Byron's Upside-Down Apocalypse

Brughel, The Tower of Babel

Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Socrates

There are already a few posts about “Darkness,” but it’s been a rough and very weird day wherein many students, myself included, were locked in dark windowless places during one of the most beautiful light-filled days of the semester. So perhaps this is especially relevant and too close to home at the moment.

Coming off the fanciful dream-imaginings and flirtations with Death involved in reading Keats, I was struck in reading Byron’s “Darkness,” which so ominously begins: “I had a dream, which was not at a dream” (1). Keats’ romantic vision of a waking dream end, albeit his own individual ending, is immediately swept away with the speaker of this poem proclaiming: “All earth was but one thought — and that was death, / Immediate and inglorious” (42-43). Any poem-painting of an end-times even broaching on the baroque seems impossible here. This is not Jacques-Louis David’s depiction of the death of Socrates, but instead a Babel painting by Brueghel, elaborate, surely, though muted and ominous in its twisting lines and lack of human figures.

And this is different than most end-times stories. The lion and the lamb lay down, sort of: “The wildest brutes / Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d / And twined themselves among the multitude, / Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food” (34-37). The paradoxes multiple but remain less than startling and “stingless.”

My favorite lines involve the upside-down mountain of the volcano, which becomes a place of refuge instead of Pompey-horror: “Happy were those who dwelt within the eye / Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch: / A fearful hope was all the world contain’d” (16-18). In the end, not only does everything somehow become its opposite, but what once represented doom transforms into a “fearful hope.”

This poem also provoked the question, for me, regarding how one writes about nothingness. Or a fantastical space – the future, the death of the universe – as non-fantastical, i.e. the “chaos of hard clay”? (72). Another work that I think does this trick especially well is Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road, where nothing really happens in a desolate atom-bombed landscape for hundreds of pages, and yet an artwork is produced. It is a dream suspended dreamless, all hard stuff lumped at the bottom.

I don’t have much else to comment on this poem at the moment, but I appreciated the other posts on it and I look forward to Kathleen’s presentation tomorrow! I liked Addie’s idea of Byron “captur[ing] the end of humanity by honing in on the small characteristics that make us human,” even though I read the poem as distinctly humanless. Perhaps this is a more hopeful reading of the poem; something that makes “Darkness” light.

some "Darkness" things

I’m presenting on “Darkness” tommorow so here are some kind of related odds & ends that hopefully won’t make it so we have nothing to talk about tomorrow… :

"Manfred"

Manfred is referred to a lot as a “Child of Clay” (131)—the concept of man being made from clay is Biblical and also a characteristic of many religions (Genesis 2:7—“And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul”). The Bible/religious allusions in “Manfred” are offset and/or questioned by the supernatural elements; ultimately Manfred really defies religion by defying Abbot and choosing to die alone rather than to be saved.

The involvement and sort of reappropration of religion reminded me of the last two men in “Darkness” who use “holy things/For an unholy usage” (59-60) when they burn the holy artifacts on an altar for light rather than for worship. Manfred’s Spirit also tells Abbot in Act 3 Scene 4 to “Waste not thy holy words on idle uses”—another holy/unholy moment.

The clay is also present in “Darkness”---the world becomes “a chaos of hard clay” (72), another interesting/sort-of perversion of religion and man, where the clay becomes hardened and perhaps thus dissociated from God.

In Act 3 Scene 3 Abbot says: “It is an awful chaos—light and darkness—/And mind and dust—and passions and pure thoughts/Mix’d, and contending without end or order/All dormant or destructive” (3.3 164-7). These ideas are interesting to think about with “Darkness,” too—there is a chaos in the mix, but then also in “Darkness” men have lost their passions and are in perhaps a different kind of chaos.

"Epitaph to a Dog"

The poem suggests that this dog, despite being “deny’d in Heaven,” had “all the virtues of man without his Vices.”  The speaker of the poem is mourning what he considers to have been his only true friend; whereas the honors on men’s tombs describe them in perhaps faulty/or overly complimentary terms, the speaker seems to feel that a dog is deserving of such praise in a way that men are not. This was written after the death of Byron’s dog Boatswain in 1808, who was (according to Wikipedia) sick with rabies and who he also apparently cared for until the dog’s death without caring there was a chance he could have been infected. Wikipedia also notes that the dog’s tomb is bigger than Byron’s.

