Dear Romanticists,
Thanks for your thoughtful posts on Smith’s poetry
this week! Elegiac Sonnets might initially strike a reader as monotonously
miserable, but you all point out that there are various layers or degrees to
Smith’s representation of suffering.
Elisheva notes that the intensity of pain ranges from mild to full-blown
trauma, and Avigail traces an evolution from struggle to resignation. Moreover, the act of “musing” on or
articulating her suffering provides Smith with a degree of comfort (as Julie
notes) and perhaps even enjoyment (to use Rachel’s term).
Our main text for Tuesday, Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, differs
greatly from Smith’s elegies in both form and content. Unlike the tight structure and
meditative tone of Smith’s work, Rime
is a long, supernatural narrative told in loose meter and stanzas of varying
size. And yet, there are points of
convergence. Like Smith’s speaker,
the mariner finds a certain relief in representing his sufferings. There is also a degree of mystery to
each tale of woe: though drawing from her own experiences, Smith’s sonnets
never pin down the source of her suffering. In Coleridge’s poem, we witness exactly what happens to our
unfortunate mariner, but why it happens and what it means are by no means
clear.
Post your responses below by Monday noon. And, should you have time, you may wish to check out the famous illustrations of the poem by the nineteenth-century artist Gustave Doré (link is in the sidebar).
Happy reading,
Prof. M.
The game is done!
Post your responses below by Monday noon. And, should you have time, you may wish to check out the famous illustrations of the poem by the nineteenth-century artist Gustave Doré (link is in the sidebar).
Happy reading,
Prof. M.
This poem is quite lengthy, and its plot is more difficult to discern than the meanings of the many misspelled words and their symbolisms. That said, the poem itself is quite beautiful, in its own haunting way, and one is able to derive the general feeling that the narrator(s) is(are) trying to convey even without fully understanding the story. Out of all the poems we’ve read so far, this one is by far the most dreamlike, in both the realm of nightmare (the death-ship) as well as at its opposite (the sea serpents). To me, the stanzas which are longer are both the most vivid in lucidity as well as in that dreamlike state-- an oxymoron, I know, but dreams are loosely based upon reality, and this poem definitely likes to play with the reader’s mind in that sense.
ReplyDeleteWhat interests me most, more than the wonderful descriptions of the Marinere’s experiences, be they fab. icated or otherwise, is why he acted as he did. The entirety of this poem is thrown into action with his shooting of the albatross, yet we are never given an explanation for his actions. The rest of the story is told, for the most part, in the general cause-and-effect fashion, yet the thing that kickstarted it all is neglected a mention. The absence of reason is something that is very much common in dreams, which is why I think that, on top of this story being completely fictitious, the fabled Marinere himself never experienced this adventure-- perhaps he had a dream that such events occurred, or he was delusional when dehydrating on a boat somewhere in the middle of the ocean, but I sincerely doubt that he was cursed by the death ship or saved by blessing a bunch of sea creatures and miraculously taken toward civilization. The appearance of the Voices also makes me think thusly, as there are no names attributed with them, or even characters-- another dream-like quality; they are not specified to be angels as those of the dead men. Additionally, they describe both physical forces-- “the air is cut away before/And closes from behind”-- which essentially is a vacuum of sorts with a propulsion from the rear end of the ship; the metaphysical aspect, however, is how such an effect was achieved, and how two Voices can make that happen. Dreams often try to explain themselves in context with a mixture of what the dreamer knows to be true in reality and “true” in the context of the dreamworld, which I believe happened here.
When Coleridge writes about the conception of Lyrical Ballads, the enormity of what he and Wordsworth were trying to do is put into perspective. They were experimenting with something that had never been done before - and as much as Wordsworth may deny it, they did so together. (Regardless of the end result, I don't believe you can quantify a person's influence on a collaborative process.) Both approaches (Coleridge's focus on the broader scale, of romance in supernatural scenarios and Wordsworth's focus on an individual scale, of romance in personal experience) are equally valid. It's only in hindsight that we (and Wordsworth) give more credit to the second approach.
ReplyDeleteHowever much I wanted to like The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, it's not easy to like. Without the notes beside the margin, I would not have known what was going on. The setting and circumstances of the story are unclear. I know there is an old mariner, and I know he has a long grey beard, and a glittering eye, and he's taking one of three (what?) and there's a wedding. Right from start, one can identify the problem that pervades the entire poem. The imagery is brilliant throughout - conveyed via expert word choices, wonderful meter (I loved the internal rhyme), and the occasional powerful metaphor (for me, it was hit and miss). But while the reader may momentarily feel the mystery and eeriness of the story, there's no apprehension and little compulsion to continue, because it's so hard to care about the Mariner, and his confusing decisions. However, that may be the point. After all, the mariner has to capture people in order to tell his tale. His one-dimensional reception of events, mainly bemoaning what's befallen him, is even sadder when the emotionally detached reader knows the Mariner is not only alone in life, but alone in his sadness.
Being Team Coleridge, I have to point out that Wordsworth and Coleridge were experimenting - and naturally each had different results. But Coleridge did achieve his original purpose: "giving the interest of novelty, by the modifying colors of the imagination." The bizarre supernatural occurrences are captivating. There is emotional truth in the tale. It's to Coleridge's detriment that the emotional truth is one of alienation and sadness. The emotion is therefore harder to reach, and what's left is all style, and little substance.
