set up a link between this love story and natural growth. But, because Keats alters the trope, he seems to set up a new link within the initial setup; this new link is between obsession and decay.

The other part of this poem that caught my eye was the fact that the last line of each stanza is shorter than the others and quite definitive, too. This shift in meter draws attention to the final point in each stanza, so I tended to focus more on these than anything else. While the other details in the poem were pretty masterfully crafted and quite lovely to both see and hear, the last lines fell like a thud through this beautiful veil and hinted all along that danger was coming. Take, for example, the first three last lines: "And no birds sing," "And the harvest's done," and "Fast withereth too" (4, 8, 12). It is clear that peril is looming.

mortality/heaviness/clarity in "Marbles"

The first line ending—“mortality”—is the only incomplete rhyme in the poem—it looks like “sky” or “die,” it sounds more like “sleep” and “steep”---but it doesn’t fit completely with either, which feels odd since the rest of the poem follows the rhyme scheme for a Petrarchan sonnet. The “ee” sound the first line ends on, though, doesn’t feel out of place; it is in “spirit,” “weak,” and “heavily” before we get to the “sleep” at the end of the second line. Thus the not-quite rhyme between “mortality” and “sleep” is evident immediately, drawing a clear distinction between what mortality implies (death) and sleep—which is interesting because the speaker is at the same time trying to compare mortality to an “unwilling sleep” (2). This is really odd, too—first is the idea (and maybe this is because I’m tired, but.) that any sleep would be “unwilling”—usually we sleep because we are tired, and thus want to sleep. Also, waking up often implies a kind of epiphany, and you would think that mortality would be the epiphany—it seems that way for the speaker, at least. Still, he says that mortality is the sleep—could one wake up and out of mortality, then?

The marble and the weak spirit create an immediate contrast between heaviness and lightness. The weight of the mortality aligns with the weight of the the marble. At first this feels a bit odd, because mortality implies death while marble seems more permanent, but the image of the marble wasting away is revealed at the end of the poem. This vision of mortality suggests that the speaker sees himself as something that was once great but will now die—it fits well with the image of the “sick eagle,” an animal that was perhaps once as majestic as marble but, now sick, cannot fly. However, it is the “imagined pinnacle and steep/Of godlike hardship” that “tells me I must die”---perhaps the fact that it is “imagined” suggests that it is not mortality itself, rather the speaker’s realization of his mortality that makes his spirit weak, makes the sick eagle only look at the sky and not attempt to fly.

(a line from Keats’s final letter feels like it ties in: “I have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence” (p. 980)

I also remember him maybe comparing himself to an eagle at one point in a letter? or maybe just mentioning an eagle? not sure)

The suggestion that the “glories of the brain” are “dim-conceived” feels odd in a poem whose title has a focus on sight (“On Seeing…”) and when the line before bears the image of “the opening of the morning’s eye” (8). While the first eight lines focus on clarity and sight, the dimness introduced in the second part creates greater uncertainty that continues in the heart’s “undescribable feud”—and it is also in the final image of the sun on the “billowy” ocean (13). The sun’s shadow is not only it’s opposite in its lack of light---because it is reflected on the ocean it loses another kind of clarity, that of shape, and becomes even more indistinct. The syntax of the poem gets confusing for me here, too, and I think it fits well with the blurring of the shadow. I’m still not sure if I completely understand the last sentence of the poem, actually---the hyphens are hard to follow. I didn’t connect it there at first, but is the last hyphen supposed to also call us back to the beginning of the poem?--- “My spirit is too weak—…—a shadow of a magnitude.” The speaker’s spirit is then the shadow of the marble. Marble is (supposed to be, at least) distinct and clear cut—with “pinnacles” and steeps, it represents an ideal, like the sun—unreacheable but that which we use to model our world upon. The spirit, however, is something the speaker understands less; he can’t make it as godlike or ideal as marble. Still, even the marble participates in the “rude/Wasting of old time” (12-3), and it seems this loss/death of the speaker’s ideal is what makes him lose hope for his own spirit. Or maybe the loss is the fact that the ideal can only be represented by/in humans, and therefore cannot last, or translate into anything that lasts, as even the sun becomes an unclear shadow when it gets closer.