“Lines Written A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworth

(Lines 79-86)

“…The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite: a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.”

Edmund Burke, in his “Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful” clearly (though arguably) differentiates the sublime from the beautiful citing that, among their differences, the highest effect of witnessing something truly sublime is “astonishment.” Burke gives us the idea that the sublime should force us to experience some overwhelming feeling of astonishment, particularly because it instills terror or fear within us.

The aforementioned lines from William Wordsworth’s “Lines Written A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey” demonstrate exactly what Burke would say is the effect of the sublime. Wordsworth describes the natural setting with words to show how vast and terrible it is — the sounding cataract, the tall rock, the deep and gloomy wood — that would instill fear into any person witnessing such a sight. Especially with Wordsworth’s description of what he sees being of a grand scale, Burke would agree that it has the ‘vastness’ aspect of the sublime, as “we are more struck at looking down from a precipice than at looking up at an object of equal height.” Wordsworth builds upon this idea with the imagery of multiple forms of nature: a cataract (a large waterfall), a rock, wood. Not only does this device make nature seem so large, but it would make its witness or reader feel small–mortal.

Yet even with such ominous imagery, both Burke and Wordsworth call upon us to appreciate the emotion we feel upon seeing such a view. Burke believes that the sublime “anticipates our reasonings, and hurries us on by an irresistible force” (astonishment). Wordsworth reflects this idea by expressing that the colours and forms of nature — however terrible or awesome they might seem — create within him an overwhelming appetite, “a feeling and a love.”

“The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner” By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(lines 119-121)
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
water, water, every where,

The repetition of water and the emphasis on “everywhere” creates a sense of vastness, which is one of the components of the sublime according to Edmund Burke. This stanza represents the overwhelming nature of the ocean because it is essentially everywhere, surrounding the mariner and his crew, a deluge on the senses. The language here is relatively simple but something about its simplicity speaks a lot on the narrators astonishment (another component of the sublime) and awe in relation to his surroundings. Think back to a time where something happened to you, something so insane and ridiculous that you couldn’t wrap your head around the situation and your ability for articulation became stunted as a result. Burke says one becomes astonished when the “mind is entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other”. The mariner is stuck in this exact sort of predicament where his consciousness is fixated on the vastness of the ocean and has become almost paralyzed by its enormity.

Burke also states “A perpendicular has more force in forming the sublime, than an inclined plane”. Think of the bystander in relation to the ocean. The bystander, or Mariner in this case is a vertical body in relation to the vast ocean, which is horizontal, almost infinitely so. But in opposition to vastness, is minuteness. The infinitely tiny and small deserves just as much recognition because both extremes are capable of inciting a sense of the sublime. Sometimes, a juxtaposition of something small in conjunction with something exponentially larger enhances the quality of both. This is also found in this stanza, as the narrator inserts the sense of the small with line 120, “And all the boards did shrink”. “Shrink” shows how the narrator feels minuscule compared to the sea. The mariner internalizes this realization and causes him to become astonished.

Burke says, “we become amazed and confounded at the wonders of the minuteness”. I think this makes a lot of sense when you relate this to the seemingly infinite smallness of an atom. It really is incredible when you think about it. An atom, a singular unit of matter that is so small, that certain laws of physics don’t even apply in their sub-atomic realm. I digress, the point is there is a vastness in things large and wide, but also in the world of the minute.

-J.Lo

“Thou was not born for death, immortal Bird!,” Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats (line 61)

Though I don’t particularly agree with Burke’s distinction between  the sublime from beauty, in that he implies a sexist  polarization similar to the masculine versus feminine characterizations, I can see aspects of his argument in various poems we’ve read this semester. Burke argues that “Greatness of dimension is a powerful cause of the sublime” (75). Playing on this notion of greatness, the sublime itself is coded as ‘the great’. We’ve seen these epic and descriptively lustrous scenes in many of the Romantics, and Keats is no exception. I really like this line, because its the most straightforward and literal example of ‘the great’ that I could find. I think that immortality exemplifies that “greatness of dimensions”, and may just be that which is “capable of raising ideas of the sublime”  (Burke 75). Immortality lies with the concept of the infinite, which may seem “light and delicate” (Burke 76) at first glance, but through further analysis we can see it is so much more. Conceptually, to Burke, “the great” should be “rugged and negligent…often makes a strong deviation…ought to be solid, and even massive” (76). Honestly, I can’t think of anything more ‘solid’ than immortality.

