Excellent work in discussion on Tuesday. Despite our conversational wanderings– a Romantic tendency, after all– we developed a complex understanding of loneliness and loss in Robinson's poetry. These will be important themes in the works of Coleridge, too, and in fact one of his most famous early works you will recognize a familiar figure of isolation:
A sordid solitary thing,
Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart,
Through courts and cities the smooth savage roams
Feeling himself, his own low self the whole,
When he by sacred sympathy might make
The whole one self!
("Religious Musings," ll. 168-173, p. 630 in our anthology)
Coleridge's savage is a generalization while Robinson's is a real-life, particular person; similarly, Coleridge writes not a narrative but a philosophical meditation, inflected with his Unitarian faith. Unitarian Christianity's central tenet is the unity or oneness of God (as opposed to the Trinitarian belief in a three-person God), and that yet at the same time God exists everywhere, in everyone, perceptibly. Again from "Religious Musings":
There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind
Omnific. His most holy name is LOVE–
Truth of subliming import! with the which
Who feeds and saturates his constant soul,
He from his small particular orbit flies
With blessed outstarting! (119-124)
Not only is God one, but because God is in all of us, all humans are one as well. Such a belief should vanquish loneliness. "Saturate" your soul with this faith and you will cease to contained within the confines of your own small, individual, fragmentary life.
However, what you believe intellectually and what you feel emotionally are not always the same. Alongside his beliefs in and hopes for universal community, Coleridge struggled throughout his life with feelings of isolation and fragmentation. A year after he finished "Religious Musings" he wrote to a friend:
I can at times feel strongly the beauties you describe– in themselves and for themselves. But more frequently all things appear little– all the knowledge that can be acquired, child's play; the universe itself, what but an immense heap of little things? I can contemplate nothing but parts, and parts are all little! My mind feels as if itched to behold something great, something one and indivisible... (Letter to John Thelwall, p. 638 in our anthology).
As you'll see, Coleridge was dogged by the sense of fragments and parts in the form of his poems as well as their content. Whether we're talking personal relationships or poetic articulations, little in Coleridge's life feels whole. Keep an eye out for that particular form of isolation.
Post your responses below. Meanwhile, enjoy the 1885 diagram of what is perhaps the most potent image of British Romantic poetry: the aeolian harp.
Happy holidays, and happy reading,
Prof. M.
Coleridge is obsessed with the feeling of being with people, or at least in view of other people, and being alone despite that physical or visual proximity. However, he often sees himself with a disability that keeps him from making that connection-- in “This Lime Tree Bower, My Prison”, it is his injured foot, while in “Frost at Midnight”, it is merely time which prevents him to connecting to a greater and more advanced future.
ReplyDeleteStill, within the debilitation and distance, he does feel a close connection with these people. In “This Lime Tree”, he is constantly referring to his friends, especially the “gentle-hearted Charles”, and while he does describe the scenery from his vantage point in the house, he is more concerned with the fact that his friend had yearned to be in the country and amidst nature for so long, and that he might never see him again and was robbed of his time with his friend by a mere injury to the foot; he can see nature, and that is enough for him, but he cannot achieve the Romantic ideal of nature, that being connection with the natural world being the medium. In the case of “Frost at Midnight”, the natural world accents his solitude, disturbing its would-be-peacefulness with searing silence. In this case, his child is his grounding point, but at the same time, they are not as connected as he would like.
Something that Coleridge does that other poets have not thus far is keep his train of thought in the poem itself-- he comments on his own musings, instead of editing them out, and it gives the feeling of holding a conversation with himself and/or the reader. Reading poetry is an active, companionable experience according to the theory of Lyrical Ballads, and he certainly embodies the principles he lauds.
"Sleep prolonged my dreams!" Coleridge writes in "Frost at Midnight." That line really struck me as a major key to the poet's philosophy. He is a citizen of the dream-world, whether or not he's awake, and he relates to reality through that perspective of a visionary at a distance, but every curious and in awe of what he observes. "The inmates of my cottage" he writes. What a striking noun, "inmates," especially placed immediately next to the wildly conflicting "cottage." But, this is how he relates to the world: he sits in a cottage, a term that conjures memories of fairy tales, but also loneliness and isolation - the "my" is important. They - and who is "they" - leave him to his "solitude" and his "abstruser musings" after a long day of attempting to relate, connect, be normal.... And now, in the dark of night, he can give way to his thoughts, but only because they do remained ingrained in the cellar of his mind. They are his captives, accessible for when he desires their use, company, inspiration; but, they also make demands, as he clearly finds respite now that they are "all at rest." This is his strange relationship with the world and reality, capturing it, thriving on its inspiration, and, at the same time, tortured by it. Always, always, he has that "cradled infant" slumbering by his side... "Tis calm indeed!-" he writes, but the biggest irony is that this assertion of calm ends in an exclamation point and a frazzled dash in the middle of a line, creating disruption and unrest. But, he always and forever will continue to "dream," finding rapturous amazement in the "numberless goings-on in life."
ReplyDeleteThe glaring contradiction in Coleridge's The Lime-Tree Bower My Prison is identified (as per usual, really) in the title of the poem. While examining themes of imprisonment and isolation, Coleridge creates beautiful, vivid imagery of scenes in Nature. Capitol N: that spiritual thing which connects all of us. Isolation, and Connectedness. Hence: a contradiction. Coleridge paints a full portrait, and reaches a meaningful conclusion when recounting the push-and-pull of these two elements. But can his conclusion represent a unified, complete idea, when dealing with such opposite forces..?