There’s also a dog in “Darkness,” and he appears to play the same loving role—of course he is the only dog to do so—thus it isn’t just a general appreciation for dogs but rather an affection for this one dog who demonstrates the virtue of man without his vice. After learning about this poem and Byron’s affection for his dog the one true/pure dog in “Darkness” is even more interesting.

"She Walks in Beauty"

I think the line “all that’s best of dark and bright” (3) is interesting to look at in the context of “Darkness,” just as it draws that light/dark contrast ought that is obviously important in both. It’s interesting to think, too, about the “She” in this poem in contrast with the final “She” of “Darkness”—who is darkness. The footnote obviously informs us that Byron supposedly wrote “She Walks in Beauty” about Anne Wilmot, whereas the She in “Darkness” doesn’t appear to refer to any person as much as it does to a personification of the Darkness. Still, “She walks in beauty, like the night,” immediately associates the woman of “She Walks in Beauty” with another darkness. Her darkness appears to also be pure and “innocent” (18), though, a sentiment that is pretty absent from “Darkness.”  

The Sound of Silence

So I haven’t exactly done an intense analysis of this song in relation to “Darkness,” but the first line does personify it in a similar way (though of course Byron’s personification doesn’t come until the end of the poem). The vision/dream in this song is also interesting—especially as it is a vision and a dream and kind of blurs the line between the two, just as Byron does with the line “I had a dream, which was not all a dream” (1). The neon signs in “The Sound of Silence” are also a kind of aritificial light that perhaps aligns with the image of the fire in “Darkness,” though the song and poem do seem to consider religion differently.     

NBC’s Revolution

Maybe almost embarrassed to post this because it is admitting that I’ve seen some of this show. But I just thought of it so thought I’d throw it in… we all appear to remain interested in the concept of the lights “going off”—how we refer to losing light and electricity as “losing power.” The loss of light results in a chaotic dystopia in the show, too. Our obsession with imagining the end of the world/the possibility of the world ending doesn’t seem to have faded since Byron’s time---both the poem and show (and also the many other dystopic shows/movies that exist today) also feature the way that men play a key role in their own downfall.

What does the light bring?

Throughout Lord Byron’s apocalyptic “Darkness,” he describes the world ending in a slow and detailed manner. There is no “big bang” or gory description of bloody war (although there is definitely the implication of brutality and cannibalism). However, Byron captures the end of humanity by honing in on the small characteristics that make us human, all of which, the light enables us to have. Brian mentioned in his post the class system being dismantled by the need for fire and subsequent light. On a larger scale, the class system is representative of order and systematic culture. Along with this culture comes the innate need for companionship. “Men were gather’d round their blazing homes to look once more into each other’s face” (14-15). Solidarity has always been viewed by society as unhealthy – perhaps a punishment or even an experience to fear. It leads to an insanity that can only be cured by the presence and interaction of another human – as if one’s mind is dangerous when left alone with it.

Byron continues to discuss hope as a characteristic of humanity that quickly dwindles throughout the poem. “A fearful hope was all the world contain’ed” (18). This parallels the idea that “men forgot their passions in dread” (7). This emphasizes the idea that passion, love of something is worth living for – even a fearful hope provides the idea that eventually their will be something to live for again; however, “some lay down and hid their eyes and wept: and some did rest their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled” (23-25) suggests that hope has been lost. Those weeping have acknowledged the darkness and those smiling have accepted it.

Loyalty appears in the poem as one of the last components of humanity to exist. The last dog was “faithful to a corse, and kept the birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay, till… he died” (48-54). Even attempts to quell the darkness by grasping at basic human compassion cannot overcome the darkness. We see these traits disappear one by one and thus slowly diminish society as a whole until all that is left is fear. It is this fear that finally takes out the final two living humans when “they lifted up their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld each other’s aspects – saw, and shriek’d, and died.” The poem ends when all that is left in the darkness is a complete and total lack of purpose. Ships are “sailorless” and clouds have perish’d because the darkness “has no need.”  Society has been stripped of every aspect and characteristic that makes it human until the world is complete darkness; this creates a much more understated yet realistic and frightening image of the end of the world.  

