Tell me not here, it needs not saying A E Housman : : ( 1859 – 1936 ) : : : : Tell me not here, it needs not saying, What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays, For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. . On russet floors, by waters idle, The pine lets fall its cone; The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone; And traveller’s joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. . On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves; Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves; Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. . Possess, as I possessed a season, The countries I resign, Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine, And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. . For nature, heartless, witless nature, Will neither care nor know What stranger’s feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go, Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. .— Alfred Edward Housman : : From second volume, ( 40 ) Last Poems (1922) : :
A. E. Housman’s , one of the finest poem , “Tell me not here, it needs not saying”, reflects on his relationship with nature,and an unemotional view of ‘man’s place in nature’. Although, nature does not care or even know about him, he feels a close bond with it. It should be understood that “enchantress” referred in line 2 , is a woman who may fascinate andcharm but may alsobreak a heart. The poetw does not see the working of a divine purpose in nature. He sees nature as ‘detached’ and ‘indifferent’ to man. “Heartless, witless nature” will be failing to the mindset which walks among her forests andmeadows. He wrote about ‘leafless lands’, and the sense of loss these lands convey, touching timeand time again. Nature has no heart , no humour.Nature will neither care nor know who walks among it, and this is a good thing in many ways. He makes pleasure taking list in the forest. The pine trees let their pine cones fall; the leaves fall from the trees; the cuckoo calls to “nothing”. No one was not around to see and hear them. Nature goes on, and does not care whether we’re there or not. The traveller’ through the forest experiences the joy as (s)he walks by.: : : :
Notes for each of the Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem. : : : : Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India October 7 , 2022 : : :
Christina Rossetti (1830-94) was the most influential poet of the Victorian era. ThePre-Raphaelite artist and poet Dante Gabriel was her elder brother. Never married and lived with her mother , as a younger girl , she dictated to her mother first poem : “Cecilia never went to school / Without her gladiator.” : : ‘Goblin Market and Other Poems’was her first publication.The title poem is a long narrative poem which is often taken for a children’s poem because of its fairy-tale motifs and imagery. ‘Remember’ and ‘When I am dead, my dearest’ and few others were composed before she had turnedtwenty. Good Friday’ such other poems were religious poems; about honest religious doubt as much as faith; and ‘Twice’, about the importance of Christian forgiveness and redemption (the poem is spoken by a fallen woman, a theme that can also be seen in ‘Goblin Market’) : : She wrote: sonnets, ballads, narrative poems, lyrics, even Christmas carols (‘In the Bleak Midwinter’) The Penguin edition of her Complete Poems runs to well over 1,000 pages.Her poetic influence was upon a range of later poets, including Gerard Manley Hopkins, Ford Madox Ford, and Elizabeth Jennings. Philips Larkin praised her ‘steely stoicism’. Christina wrote many sonnets ( Petrarchan or Italian sonnet, rhymed abbabbacdcede), including the classic ‘Remember’ (written when she was still a teenager), and mastered the form from a young age. Rossetti died in 1894 and was buried in Highgate Cemetery where fellow Victorian writer George Eliot had earlier been laidto rest.
From Sunset to Star Rise:Christina Rossetti Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, A silly sheep benighted from the fold, A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, Athirst and hungering on a barren spot.
For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, I live alone, I look to die alone: Yet sometimes when a wind sighs through the sedge, Ghosts of my buried years and friends come back, My heart goes sighing after swallows flown On sometime summer’s unreturningtrack.
Here, A woman speaks who has chosen to shunning herself from society and her friends. ‘From Sunset to Star Rise’ uses autumny and the disappearing summer to reflect on fall and sin as part of human nature. The closing line of its couplet, ” On sometime summer’s unreturning track”, appears with a pensive sadness representing the sense of ‘slip away’. Although not the best ofher sonnets , “From Sunset To Star Rise”is a real gem of a poem. : : : :
Notes for each of the 14 lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem. : : Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India October 6 , 2022 : :
Sketch of Keats by Charles Brown, August 1819, one month before the composition of “To Autumn”. Illustration for “To Autumn” by William James Neatby, from A Day with Keats, 1899. Harvested field, Hampshire, England.