On another note, one of the most interesting aspects of the placement of this line–about the immortality of the nightingale–is that it follows these lines: “Darkling I listen; and, for many a time /I have been half in love with easeful Death.” (Keats, lines 51-52). The capitalization of ‘Death’ implies a proper address to a figure, and in a strange way, Death himself may be immortal. This direct contrast between the darkness of Death and the lightness of love also speaks towards Burke’s argument about the sublime. Beauty, or love, is the white and immortality is the black. Though “Black and white may soften, may blend…they are not therefore the same” (Burke 77). According to Burke, there is a “power of black as black” and “white as white” (77) which cannot coexist “together without impairing each other’s power” (Wollstonecraft 88).

This absolute distinction contributes to the significant flaws in Burke’s reasoning, as Wollstonecraft points out in her counterargument of the sublime, but poetry doesn’t necessarily need to be a product of perfect reasoning. Certain lines of Keats really resonate with Burke’s theory of the sublime, but that may just be an unfair interpretation. Who knows if Keats truly intended to implement this vastness of dimension in order to emphasize the concept of the sublime–we certainly don’t.

“We rest–A dream has power to poison sleep; / We rise–One wandering thought pollutes the day” (9-10).

Although I have slight disagreements  with Mr. Burke’s comparison of sublime and beauty, in particular Burke’s position of beauty not to be obscure, and a slightly greater disagreement that beauty should be light and delicate, I will express respect for Mr. Burke’s opinion and share my thoughts on the lines above. But before I do, I should say I had met a lot of young to well-aged females at Baruch college and in my travel, and the last thing I would use to describe their beauty is that they’re “light and delicate” for displaying strength and independence when juggling a full-time job and finding time to attend classes. My second disagreement is with his position on beauty not being obscure, and I should also add my thoughts that true beauty is from the inside and not on the outside, and therefore it is obscure and not obviously clear as Mr. Burke had wrote about.

In regard to the lines above, my believe is that they demonstrate this theory of sublime. My method to understand this literary element, because it was slightly confusing, is to produce an analogy to Marvel Daredevil, the superhero, where Mr. Daredevil sees only the darkness and gloomy criminal world that conjures this feeling of “terrifying fear,”  like the sublime, but instead of evading this fear, Daredevil is attracted to its appeal because it gives him this sense of “exhilaration.” This great delight, as relating to the sublime, is what motivates Daredevil to embrace his supernatural gift and exercise the law (according to netflix) to do good. It is the same idea in the two lines above. The poet says in an abstract, or indirect context, manner that dream has the power to poison our sleep. But we sleep anyhow. We embrace this “exhilarating” feeling after a good night sleep, (then rush back to English 3015 class the next day). Then the poet tells us that “wandering thought pollutes the day.” We daydream anyway. Again, we embrace it because it’s so delightful! despite the negative image being put on it.

-Nhan

The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams, / Ocean, and all the living things that dwell / Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain, / Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,” (84-87).

Edmund Burke differentiates the sublime from beauty. The sublime is a combination of elements that invoke fear and simultaneously, wonder. One passage that exemplifies the sublime is Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Mont Blanc. The key lines are located in the beginning of Stanza 4, “Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain, / Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,” (86-87). In it, Shelley is demonstrating the power and magnitude of nature in the character’s setting. Things like “earthquake, and fiery flood” are things that clearly strike fear into people and threaten their self-preservation. At the same time, these are things that make people marvel at their greatness. In addition to Shelley pointing out the elements of nature, he even helps the reader to bridge this connection to the notion of the sublime by saying, “Within the daedal earth;” (86). Daedal is the key word that signifies something “skillfully or intricately wrought” according to the footnote on page 48. In this sense, not only are the elements of nature frightening and mighty, they are simultaneously put together intricately as if an artist or artisan had crafted them. Within the context of the poem, the speaker uses these elements of nature to compare them to the allure and mysteriousness of the mountain he is gazing upon. The mountain itself is sublime, in the sense that it is humungous and enigmatically difficult to describe, but in this passage, he is saying that his land should be even more sublime than that of the mountain depicted in the poem. The structured chaos of the lightning and earthquakes is what makes his land sublime in comparison to the mountain that is also sublime.

