Spasmodism

The Athenaeum and Gerald Massey

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 16:17:00 +0000

While doing research on the literary magazine The Athenaeum, I stumbled upon some interesting information concerning one of the critics who published various reviews for the magazine (mainly of poetry) from 1858 to 1868, namely, Mr. Gerald Massey. The name immediately jumped out at me because I remembered seeing it mentioned in other contexts as well as some other articles on the spasmodic poets. Then, after a couple seconds, it dawned on me that Gerald Massey is considered to have been a spasmodic poet himself. Unfortunately, I have yet to read anything he has written, but I did happen to find some reviews he wrote of Alexander Smith’s Edwin of Deira and Dreamthorp in the Athenaeum. I don’t know if this is of any significance, but I did find it interesting that a supposed “spasmodist” was a critic for The Athenaeum.

Here are the links to Massey’s reviews:

Massey on Alexander Smith’s Edwin of Deira:

http://gerald-massey.org.uk/massey/erv_athenaeum_smith_1861.htm

Massy on Alexander Smith’s Dreamthorp:

http://gerald-massey.org.uk/massey/erv_athenaeum_smith_1863.htm

This has nothing to do with The Athenaeumitself, but I thought it was worth mentioning that Gerald Massey wrote another interesting article on the spasmodic poets themselves entitled “Poetry- The Spasmodists”, which can be found here:

http://gerald-massey.org.uk/massey/cpr_the_spasmodists.htm

Bailey's Festus

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 06:10:00 +0000

For those of you who couldn’t make it to class last week and missed our discussion of Philip James Bailey’s Festus, I though I'd provide a brief impression of the general story and style as well as its reception by the public and Bailey’s fellow poets.

Festus was published for the first time in 1839 at Bristol, England and took the British world by storm. The work seems to have served as a means for Bailey to express his views on theology (Steele 28) and belongs, according to some critics, to the “Satanic school of poetry” with the likes of Paradise Lost and Faust because “[…] it deals with an external spiritual power working for the moral ruin of man” (Steele 27). The story begins with Lucifer, who is not as evil as one would expect him to be and who has a somewhat sarcastic, funny tone about him, asking God for permission to tempt Festus. Lucifer succeeds in becoming Festus’ companion by promising him a throne.

The reception of Bailey’s Festus seems to have been so positive that even Tennyson is said to have written, “I scarcely trust myself to say how much I admire it, for fear of falling into extravagance” (Steele 26). Lord Lytton was completely enthralled with Bailey’s work as well, describing it as “[a] most remarkable poem of great beauty and of greater promise. My admiration for it is deep and sincere” (Steele 26).

Once the poem made it across the pond to America, its reception only got better: one American critic stated, “It has enough to set up fifty poets,” while another said, “There is matter enough in it to float a hundred volumes of the usual prosy poetry” (Steele 26).

Personally, I agree in many respects with the greatness the critics saw in Bailey’s work with one exception: its too long! The length of the poem (which only got longer, reaching an incredibly painful 40,000 lines by the end of the 19^th century) has the tendency to make a mess of the truly beautiful poetry that is indeed present in Bailey’s work. This seems to be one of the most common opinions with regard to Bailey’s lifework, a fact that R.B. Steele also points out:

It can be considered a misfortune that Bailey was ambitious to write a long poem, and he lost his chance of being considered a great artist by refusing to follow the example of Gray and reduce all that he had to say to the narrowest compass (Steele 26).

Even in the first two scenes of Festus, Bailey’s garrulous speech cannot be overlooked. There are indeed beautiful parts, but they are just that: parts. Henry Norman Hudson, an American editor and literary critic, was of a similar opinion and sums up the failure of Festus as follows:

It is neither good science nor good poetry. The author mistakes darkness for depth, rudeness for strength. The poem has no vitality, no organization. Its parts are like beads on a string, and we remember the parts because there is no whole (Hudson in Steele 26-27)

Bailey continued to work on Festus for the rest of his life and released at the end of the 19^thcentury, as was briefly mentioned above, the seventh and final volume, which had by that time been expanded to 40,000 lines of poetry. In its original form, it had a total of 8,000, as if we needed more, Mr. Bailey (Hughes 94).