To Autumn BY JOHN KEATS Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
“To Autumn” is a poem by English Romantic poet John Keats (31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821). The work was composed on 19 September 1819 and published in 1820 in a volume of Keats’s poetry that included Lamia and The Eve of St. Agnes. “To Autumn” is the final work in a group of poems known as Keats’s “1819 odes”. Although personal problems left him little time to devote to poetry in 1819, he composed “To Autumn” after a walk near Winchester one autumnal evening. The work marks the end of his poetic career, as he needed to earn money and could no longer devote himself to the lifestyle of a poet. A little over a year after the publication of “To Autumn”, Keats died in Rome.
On 19 September 1819, Keats walked near Winchester along the River Itchen. In a letter to his friend John Hamilton Reynolds written on 21 September, Keats described the impression the scene had made upon him and its influence on the composition of “To Autumn”: “How beautiful the season is now – How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it […] I never lik’d stubble fields so much as now […] Somehow a stubble plain looks warm – in the same way that some pictures look warm – this struck me so much in my sunday’s walk that I composed upon it.” Keats did not send “To Autumn” to Reynolds, but did include the poem within a letter to Richard Woodhouse, his publisher and friend, and dated it on the same day. The poem was revised and included in Keats’s 1820 collection of poetry titled Lamia, Isabella, the Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems.
The poem has three eleven-line stanzas which describe a progression through the season, from the late maturation of the crops to the harvest and to the last days of autumn when winter is nearing. The imagery is richly achieved through the personification of Autumn, and the description of its bounty, its sights and sounds. It has parallels in the work of English landscape artists, with Keats himself describing the fields of stubble that he saw on his walk as conveying the warmth of “some pictures”.
The work has been interpreted as a meditation on death; as an allegory of artistic creation; as Keats’s response to the Peterloo Massacre, which took place in the same year; and as an expression of nationalist sentiment. One of the most anthologised English lyric poems, “To Autumn” has been regarded by critics as one of the most perfect short poems in the English language.
“To Autumn” describes, in its three stanzas, three different aspects of the season: its fruitfulness, its labour and its ultimate decline. Through the stanzas there is a progression from early autumn to mid autumn and then to the heralding of winter. Parallel to this, the poem depicts the day turning from morning to afternoon and into dusk. These progressions are joined with a shift from the tactile sense to that of sight and then of sound, creating a three-part symmetry which is not present in Keats’s other odes. As the poem progresses, Autumn is represented metaphorically as one who conspires, who ripens fruit, who harvests, who makes music. The first stanza of the poem represents Autumn as involved with the promotion of natural processes, growth and ultimate maturation, two forces in opposition in nature, but together creating the impression that the season will not end. In this stanza the fruits are still ripening and the buds still opening in the warm weather. Stuart Sperry says that Keats emphasises the tactile sense here, suggested by the imagery of growth and gentle motion: swelling, bending and plumping.
In the second stanza, Autumn is personified as a harvester, to be seen by the viewer in various guises performing labouring tasks essential to the provision of food for the coming year. There is a lack of definitive action, all motion being gentle. Autumn is not depicted as actually harvesting but as seated, resting or watching. In lines 14–15 the personification of Autumn is as an exhausted labourer. Near the end of the stanza, the steadiness of the gleaner in lines 19–20 again emphasises a motionlessness within the poem. The progression through the day is revealed in actions that are all suggestive of the drowsiness of afternoon: the harvested grain is being winnowed, the harvester is asleep or returning home, the last drops issue from the cider press.
The last stanza contrasts Autumn’s sounds with those of Spring. The sounds that are presented are not only those of Autumn but essentially the gentle sounds of the evening. Gnats wail and lambs bleat in the dusk. As night approaches within the final moments of the song, death is slowly approaching alongside the end of the year. The full-grown lambs, like the grapes, gourds and hazelnuts, will be harvested for the winter. The twittering swallows gather for departure, leaving the fields bare. The whistling red-breast and the chirping cricket are the common sounds of winter. The references to Spring, the growing lambs and the migrating swallows remind the reader that the seasons are a cycle, widening the scope of this stanza from a single season to life in general.
Keats most closely describes a paradise as realized on earth while also focusing on archetypal symbols connected with the season. Within the poem, autumn represents growth, maturation and finally an approaching death. There is a fulfilling union between the ideal and the real. In his “Ode to Melancholy” a major theme is the acceptance of the process of life. When this theme appears later in “To Autumn”however, it is with a difference. This time the figure of the poet disappears, and there is no exhortation of an imaginary reader. There are no open conflicts, and “dramatic debate, protest, and qualification are absent”. In process there is a harmony between the finality of death and hints of renewal of life in the cycle of the seasons, paralleled by the renewal of a single day.