My experience at the Metropolitan museum was amazing! To begin, I took professor Hershinow’s advice to sidestep the $25 fee and gain admission for free. The result is that it wasn’t so much free (everyone must pay at least a penny; a dollar if you pay with plastic), so I am giving anyone reading this a heads up if anyone is interested in acquiring the extra credit. There was so much to see and to photograph that the three hours I had spent there didn’t get me half way through all the floors and exhibits. I thought it would be a disservice to this interesting assignment to just give one picture, so I added a few and will give light details below each of them:

King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinnette of France

• I was thinking this is the best way to remember the beginning of our class when we were discussing the French Revolution. This event in time led to the next guy below:

Emperor Napolean Bonaparte of France

• I am almost definite this is Napoleon. I thought it’d be a nice reference to know what Napoleon actually looked like. The French revolution topic led class discussions to poems from Wordsworth and his preference for nature:

Image of Nature

• I thought this image would draw out the desire to get away from the city and just go behind the MET into Central Park to relax. This nice view of nature is opposite that below:

Image of Dense Forest, depicting my struggle reading poems, and figuring out what’s relevant.

• Yup, I am reminded that, hey, I can read this poem, but what does it mean!? I took advice from discussion and started to use the method below:

Geometric-pattern Tapestry, depicting the symmetric rhythm in poems

• Yes, one of the first things to do is to identify a pattern in a poem, like rhythms or repeated words. Here is a spectacular tapestry from the middle east measuring 73 feet long with symmetric patterns woven into it! If you see on your visit, very good! Lastly, I thought I would end with the below:

Dark-theme chess board

• Class participation is like a chess game; you have to be brave enough to make the move, but also intelligent enough to know what you’re saying. Often times it is difficult to know what to say without the risk of knowing whether it sounds silly.

There you go! There is my adventure through the Metropolitan museum of Art in 3 short hours this Tuesday. If you are inquiring about my other blogs detailing my journey across the globe, sadly I do not have one. But this was a nice adventure anyway!

-Nhan

As we discussed last week, Napoleon’s growing empire brought antiquities (and stories surrounding them) back west—inspiring poems like Shelley’s “Ozymandias.” Turning to Keats, we’ll see more examples of this depiction in verse of the poet’s encounter with the material past.

We happen to have a fantastic resource for encountering the past through objects just a short subway ride from campus. I want to encourage you to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art (you can enter for free) to view some of these antiquities yourself. You might check out the Greek vases or sculptures that Keats writes about or the Egyptian statuary Shelley had in mind. If you have other ideas and want to run them by me, feel free.

To receive extra credit (in the form of a bump in your participation grade), write a short blog post here to reflect on your visit. (Once you’re logged in to the blog, go to the top of the page to the “+new” link, which will bring you to a window to write your post. Let me know if you run into any trouble.) The post should be no longer than 500 words and must be accompanied by an image (a photo you take during your visit of an object you find particularly resonant with one of the poems we’ve read). EDIT: We’re threatening to run up against our space limit for the blog, so please decrease the file size of images you upload. (https://blogs.baruch.cuny.edu/help/#images) You can also link to images uploaded elsewhere if you have another storage space.

This short reflection must be posted before the midterm to receive credit.

Shelley’s premature death at 29 in a boating accident (or was it an accident?) spawned conspiracy theories and romantic (probably inflated) stories. While some surround the nature of his death (was he assassinated?), others begin after his death, focusing on the curious afterlife of his remains.

The Funeral of Shelley, by Louis Edouard Fournier. Painted in 1889, Fournier’s depiction takes quite a bit of poetic license. But we can think of it as part of the Victorian cult following surrounding Shelley. We’ll come back to this when we read the Pre-Raphaelite poets.

Most famously, Shelley’s heart was said to have been snatched from his funeral pyre by his friend, Edward Trelawny. (It might have been his liver.) Shelley’s wife Mary was said to have kept the heart in a silk bag in her desk for decades, until her own death.

Closer to home, supposed fragments of Shelley’s skull (also snatched from the funeral pyre) are currently housed in the New York Public Library! That’s right: if you walk a few blocks from campus (and call ahead), you can view the charred bits of one of England’s greatest poets.

A Brief Article on Shelley’s Skull

More on the NYPL collection of Shelley materials

The memorial to Shelley at Oxford (from which Shelley was expelled) also depicts him as a beautiful corpse. (In reality, Shelley’s body washed ashore after ten days and was largely unrecognizable.)