The Growing Hopelessness of "Darkness"

            “Darkness” was born from a long tradition of apocalyptic poetry and imagery.  However, in describing the End of Days, Lord Byron imagines less of a vision of “fire and brimstone” and more of a subtle decline for humanity.  Rather than beginning with bleak imagery of a world that can not be recovered and humans that cannot be redeemed, “Darkness” demonstrates the slow deterioration of humanity’s hope.  In the beginning of the poem, Byron suggests that that humanity will endure and adapt to a world of darkness. However, ultimately he reveals how this hope cannot sustain itself and will eventually be extinguished by the forces of nature.   

            The poem’s description of how humanity first copes with the darkness demonstrates how humanity’s ingenuity has the potential to save the species.  The poem begins with the sun and stars being smothered by darkness.  Byron describes how mankind’s survival instinct is evoked by the darkness, for he states that the, “selfish prayer for light” (9) consumes all men.  To ensure their continued existence, men and women light fires – attempting to do all they can to adjust to the new world they exist in.  An instant benefit of the darkness is that the class system is dismantled, as the fact that both thrones and huts become pyres suggests a more level playing field between royalty and the poor.  Moreover, Byron describes how the range of emotions that accompany the loss of light extend beyond merely grief.  There are those who “wept” (24) and those who “howl’d” (31), however there are also those who “smiled” (25).  For example, Byron describes those who “dwelt within the eye / Of the volcanos” as “Happy” (16-17).  Byron even describes how the presence of such a threat to humanity existence causes humans to form bonds of friendship with one another, remarking how the survivors, “look once more into each other’s face” (15).  Therefore, Byron demonstrates how there may be unexpected fruits to the terrible situation.  However, the “fearful hope” (18) that was established by the burning watchtowers was not to last.

            The poem undergoes a sudden shift from suggesting that humanity can thrive in the darkness to asserting that man’s ruination is inevitable.  For example, Byron emphasizes that mankind’s downfall as being the result of its own penchant for conflict.  Byron details how the brief period of peace ended, stating, “War, which for a moment was no more, / Did glut himself again” (38-39).  The bonds of friendship that had been formed during the pyre-making evaporated, for “Even dogs assailed their masters” (47).  Even those who survived the conflict between humans, such as the last loyal dog or the last two enemy humans, succumbed to their wounds and died.  Therefore, even the innocents – the unsullied and the pure – were eventually wiped out not due to their own hand, but due to fortune.  Byron not only demonstrates how war is predestined in humans – he also makes it clear that its devastating effects are equally fated.  Even in circumstances as dire as that of the apocalypse, humanity will still find ways to reinvigorate its old cycles of violence.      

            The last lines of the poem, “And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need / Of aid from them – She was the Universe” (80-81), signify the overwhelming power of darkness.  The Earth is surrounded by darkness – it is a bright dot on the black canvas of space.  Byron views it as inevitable that the darkness will encroach upon the Earth.  He views it as a force that will sweep over the world without thought or sentiment.  Not even mankind’s strongest wishes and cleverest minds can prevent such a cataclysm.  In suggesting hope for humanity in the opening of the poem before revealing it to be a false aspiration, Byron ignites the reader’s optimism before dousing it completely.  Such a method of apocalyptic writing makes the pain of the End of Days that much more severe for the reader than a text that depicts the end as completely horrific.

A return to Bright Star

After watching the movie Bright Star, I had a new interpretation of his lines "awake for ever in a sweet unrest" (12). The movie shows Keats' love affair with Fanny Brawne. The relationship is filled with tender emotion and passionate feelings, and the viewer becomes invested in the relationship's ability to survive. Throughout the movie, the viewer sees Keats and Fanny spend a lot of time together and enjoy each others company seemingly more than they either enjoys the company of any else. The movie also shows the pain that each feels when the two are separated and even shows multiple occasions when Fanny is brought to violent tears because of how much she misses Keats. Going into the movie we all knew that Keats dies young, and that with that knowledge we all assumed that this relationship would not last. However, it was increasingly painful to watch the two of them grow so close throughout the film, because (at least the film presented it this way) the two seemed genuinely in love with one another. When John Keats does die, Fanny cries historically on screen, and cries out for her mother because she cannot catch her breath.
This final scene brought me back to Bright Star, and the star's "sweet unrest," because what it truly means to be awake forever. The stars above this relationship that (of course this is symbolic) look down over the relationship between Keats and Fanny, and also look down on all others, witness such romance and love, but also inevitably heartbreak and pain. The tension in the phrase sweet unrest was made clear to me as I watched the actress playing Fanny cry. This moment was incredibly touching and filled with love. It was a beautiful moment because it exemplified how strongly she loved Keats. However, it also left me feeling incredibly uneasy, because I could not help but imagine the pain of being so young and losing the person you love. The movie ends with a short description on the screen that says Fanny thought about Keats for the rest of her life. In a way the love between them was also "awake for ever" and yet this love must remain within this undefinable tension as well. Ultimately, the film gave me an image of this seemingly contradictory line, because it captures a truth about human relationships. All relationships come to an end because all people must die, but the great relationships have a love that remains after the people are gone. There is an abundance of pleasure and pain in all of these relationships and these two entities struggle against one another and compete to dominate the perception of those involved.

