True Love in this differs from gold and clay, That to divide is not to take away. Love is like understanding, that grows bright, Gazing on many truths; 'tis like thy light, Imagination! which from earth and sky, And from the depths of human phantasy, As from a thousand prisms and mirrors, fills The Universe with glorious beams, and kills Error, the worm, with many a sun-like arrow Of its reverberated lightning.
― Treeship, Saturday, 27 September 2014 03:53 (four years ago) Permalink
this kind of optimism feels impossible now. maybe it was then too:
Thus suicidal selfishness, that blightsThe fairest feelings of the opening heart,Is destined to decay, whilst from the soilShall spring all virtue, all delight, all love,And judgment cease to wage unnatural warWith passion's unsubduable array.
― Treeship, Saturday, 27 September 2014 03:56 (four years ago) Permalink
i like how shelley is overtly political and his poetry is inseparable from his role as a would be cultural revolutionary. he plays with myths and his longer poems can require some parsing, but there really was nothing mystical about his personality or outlook which distinguishes him from most other poets. rather than turning his attention to the mystery and ambiguity of the human experience, shelley seems much more interested in questions of justice... the quarrel with others rather than ourselves.
not a shelley scholar so this picture could very well be off the mark. but his sensibility seems very distinctive compared to the other English Romantics.
― Treeship, Saturday, 27 September 2014 04:07 (four years ago) Permalink
Byron came close (which makes sense -- they were bros).
― guess that bundt gettin eaten (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Saturday, 27 September 2014 11:41 (four years ago) Permalink
anyway he's classic: "Alastor," "Mont Blanc," "Epipsychidion," even Prometheus Unbound. I'd love to read a good feminist essay on "Epipsychidion."
My favorite of his lyrics. Dante Gabriel Rossetti obv studied it:
When passion's trance is overpast,If tenderness and truth could last,Or live, whilst all wild feelings keepSome mortal slumber, dark and deep,I should not weep, I should not weep!
It were enough to feel, to see,Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly,And dream the rest--and burn and beThe secret food of fires unseen,Couldst thou but be as thou hast been.
After the slumber of the yearThe woodland violets reappear;All things revive in field or grove,And sky and sea, but two, which moveAnd form all others, life and love.
― guess that bundt gettin eaten (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Saturday, 27 September 2014 11:43 (four years ago) Permalink
From an English surname, a variant of the surname Bush, which originally indicated a person who lived near a bush.
― ogmor, Saturday, 27 September 2014 11:51 (four years ago) Permalink
― 龜, Saturday, 27 September 2014 12:42 (four years ago) Permalink
the first post on this thread is some of my fav Shelley ever (even if 'Epipsychidion' as a whole is kind of a mess)
― Your hippie magic has no effect on (bernard snowy), Saturday, 27 September 2014 12:52 (four years ago) Permalink
"To the Lord Chancellor" is good too, hadn't read that one until recently
Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold, Truth trampled, Nature's landmarks overthrown, And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold, Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne.
― Your hippie magic has no effect on (bernard snowy), Saturday, 27 September 2014 12:56 (four years ago) Permalink
His one trad verse play The Cenci is powerful.
― guess that bundt gettin eaten (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Saturday, 27 September 2014 12:56 (four years ago) Permalink
He is an odd one in terms of mysticism – so much of him points that way (world spirit, neo/platonism, visionary animism) but really he's of this world and it's like he's trying to redeem or crack through materialism (which he's v serious about early on iirc) with imagination & feeling. It all fits so well – tyranny is a kind of dead matter, dead heart, death, evil (The Cenci is great on this, the patriarchal-papal evil power).
His verse is a bit cloudy for me to really love him and I don't really get it on some scholarly/history of ideas level either – like I do not get his trip from Queen Mab to the Triumph of Life, where it comes from – but I always enjoy my bursts of reading him. I sometimes feel he's a bit neglected now.
(also fascinated by just how important he was for about a hundred years after his death – *the* radical inspiration till the full rediscovery of Blake)
― woof, Monday, 29 September 2014 11:35 (four years ago) Permalink
& yes Alfred otm about Byron – I don't know his work broadly (never read Childe Harold, Manfred, Cain, any serious gloomy Romantic Byron really) but he's got similar political lines and is a better poet of the rough-and-tumble world in some regards – more practical but less coherent and less truly radical maybe – remains the aristocrat – (though I like that moment in Juan where he tells the reader "I wish men to be free/As much from mobs as kings—from you as me"). His love of the Dryden/Pope line makes him a bit easier for me to get on with at length.
― woof, Monday, 29 September 2014 13:06 (four years ago) Permalink
tbf on his current public rep, the 20s working class radicals in BBC1's The Village seem to wander round reading the lions-after-slumber revolutionary bits of Shelley – was happy and surprised to notice that
― woof, Monday, 29 September 2014 14:47 (four years ago) Permalink
Don Juan isn't meant to be finished but reading any section in excerpt will bring the laffs. His serious work (Cain, Manfred) is professional but dull.
― guess that bundt gettin eaten (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Monday, 29 September 2014 14:53 (four years ago) Permalink
yes, Don Juan + a good selection of the letters & journals give the best of Byron – brilliant, startling and fun, but also bursts of yawning-void melancholy – and there's another tone, an odd one that I can't quite put my finger on, it's partly the melancholy, partly a modern self-consciousness (having this strange life of fame and knowing how strange it is, and feeling tired by it). That's not quite it.