According to Helen Vendler, “To Autumn” may be seen as an allegory of artistic creation. As the farmer processes the fruits of the soil into what sustains the human body, so the artist processes the experience of life into a symbolic structure that may sustain the human spirit. This process involves an element of self-sacrifice by the artist, analogous to the living grain’s being sacrificed for human consumption. In “To Autumn”, as a result of this process, the “rhythms” of the harvesting “artist-goddess” “permeate the whole world until all visual, tactile, and kinetic presence is transubstantiated into Apollonian music for the ear,” the sounds of the poem itself. ( As Vendler wrote in 1988 ) : : In 2008, Stanley Plumly wrote, “history, posterity, immortality are seeing ‘Ode to a Nightingale,’ ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn,’ and ‘To Autumn’ as three of the most anthologized lyric poems of tragic vision in English.” : :
Notes for each of the Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem. : : “To Autumn” By John Keats : : Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India October 10 , 2022 : : Vijya Dashami : : Dashera : : : : : : : :
John Clare ( 1793 – 1864 ) by William Hilton, oil on canvas, 1820: : John Clare : A well read genius , often overlooked in accounts of Romantic poetry, but he wrote sensitively and originally about the English countryside and his poetry displays a fine eye for local detail. He is regarded by some as the finest nature poet in the English language.
Autumn
1 I love the fitfull gusts that shakes The casement all the day And from the mossy elm tree takes The faded leaf away Twirling it by the window-pane With thousand others down the lane
2 I love to see the shaking twig Dance till the shut of eve The sparrow on the cottage rig Whose chirp would make believe
That spring was just now flirting by In summers lap with flowers to lie
3 I love to see the cottage smoke Curl upwards through the naked trees The pigeons nestled round the coat On dull November days like these The cock upon the dung-hill crowing The mill sails on the heath agoing
4 The feather from the ravens breast Falls on the stubble lea The acorns near the old crows nest Fall pattering down the tree The grunting pigs that wait for all Scramble and hurry where they fall : : : : : : — John Clare (1793-1864)
John Clare wrote Poetry of Romanticism; but he also wrote intensely about the countryside England. The Four Selected Poems about change taking place in seasons from an autumn to a wintry ‘cuttingcold’ marks him as a Poet of Nature. The Window watching of a leaf fallen from the mossy elmtreeout of a day long activities of fitful bursts of strong wind and then taken away alongwith “thousand others down the lane” after “twirling by the window- pane” is a poetic observation.( Stanza 1 ) : : : :
The sparrow “on the cottage rig” chirping with the “Dance till the shut of eve” alongside “the shaking twig”is a set picture of ‘get up’ becoming flirtatious and tuneful “Spring” with a playful affection shown in “twirling” of theleafand “shaking” of from “casement” to the “twig”; connecting to the change ” In summer’s lap with flowers to lie” . This takes a reader to a scene of mindful exterior. ( Stanza 2 ) :: : :
With the raw cold of “November” the trees become “nacked ” or ‘bare’ allowing the “cottage smoke” in the absence of wind “curling upwards through” it. “The pigeons” draw themselves to close ( in affection or for cozy protection ) : It is their sheltered position ( “nestled round the coat”) , furnishing to cover the surface of their body. Small shelter of pigeons is referred to by a word ‘cote’: John clare is known for his misspelt wordings he usually and cleverly designed to fit in a poem. “The cock upon the dung- hill” tittups around with their running in their ‘self – aggrandising’ proudy ‘walk and talk’ ( “crowing” ) : : “The sparrows” always busy with their normal routines as if “spring” has still continued for them. “The mill” is portrayed as with flying faster and better going on.. . : ” sails on the heath agoing” : : Thus , the animals do not show any sign of ‘cut back’ or ‘ curtailing’ which is contrary perspective unaffected by the changing season : that’s why it is an “Autumn” : A transition taking place towards cutting raw of cold in Winter approaching fast. ( Stanza 3 ) : : : :
Now, “The feather from the ( black bird : Corvus corax ) “ravens” falls on the stubble Lea” ( a field of grass and herbage ) points to its suitability of grazing for ‘livestock’ : : “The acorns near the old crows nest Fall pattering down the tree” : : Here “acorns” ( ey,korns ) are the‘fruits’ of the ‘oak tree’ ( a smooth thin – walled ‘nut’in a woody cup – shaped base ) : near the nest of old crows fall from the oak tree like a gently ‘pitter patter’ sound making rain. And these ‘fruits and nuts’ are the ‘grub’ for the “Pigs”waiting for an aforesaid sound of ” pattering”and “hurry where they fall”: The image of the pigs grubbing up the acorns which are still falling is a last imagery that connects the readers to the evercontinuing movements in the “Autumn”which is to be followed by fast approaching Winter. ( Stanza 4 ) : : : :