The Ancient Marinere
ReplyDeleteThe spelling choices are immediately striking. The constant use of “ne” for nay, or no, is possibly intended as a mimicry of sailor-speak, but the creative use of vowel and constant recall, both visually and in pronunciation, Chaucer’s Old English. The unconventional spelling of the title itself feels Chaucerian: “The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere.” When one then reads through the poem, one finds that the word “marinere” must be pronounced quiet specifically in order to fulfill its necessary rhyme, and I found my mouth making similar motions as when learning to read Chaucer. This sensation continued throughout, as we find “thorough” for through, “withouten” for without, and lines like “Ne dim ne red.” It was pretty funny to then look down at the notes and see a reference to Chaucer’s Squire’s Tale, for the use of the “the merry minsterlsy.” It seems that Coleridge may have in fact had Chaucer bouncing around his head as he constructed his strange tale.
The Chaucerian comparison continues with Coleridge’s failure, like Chaucer, to fill the frame of the journey-taking tale that the character proposes: the sailor’s “one of three” is soon forgotten; we never see numbers two or three, presumably further audience members, just as Chaucer never finished his Canterbury pilgrimage, but got lost somewhere on the way there or back in his tales and counter-tales, while “Marinere” gets lost in fantastical, dreamy vision. Also similar is the melding of classes in “Marinere,” as in Canterbury: here, we have an old, (crazy?) sailor, wharf-rat type canoodling with a presumably more upper crust “wedding guest,” who is awaiting a “feast” and merriment. Chaucer gave us a fabulous (impossible) hodge-podge of his society, all thrown together by the delightful chance of pilgrimage.
Of course, there are obvious differences between this poem and Canterbury. This poem does have some structural fulfillment, in as much as this poem can be called on to fulfill anything at all, in that the sailor gets “back to his own country,” whereas we’ll never know if Chaucer’s pilgrims make it to Canterbury. But, most crucially, the difference between the 2 works is that Chaucer’s tales were brilliantly composed, incisive commentaries on his time, on specific persons, as well as fabulous entertainment; this poem is just insane (-but I really hope I get some clarity on why this isn’t just a boatload of crazy…!).
Based on the final paragraphs of the Rime, the Ancient Mariner's purpose is to impress the value of life on the Wedding-Guest. "He prayeth well who loveth well / Both man and bird and beast," says the Ancient Mariner, referring to the albatross and the other sailors, all of whom seemed to have died through the Mariner's actions. Only once the Mariner admired the slimy beasts of the ocean (earlier in his story) was he able to pray, and reconnect with his G-d.
ReplyDeleteAs a result of this story, the Wedding-Guest learns to value not only the lives of animals and other people, but his own life, as well, for he does not end up going to the wedding, but is "stunned," and has become "A sadder and a wiser man." He realizes life isn't about merriment. Perhaps the Wedding-Guest realized that he had the wrong intentions when he wanted to go to the wedding--simply because, "I am next of kin"--he had felt that he was an important guest, plus "the feast is set"--there will be food--and "merry din," fun. The Wedding-Guest hadn't viewed the wedding as the beginning of new life (the opportunity for children) until the Ancient Mariner told him his story.
That's the obvious meaning (open to various interpretations, obviously, but the gist is there). I think there is also a semi-horror-themed plot hidden within the fantastical elements of Ancient Mariner's Rime.
The spirits and other religious/fantasy creatures are meant to be the explanation for why the Ancient Mariner survives when everyone else dies of thirst, and why the sailors die and yet continue to occasionally sail the ship, and why the killing of the albatross seems to initiate all these events, and so on. What I mean is, whenever something completely unrealistic happens, angels or spirits are cited as the cause.
ReplyDeleteSome supernatural creatures include "the spirit that plagued us so; / Nine fathom deep," "the spectre-ship" carrying Death, and a "seraph-band," among others.
I think that the horror hidden within these images that the Ancient Mariner describes is that he ate his fellow sailors in order to survive the journey. This would explain why he blames himself for their deaths ("what evil looks had I from old and young"--he feels their dead eyes glaring) and feels like he has an albatross hanging around his neck; although they died from thirst, once he starts eating them to save himself (it's possible to drink the fluid in spines and eyes and survive). He never really killed the albatross--or maybe he did, but of course, that is not why everyone dies.
Other hints that the Ancient Mariner resorts to cannibalism to survive is when he is the only one who can speak to announce the Death Ship because he "bit my arm, and sucked the blood" while the other sailors were obviously already dead: "With throat unslaked, with black lips baked... / And all at once their breath drew in." He drinks, perhaps his own blood, or perhaps the spinal fluid of another sailor, but all the others are (quite graphically) dried out and dead already. "And every soul, it passed me by / Like the whiz of my crossbow."
"I fear thee and thy glittering eye, / And thy skinny hand so brown --" says the Wedding-Guest, clearly sensing that the Ancient Mariner had been very desperate in his story, and is reliving that desperation with intensity as he retells the tale. The Wedding-Guest is subconsciously worried for his life.
More language that hints at this: "And a million million slimy things / Lived on -- and so did I." These lines draw a connection between "slimy things" and the Mariner.
The hermit randomly talks about "the wolf below / That eats the she-wolf's young"--another reference to cannibalism.
When the Mariner realizes that his own life has value, too, and he is not considered a murderer for trying to save his own life by eating the bodies of his dead comrades, he no longer feels guilty and the weight of the albatross falls away--this happens when he sees that even the water-snakes, which could be the same as the "slimy things" he compares himself to earlier, are "happy living things" and he "blessed them unaware." The Ancient Mariner gives himself a blessing to continue to try to survive, as well, at that point--subconsciously.
All the angels, and spirits, and apparitions the Ancient Mariner talks about are hallucinations or defense mechanisms brought about by his obviously traumatic experience.