ReplyDeleteThe first stanza establishes the poet's unfortunate imprisonment. It's pretty dark, with talk of loss, of inevitable aging and blindness (the ultimate prison), and friends "whom I may never more meet again". (6) Let not his lack of conviction in certain doom and separation fool you. It's not hopeful. It's anxiety-inducing. But really, it could be either - it's a matter of perspective. Whether for good or for bad, the window - literal and figurative (the hopeful-or-anxious-window of possibility for a different future) - is the reason Coleridge launches into his recounting his imagination. Or, foolish delusions. (Again, it's a matter of perspective.)
The first verse was centered on the poet and his sadness, while the second is focused on Charles and the outside world, its beautiful scenery. Like the hilly fields and ocean described, this stanza varies in emotion. Scattered exclamation points indicate an uncontrollable excitement (or pathetic desperation?) when experiencing the scenes of nature. Compensating for his confinement, the wide wide wideness of the expanse is overly emphasized. His mind is capable of taking him anywhere. And in the magnificent scene, he finds spiritual comfort.
It's in the third stanza in which he reconciles his reality and imagination. The poet, now back in his prison, returns with the belief "that Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure." If the heart remains receptive to Love and Beauty, there is no place where one can be completely disconnected from Life. Capitol L.
Aw. In answer to whether Coleridge can make this contradiction work, reach a full conclusion, apparently the answer is yes. Joy, and Life, and Beauty, and Nature clearly triumphs over isolation. After all, without darkness, how could one know and appreciate light? Darkness is necessary, but wherever one may be, one can always feel at one with Nature, if only they wish to seek it. Case closed.
--but, not really. Because Coleridge has to know how stupid that sounds. As his beautiful revelation reaches a close - and it is beautiful - in the stillness of that moment, that doesn't matter. Coleridge is undeniably alone, away from Charles. And while in his imagination/delusion, every "gentle-hearted Charles" was followed by an exclamation point, Coleridge must return to his inescapable suck-y reality where "gentle-hearted Charles!" is just "gentle-hearted Charles". Despite Coleridge coming to the conclusion that all you need is Love, he had to hallucinate his friend to arrive there. Sure, Coleridge can try to fit any sound into his perception of Life, Beauty, G-d... But ultimately, the exclamations slow, the imagery darkens. All that delusion, that hope - whichever way you look at it - it's exhausting. And unsustainable. And thus, there is a sense of emptiness in what should be a solid, powerful conclusion.
"The Nightingale"
ReplyDeleteI think it's ironic that Coleridge tells people not to interpret nature based on one's own emotions. In fact, it almost seems like he is making fun of himself and his style of writing poetry: "And so, poor wretch! fill’d all things with himself, / And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale / Of his own sorrow" (19-21). Coleridge does fill his poetry, which is in turn full of descriptions of nature, with his own emotions. From what I have read of Coleridge's poetry, it doesn't seem that it is full of "sorrow," however, so that part of the line may just be referring to the first person who decided nightingales are sad. (Coleridge's poems are often filled with wild emotion and exhilaration. It could be that this is how he expresses sorrow, or perhaps he just always felt sad and writing poems helped him deal with that.)
Also, Coleridge describes the nightingale's song as "jug jug." I immediately thought of all the other poets who already describe the song this way, including Shakespeare, right? T. S. Eliot ironically makes use of this theme, that the nightingale's song is written as "jug jug," in his "The Waste Land." So, if Coleridge was trying to be different by saying nightingale's are happy, he should have changed their song, too. I listened to the nightingale's chirp on YouTube and it sounds like a high-pitched repeating whistle, some of the time. It also chirps and warbles. It doesn't say "jug jug" any more often than other birds.
Coleridge is probably addressing Wordsworth and Dorothy in this poem (according to the note I read; I wouldn't have realized)--it's actually kind of obvious when he refers to "My Friend, and thou, our Sister!" Maybe Coleridge is being sarcastic when he says using pathetic fallacy is wrong when it provides nature with sad emotions. "...we may not thus profane / Nature’s sweet voices, always full of love / And joyance!" (41-43) I think it's the exclamation marks which are a little too manic to be serious. When Coleridge started his last three stanzas with introductions to a new place and new people, I also got a whiff reminiscent of Wordsworth. "And I know a grove" sounds like something Wordsworth could have written, maybe because it is a blunt introduction and Coleridge tends to slip his characters into his poems quietly. In both "Frost at Midnight" and "This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison," Coleridge's baby and friend are introduced mid-line.
Coleridge also shows he is conscious of his readers in this poem. Beyond talking to us directly, he makes us think. First, he references poets writing poetry about nightingales, which is what he is doing, clearly--except these poets simply "echo[] the conceit," while Coleridge goes one better and writes about echoing the conceit. Additionally, at the end, Coleridge says farewell to his friends but seems to be addressing the reader of the poem, too, because the reader can see where he cuts himself off--he is interrupted by "--That strain again!" He is happily delayed by the nightingale's song and cuts himself off, interrupts himself, to talk about his child.