As Carol Rumens of the ‘Guardian’ writes : ” But these acorns are not to grow into ‘mighty oaks’. They are food, and the pigs are suddenly in the picture, cumbersome, noisy and eager, part of the glorious fitfullness of the natural scene. just beyond our view – and beyond Romantic convention. Even without the dialect, Clare ensures his poem is wind-blown, moving, alive.” : : : :
“Autumn” By John Clare : Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India October 4 , 2022 : :
William Shakespeare ( 1564- 1616 ), regarded as the foremost dramatist of his time, wrote more than thirty plays and more than one hundred sonnets, all written in the form of three quatrains and a couplet that is now recognized as Shakespearean.
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ( 1564-1616 ) :: That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see’st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by. This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold’ is one of the most widely anthologised sonnets by William Shakespeare, and is often praised as one of the most successfully constructed, and most moving, of all the Sonnets. Shakespeare was probably only in his early thirties when he penned Sonnet 73, and would live for another twenty years – and even then, he died not having reached his biblical threescore yearsand ten. The speaker is saying here is very simple: “You can see that time of year in me.” The sonnet : 73 ( Out of 154 Sonnets written by Shakespeare ) addresses the Fair Youth. Each of the three quatrains contains a metaphor: Autumn, the passing of a day, and the dying out of a fire. Each metaphorproposes a way the young man may see the poet. That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. “Sonnet 73” compares aging to autumn, twilight, and a dying fire. The dying fire is the most final, as the embers are considered “ashes of youth,” and life is over once they are gone. We see countryside (quatrain 1), where we see a tree with facing down the oncoming winter. The first metaphor is about age, the second is about death, and the third is about love. Shakespeare uses the metaphor of a tree in the fall as he compares himself to the tree. he uses the metaphor of nightfall for death. : : : : : : : : “This thou perciev’st which makes thy love more strong. ” Is a paradox because throughout the whole sonnet the speaker emphasizes his death and how the end of everything is near for them, but this line contradicts what the rest of the sonnet because it reveals that their love grew stronger ,instead of dying out. The speaker describes the dark of night as “death’s second self.” What he means by this is that night is just like death in that it is a time of darkness and rest. The difference, however, is that the darkness and rest of death are permanent.
Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
For Stranger—Strangers do not mourn— There be Immortal friends Whom Death see first—’tis news of this That paralyze Ourselves—
Who, vital only to Our Thought— Such Presence bear away In dying—’tis as if Our Souls Absconded—suddenly—
Emily Dickinson
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships In crayon or in wool, With ‘This was last her fingers did,’ Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy, The stitches stopped themselves, And then ‘t was put among the dust Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have, a friend gave, Whose pencil, here and there, Had notched the place that pleased him,– At rest his fingers are.
Now, when I read, I read not, For interrupting tears Obliterate the etchings Too costly for repairs.
Emily Dickinson
382
For Death—or rather For the Things ‘twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
The Things that Death will buy Are Room— Escape from Circumstances— And a Name—
With Gifts of Life How Death’s Gifts may compare— We know not— For the Rates—lie Here—
Emily Dickinson
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bells Put out their tongues, for noon.
It was not frost, for on my flesh I felt siroccos crawl,– Nor fire, for just my marble feet Could keep a chancel cool.
And yet it tasted like them all; The figures I have seen Set orderly, for burial, Reminded me of mine,
As if my life were shaven And fitted to a frame, And could not breathe without a key; And ‘t was like midnight, some,
When everything that ticked has stopped, And space stares, all around, Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, Repeal the beating ground.
But most like chaos,–stopless, cool,– Without a chance or spar,– Or even a report of land To justify despair.
Emily Dickinson
171
Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!