(but fun! It's the constant stream of doing stuff - ok, you're buying arms for partisans. ok, you've got massively into learning Armenian etc etc)
― woof, Monday, 29 September 2014 15:33 (four years ago) Permalink
Nature rejects the monarch, not the man;The subject, not the citizen; for kingsAnd subjects, mutual foes, forever playA losing game into each other's hands,Whose stakes are vice and misery. The manOf virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.Power, like a desolating pestilence,Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience,Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,Makes slaves of men, and of the human frameA mechanized automaton.
^this is from Queen Mab. I love his completely un-cynical view of humanity. Rather than look at an unjust world and declare that it must be an expression of some selfish element within human nature, Shelley begins from the individual, and her inherent desire for freedom, and declares that this is the true human nature and society needs to accommodate it through fundamental transformation. I don't know if there are many other passages that reveal why the imagination and the individual were so sacred to Romanticism, and how this obsession could be emancipatory and social rather than solipsistic.
― Treeship, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 00:12 (four years ago) Permalink
― xyzzzz__, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 08:58 (four years ago) Permalink
Just radicalizing the thread.
― xyzzzz__, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 08:59 (four years ago) Permalink
Thinking some more, I do prefer Blake as a poet of that kind of total psyche-and-nation Romantic revolution – more explosive and more nuanced, & sensitive to ambivalences from the beginning.
It's not really a fair comparison (Shelley was so young – dead by the age Blake even starts creating great books, & of course Blake a total artist, not just a poet), but it brings out things that nag at me about Shelley. I am wary of the long British tradition of aristocratic radicalism – on the one hand, it's great having someone who doesn't really have to work saying 'no, I am on your side and here are the ideals that you shouldn't forget in the grind' and it's a lot easier to shout at Castlereagh if you won't be hauled up for it; on the other, the fuckers don't have a clue about work. (Though actually that reversionary tradition of accumulating debts that they hope to clear with an inheritance or land sale might have some relevance now?) There's also a generational thing – Blake belongs to the proper era of Revolution, old enough to see both America and France turn, and then to see the latter collapse. The Shelley generation are belated (so… Napoleon takes the crown somewhere in his early adolescence?) – I suppose his optimism is the more admirable for that, but also maybe slightly out of the real fiery era. (Shooting in the dark a bit here - my history is v sketchy in this stretch)
― woof, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 09:41 (four years ago) Permalink
I remember liking that Paul Foot book
― woof, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 09:42 (four years ago) Permalink
Shelley was around to write some memorably sarcastic lines 'On hearing the news of the death of Napoleon', if that helps you any
― Vomit of a Missionary (bernard snowy), Tuesday, 30 September 2014 10:35 (four years ago) Permalink
Right – but it's roughly what you'd expect – Napoleon's the betrayer of revolutionary ideals for a lot of radicals, & the younger gen only really saw the new-monarchy side of him. (Of the Romantics, it's only Hazlitt that I can think of who's pro-Napoleon into the 1810s).
― woof, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 10:52 (four years ago) Permalink
have you read Hazlitt's essay on Wordsworth?
― guess that bundt gettin eaten (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Tuesday, 30 September 2014 10:54 (four years ago) Permalink
The Spirit of the Age one? Yes – it's very fair ambivalence, generous even (given he's writing when W has become a bore) – the mix of youthful personal acquaintance, political difference & early culture-revolutionary inspiration means he's in a delicate tangle when he's thinking about Wordsworth, I always enjoy it.
― woof, Tuesday, 30 September 2014 11:20 (four years ago) Permalink
What is the best (or 'your favorite' if that distinction matters to you) poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley?
Because I'm prreetttty sure my favorite is either Stanzas written in dejection or Ode to the West Wind, but I've not read everything the man wrote, not by a long shot -- so if anyone here has a(n e)special favorite among the longer works, I'd love to hear your take.
― bernard snowy, Wednesday, 1 April 2015 00:32 (three years ago) Permalink
"The Witch of Atlas," bits of Alastor, and the brief lyric "When Passion's Trance is Overpast."
― guess that bundt gettin eaten (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Wednesday, 1 April 2015 00:35 (three years ago) Permalink
Got my copy of Paul Foot’s Red Shelley today. A completely banged up, partially moldy, certainly water damaged paperback but I’m stoked.
― treeship 2, Saturday, 17 February 2018 18:36 (nine months ago) Permalink
Shelley and I have never played well together, largely because when I wished to learn how to be a poet I strenuously rejected both his style and his persona as examples I wanted to emulate. Under the circumstances, I could never read him for pleasure because I was constantly resisting him.
― A is for (Aimless), Saturday, 17 February 2018 18:47 (nine months ago) Permalink
bysshe don't kill my vibe
― F# A# (∞), Saturday, 17 February 2018 19:22 (nine months ago) Permalink
I read Richard Holmes' Shelley: The Pursuit in December: he was a horror as a husband and father but what a liberal. And I love "Mont Blanc," "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty," and the addled parts of Prometheus Unbound more than I did in college. The Cenci should be part of any lit class on tragedy.
― morning wood truancy (Alfred, Lord Sotosyn), Saturday, 17 February 2018 19:27 (nine months ago) Permalink