Overlapping Odes

When reading the Odes by Keats for class on Tuesday I was stuck by how much overlapping diction imagery and ideas there were across the odes. Perhaps the strongest and most central thing shared across the odes is reference to Greek and Roman Mythology. This is hardly surprising, given the roots of the Ode trace back to the ancient Greeks as John discussed on Tuesday, but what I found noteworthy was how the same aspects appeared in the odes to differing effects. In “Ode to Psyche” the speaker says “No altar heap’d with flowers…No voice, no lute, no pipe” (29-32) and “Yes, I will be thy priest” (50). The first of these lines contrasts sharply with “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” which deals a great deal with the imagined sounds of “pipes and timbrels” (10). At first I was confused by this, thinking Keats was putting sound and music to totally different purposes. Then I remembered that “Ode on a Grecian Urn” also says that “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter” and speaks of “spirit ditties of no tone” (11-14). In a similar fashion as to how the music Keats imagines as he stares upon the urn is sweeter to him than actual music; he argues in “Ode to Psyche” that his poem, his dedication is a sweeter song for its silent nature, preserved on the page. The ideas of altars and priests from the previous lines also support this idea, as Keats assumes the role of priest in “Ode to Psyche.” While in “Ode on a Grecian Urn” the speaker only guesses at “to what green altar, O mysterious priest” (32), in “Ode to Psyche” Keats becomes the priest, and his poem the altar on which he makes a sacrifice of his efforts to Psyche. The context of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” helped me make sense of “Ode to Psyche” and the interplay between the odes in general.

The First Stanza of "To Autumn"

The first stanza of Keat's "To Autumn" draws me in the most. I rather love the whole poem, but the first stanza is "tattoo-worthy" in its beauty, as we discussed in class. Firstly, the stanza draws me in because it literally looks chalk-full on the page. It's lines are of relatively even length and the lines themselves appear rather dense. This immediately evokes the image that the "swell" and "ripeness" put forth in the beginning of the poem (7, 6). Autumn is here, and the world is bursting. Secondly, even the very first line is perfectly poetic--both for the image it depicts, and the sounds it makes when one reads it aloud. The alliteration of the words "mists" and "mellow" contains a very languid breeze in and of itself. Because "mists" ends with a hissing "s" sound and so does "fruitfulness," the line also loops back in on itself. The line is plump: contained, but filled to the brim with loveliness.

Moving further into the stanza, I like that much of the description of autumn is in noun-verb form. Yes, there are plenty of adjectives, but Keats chose strikingly apt verbs and nouns. As someone who tends to prefer a more Hemingway-esque read, I always appreciate when prose or poetry makes good use of the English language. I had a high-school teacher who subscribed to this philosophy so thoroughly that she once said that "there will never be an adjective or adverb that you could not omit for use of a superior noun or verb." While I don't think she was correct in such a firm philosophy, she had a point. She would make my classmates and I go through our work (personal essays, poems, and fiction) and physically cross out every adjective and adverb we had. Keats' diction might not be that spartan, but his words all have a certain weight to them. Take, for example, his use of the word "clammy" in line 12. While this is ironically an adjective, I like it because I would never think to describe the insides of flowers as clammy prison cells. But, once I read the line, it struck me as though nothing could be more fitting. I think that is perhaps the magic of Keats: you truly wish you had said it first, but you didn't (and if so, only in some deja vu, dreamy echo of a way).