Wait till in Everlasting Robes That Democrat is dressed, Then prate about “Preferment”— And “Station,” and the rest!
Around this quiet Courtier Obsequious Angels wait! Full royal is his Retinue! Full purple is his state!
A Lord, might dare to lift the Hat To such a Modest Clay Since that My Lord, “the Lord of Lords” Receives unblushingly!
Emily Dickinson
408
Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him— The Grave is strict— Tickets admit Just two—the Bearer— And the Borne— And seat—just One— The Living—tell— The Dying—but a Syllable— The Coy Dead—None— No Chatter—here—no tea— So Babbler, and Bohea—stay there— But Gravity—and Expectation—and Fear— A tremor just, that All’s not sure.
Emily Dickinson
573
The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—”so loved”—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—
If smaller Patience—be— Through less Infinity— If Bravo, sometimes swerve— Through fainter Nerve—
Accept its Most— And overlook—the Dust— Last—Least— The Cross’—Request—
Emily Dickinson
907
Till Death—is narrow Loving— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness—be spent—
But He whose loss procures you Such Destitution that Your Life too abject for itself Thenceforward imitate—
Until—Resemblance perfect— Yourself, for His pursuit Delight of Nature—abdicate— Exhibit Love—somewhat—
Emily Dickinson
There’s been a death in the opposite house As lately as to-day. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway.
The neighbors rustle in and out, The doctor drives away. A window opens like a pod, Abrupt, mechanically;
Somebody flings a mattress out,– The children hurry by; They wonder if It died on that,– I used to when a boy.
The minister goes stiffly in As if the house were his, And he owned all the mourners now, And little boys besides;
And then the milliner, and the man Of the appalling trade, To take the measure of the house. There’ll be that dark parade
Of tassels and of coaches soon; It’s easy as a sign,– The intuition of the news In just a country town.
Emily Dickinson
Love—is that later Thing than Death— More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—
Tastes Death—the first—to hand the sting The Second—to its friend— Disarms the little interval— Deposits Him with God—
Then hovers—an inferior Guard— Lest this Beloved Charge Need—once in an Eternity— A smaller than the Large—
Emily Dickinson
971
Robbed by Death—but that was easy— To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
For Her Jugular Defences— This, too, I endured— Hint of Glory—it afforded— For the Brave Beloved—
Fraud of Distance—Fraud of Danger, Fraud of Death—to bear— It is Bounty—to Suspense’s Vague Calamity—
Stalking our entire Possession On a Hair’s result— Then—seesawing—coolly—on it— Trying if it split—
Emily Dickinson
468
The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ‘Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ‘Twas Major Andre’s Way—
When Choice of Life—is past— There yet remains a Love Its little Fate to stipulate—
How small in those who live—
The Miracle to tease With Bable of the styles— How “they are Dying mostly—now”— And Customs at “St. James”!
Emily Dickinson
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be.
Bait it with the balsam, Seek it with the saw, Baffle, if it cost you Everything you are.
Then, if it have burrowed Out of reach of skill – Wring the tree and leave it, ‘Tis the vermin’s will.
Notes for each of the lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem : : V Jayaraj Pune India October 1 , 2022 : : ભાદરવા સુદ છઠ: : : : ::
Portrait of John Donne : ( 1572 – 1631 ) : In his later life, he converted from Catholicism to Anglicanism, the official Church of England. His later poems reflect his deep religious faith and his life as an ordained priest and dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. : : The Holy Sonnets, which is a series of 19 poems written by Donne that center on his religious beliefs and ideals.
Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud BY JOHN DONNE( 1572 – 1631 ) : : : : Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
“Sonnet X”, also known by its opening words as “Death Be Not Proud”, is a fourteen-line poem, or sonnet, by English poet John Donne (1572–1631), one of the leading figures in the metaphysical poets group of seventeenth-century English literature. Written between February and August 1609, it was first published posthumously in 1633. It is included as one of the nineteen sonnets that comprise Donne’s Holy Sonnets or Divine Meditations, among his best-known works. Most editions number the poem as the tenth in the sonnet sequence, which follows the order of poems in the Westmoreland Manuscript (c. 1620), Donne had a major illness that brought him close to death during his eighth year as an Anglican minister. The illness may have been typhoid fever, but in recent years it has been shown that he may have had a relapsing fever in combination with other illnesses. The sonnet has an ABBA ABBA CDDC EE rhyme scheme (“eternalLY” is meant to rhyme with “DIE”).
“Death Be Not Proud” presents an argument against the power of death. Addressing Death as a person, the speaker warns Death against pride in his power. Such power is merely an illusion, and the end Death thinks it brings to men and women is in fact a rest from world-weariness for its alleged “victims.” The poet criticizes Death as a slave to other forces: fate, chance, kings, and desperate men. Death is not in control, for a variety of other powers exercise their volition in taking lives. Even in the rest it brings, Death is inferior to drugs. Finally, the speaker predicts the end of Death itself, stating “Death, thou shalt die.”
The poem’s opening words are echoed in a contemporary poem, “Death be not proud, thy hand gave not this blow”, sometimes attributed to Donne, but more likely by his patron Lucy Harington Russell, Countess of Bedford. The last line alludes to 1 Corinthians 15:26: “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death”.
In the Pulitzer Prize–winning play Wit by Margaret Edson (and the film adaptation with Emma Thompson), the sonnet plays a central role. The poem was set for voice and piano by Benjamin Britten as the concluding song in his song cycle The Holy Sonnets of John Donne. : : : : : : : : : : CLICK HERE In BELOW to enjoy the song : : : : : : : :
Notes for each of the 14 lines : Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem : : : : V Jayaraj Pune India : : September 30 , 2022 : : ભાદરવા સુદ પાંચમ : : પાંચમું નોરતું : : : :
“The Raven” depicts a mysterious raven’s midnight visit to a mourning narrator, as illustrated by John Tenniel (1858). “Not the least obeisance made he”, as illustrated by Gustave Doré (1884). The raven perches on a bust of Pallas Athena, a symbol of wisdom meant to imply the narrator is a scholar. Illustration by Édouard Manet for Stéphane Mallarmé’s translation, Le Corbeau (1875). An illustration by Édouard Manet, from Mallarmé’s translation, depicting the first two lines of the poem. : : In 1858 “The Raven” appeared in a British Poe anthology with illustrations by John Tenniel, the Alice in Wonderland illustrator (The Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe: With Original Memoir, London: Sampson Low). : : “The Raven” was published independently with lavish woodcuts by Gustave Doré in 1884 (New York: Harper & Brothers). Doré died before its publication. : : Many 20th-century artists and contemporary illustrators created artworks and illustrations based on “The Raven”, including Edmund Dulac, István Orosz , and Ryan Price. : :
The Raven BY EDGAR ALLAN POE Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”— Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!
The Raven” is a “narrative poem” by American writer Edgar Allan Poe. First published in January 1845, the poem is often noted for its musicality, stylized language, and supernatural atmosphere. It tells of a talking raven’s mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man’s slow descent into madness.. The lover, often identified as a student, is lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore. Sitting on a bust of Pallas, the raven seems to further distress the protagonist with its constant repetition of the word “Nevermore”. The poem makes use of folk, mythological, religious, and classical references. As Poe explained in his 1846 follow-up essay, “The Philosophy of Composition”. The poem was inspired in part by a talking raven in the novel Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of Eighty by Charles Dickens. Poe based the complex rhythm and meter on Elizabeth Barrett’s poem “Lady Geraldine’s Courtship”, and makes use of internal rhyme as well as alliteration throughout. The poem was written the poem logically and methodically, with the intention to create a poem that would appeal to both critical and popular tastes. It remains one of the most famous poems ever written. “The Raven” was first attributed to Poe in print in the New York Evening Mirror on January 29, 1845. Its publication made Poe popular in his lifetime, although it did not bring him much financial success. The poem was soon reprinted, parodied, and illustrated.
An unnamed narrator on a dreary night in December who sits reading “forgotten lore” by a dying fire as a way to forget the death of his beloved Lenore. A “tapping at [his] chamber door” reveals nothing, but excites his soul to “burning”. The tapping is repeated, slightly louder, and he realizes it is coming from his window. When he goes to investigate, a raven flutters into his chamber. Paying no attention to the man, the raven perches on a bust of Pallas above the door.
Amused by the raven’s comically serious disposition, the man asks that the bird tell him its name. The raven’s only answer is “Nevermore”. The narrator is surprised that the raven can talk, though at this point it has said nothing further. The narrator remarks to himself that his “friend” the raven will soon fly out of his life, just as “other friends have flown before” along with his previous hopes. As if answering, the raven responds again with “Nevermore”. The narrator reasons that the bird learned the word “Nevermore” from some “unhappy master” and that it is the only word it knows.
Even so, the narrator pulls his chair directly in front of the raven, determined to learn more about it. He thinks for a moment in silence, and his mind wanders back to his lost Lenore. He thinks the air grows denser and feels the presence of angels, and wonders if God is sending him a sign that he is to forget Lenore. The bird again replies in the negative, suggesting that he can never be free of his memories. The narrator becomes angry, calling the raven a “thing of evil” and a “prophet”. Finally, he asks the raven whether he will be reunited with Lenore in Heaven. When the raven responds with its typical “Nevermore”, he is enraged, and, calling the bird a liar, commands it to return to the “Plutonian shore”—but it does not move. At the time of the poem’s narration, the raven “still is sitting”[8] on the bust of Pallas. The raven casts a shadow on the chamber floor and the despondent narrator laments that out of this shadow his soul shall be “lifted ‘nevermore'”.
Cornelius, Kay writes, : ” Poe wrote the poem as a narrative, without intentional allegory or didacticism. The main theme of the poem is one of undying devotion.The narrator experiences a perverse conflict between desire to forget and desire to remember. He seems to get some pleasure from focusing on loss.” ( “Biography of Edgar Allan Poe” in Bloom’s BioCritiques: Edgar Allan Poe ) The main theme of the poem is one of undying devotion. Kopley & Hayes writes, “The narrator experiences a perverse conflict between desire to forget and desire to remember. He seems to get some pleasure from focusing on loss. Hoffman writes, ” Poe leaves it unclear whether the raven actually knows what it is saying or whether it really intends to cause a reaction in the poem’s narrator.” The narrator begins as “weak and weary”, becomes regretful and grief-stricken, before passing into a frenzy and, finally, madness. Christopher F. S. Maligec suggests, ” the poem is a type of elegiac paraclausithyron, an ancient Greek and Roman poetic form consisting of the lament of an excluded, locked-out lover at the sealed door of his beloved.”( (2009) : “‘The Raven’ as an Elegiac Paraclausithyron”. Poe Studies ) : :
Poe says, in “The Philosophy of Composition”,” the narrator is a young scholar. Though this is not explicitly stated in the poem, it is mentioned in “The Philosophy of Composition”. It is also suggested by the narrator reading books of “lore” as well as by the bust of Pallas Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom. He is reading in the late night hours from “many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore”. Similar to the studies suggested in Poe’s short story “Ligeia”, this lore may be about the occult or black magic. This is also emphasized in the author’s choice to set the poem in December, a month which is traditionally associated with the forces of darkness. The use of the raven—the “devil bird”—also suggests this. This devil image is emphasized by the narrator’s belief that the raven is “from the Night’s Plutonian shore”, or a messenger from the afterlife, referring to Pluto, the Roman god of the underworld which is also known as Dis Pater in Roman mythology. A direct ‘allusion’ to Satan also appears: “Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee hereashore…” Poe chose a raven as the central symbol in the story because he wanted a “non-reasoning” creature capable of speech. He decided on a raven, which he considered “equally capable of speech” as a parrot, because it matched the intended tone of the poem. Silverman writes , “Poe said the raven is meant to symbolize “Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance”. : : Meyer writes that ” He was also inspired by Grip, the raven in Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of EightyByCharles Dickens.” : : : : One scene in particular bears a resemblance to “The Raven”: at the end of the fifth chapter of Dickens’s novel, Grip makes a noise and someone says, “What was that—him tapping at the door?” The response is, “‘Tis someone knocking softly at the shutter.”Dickens’s raven could speak many words and had many comic turns, including the popping of a champagne cork, but Poe emphasized the bird’s more dramatic qualities. Poe had written a review of Barnaby Rudge for Graham’s Magazine saying, among other things, that the raven should have served a more symbolic, prophetic purpose. The similarity did not go unnoticed: James Russell Lowell in his “A Fable for Critics” wrote the verse, “Here comes Poe with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge / Three-fifths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge.”
Poe may also have been drawing upon various references to ravens in mythology and folklore. In Norse mythology, Odin possessed two ravens named Huginn and Muninn, representing thought and memory. According to Hebrew folklore, Noah sends a white raven to check conditions while on the ark. It learns that the floodwaters are beginning to dissipate, but it does not immediately return with the news. It is punished by being turned black and being forced to feed on carrion forever.In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, a raven also begins as white before Apollo punishes it by turning it black for delivering a message of a lover’s unfaithfulness. The raven’s role as a messenger in Poe’s poem may draw from those stories.
Nepenthe, a drug mentioned in Homer’s Odyssey, erases memories; the narrator wonders aloud whether he could receive “respite” this way: “Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”Poe also mentions the Balm of Gilead, a reference to the Book of Jeremiah (8:22) in the Bible: “Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?” In that context, the Balm of Gilead is a resin used for medicinal purposes (suggesting, perhaps, that the narrator needs to be healed after the loss of Lenore). In 1 Kings 17:1 – 5 Elijah is said to be from Gilead, and to have been fed by ravens during a period of drought.
Poe also refers to “Aidenn”, another word for the Garden of Eden, though the narrator uses it to ask if he shall reunite with his Lenore in Heaven.
Beyond the poetics, the lost Lenore may have been inspired by events in Poe’s own life as well, either to the early loss of his mother, Eliza Poe, or the long illness endured by his wife, Virginia. : : Silverman believes ,” Ultimately, Poe considered “The Raven” an experiment to “suit at once the popular and critical taste”, accessible to both the mainstream and high literary worlds. Elizabeth Barrett wrote to Poe, “Your ‘Raven’ has produced a sensation, a fit o’ horror, here in England. Some of my friends are taken by the fear of it and some by the music. I hear of persons haunted by ‘Nevermore’.” “The Raven” has influenced many modern works, including Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita in 1955, Bernard Malamud’s “The Jewbird” in 1963 and Ray Bradbury’s “The Parrot Who Met Papa” in 1976.The process by which Poe composed “The Raven” influenced a number of French authors and composers, such as Charles Baudelaire and Maurice Ravel, and it has been suggested that Ravel’s Boléro may have been deeply influenced by “The Philosophy of Composition”.The poem is additionally referenced throughout popular culture in films, television, music, and video games.The painter Paul Gauguin painted a nude portrait of his teenage wife in Tahiti in 1897 titled Nevermore, featuring a raven perched within the room. At the time the couple were mourning the loss of their first child together and Gauguin the loss of his favourite daughter back in Europe.
Notes for each of the Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem. : : : : September, 29 , 2022 : : : : આસો સુદ ચતુર્થી : : નવરાત્રી , ચોથું નોરતું : : : :
Born in 1809, Edgar Allan Poe had a profound impact on American and international literature as an editor, poet, and critic. : : Illustration by Henry Sandham for an 1886 edition of the poem. Scanned color illustrated book, via Internet Archive.
Lenore Edgar Allan Poe – 1809-1849
Ah broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll!–a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?–weep now or never more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read–the funeral song be sung!– An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young– A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
“Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, “And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her–that she died! “How shall the ritual, then, be read?–the requiem how be sung “By you–by yours, the evil eye,–by yours, the slanderous tongue “That did to death the innocent that died, and died so young?”
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel so wrong! The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride– For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes– The life still there, upon her hair–the death upon her eyes.
“Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, “But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan of old days! “Let no bell toll!–lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, “Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth. “To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven– “From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven– “From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven.”
From The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, vol. II, 1850. For other versions, please visit The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore site: http://www.eapoe.org
“Lenore” is a poem by the American author Edgar Allan Poe. It began as a different poem, “A Paean”, and was not published as “Lenore” until 1843.. The title “A Pæan”. This early version was only 11 quatrains and the lines were spoken by a bereaved husband. The name “Lenore” was not included; it was not added until it was published as “Lenore” in February 1843 in The Pioneer, a periodical published by the poet and critic James Russell Lowell. Poe was paid $10 for this publication. The poem had many revisions in Poe’s lifetime. Its final form was published in the August 16, 1845, issue of the Broadway Journal while Poe was its editor. The original version of the poem is so dissimilar from “Lenore” that it is often considered an entirely different poem. Both are usually collected separately in anthologies. A character by the name of Lenore, thought to be a deceased wife, is central to Poe’s poem “The Raven” (1845). Lenore features as one of the main characters of Shipwrecked’s “Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party” (2016), where she is a corporeal ghost haunting Poe’s home and acting as his roommate.
MADHU MALTI 