Works Cited

Hughes, Linda K. The Cambridge Introduction to Victorian Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010.

Steele, R.B. “Bailey’s ‘Festus’”. The Sewanee Review, Vol. 17. No.1. Jan 1909. pp. 26-31

Alexander Smith on Geoffrey Chaucer

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 09:31:00 +0000

As the essay of my choice, I decided to read Alexander Smith’s chapter on Geoffrey Chaucer in his collection of essays entitled Dreamthorp. In this essay, he discusses every aspect of Chaucer’s life, from his upbringing to his most famous work, The Canterbury Tales, but for this blog post, I am only going to focus on a few of them, namely, Smith’s personal views of Chaucer as a writer and his opinion of The Canterbury Tales.

Based on Smith’s introductory statements on him, it seems that Geoffrey Chaucer was indeed regarded by many of Smith’s contemporaries as a great poet, as he is today, but in the 19^th century, reading his work seems to have been considered somewhat of a daunting task, causing it to be lost upon the general public. Smith claims that this is due to the simple fact that Chaucer is ancient, ancient in the somewhat comical sense that “[…] the rich old mahogany is neglected for the new and glittering veneer” (Smith 188). In addition, his contemporaries may have considered Chaucer to be “[…] occasionally gross; often tedious and obscure […]” (Smith 188). Smith seems to agree with this view to a certain extent but praises him as the “[…] prince of story-tellers […]” who “[…] does not shine in extracts so much as in entire poems” (Smith 188).

To illustrate his uniqueness, Smith draws a comparison between Edmund Spenser, (Chaucer’s successor) and Chaucer himself. Smith sees “[…] in Chaucer and Spenser […] the fountains of the two main streams of British song,” one being the humorous narrative and the other the epic and didactic poem (Smith 189). In Smith’s opinion, Chaucer’s work was more humorous and rooted in fact, whereas Spenser’s was “high-fantastical,” and therefore lacking these humorous qualities (Smith 190). Smith goes on to describe the differences in their personalities, beliefs and whatnot, but I am not going to go into that here.

Smith’s deep respect for Chaucer becomes even clearer when he addresses Chaucer’s wide range of characters and his attention to detail in The Canterbury Tales. He is particularly fond the Prologue, which he regards as “[…] the ripest, most genial and humorous, altogether the most masterly thing which Chaucer has left us” (Smith 200). He describes the characters in the Prologue as “[…] real as the people we brush clothes with in the street” (Smith 201). Smith admires “[…] how Chaucer brings out a character” (Smith 201) and regards his portraits as masterpieces (Smith 204).

As a closing remark before he provides the reader with an excerpt from The Canterbury Tales, Smith criticizes attempts by Dryden, Pope and Wordsworth to modernize or translate Chaucer’s work. He claims that while Wordsworth’s efforts were at least of “reverential enough spirit” (Smith 206), Dryden’s and Pope’s attempt was more like “[…] assault and battery upon him” (Smith 207). Smith believes that there is no need to modernize the “the old grand writer” (Smith 207), for his work “[…] is full of antique flavour,” and just like wine improves with age (Smith 206).

It was interesting to read an essay by Smith because so far I had only been familiar with his poetic voice and had never really thought of him as having any kind of scholarly voice as well. It’s a very well written and informative essay that I highly recommend. Plus, it’s always good to know a little bit about Chaucer.

Works Cited

Smith, Alexander. Dreamthorp: a book of essays written in the country. London: Oxford University Press, 1914

Firmilian: A Parody? Uhmm...Yeah

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 08:46:00 +0000

Unfortunately, after I had written (and posted) my last entry on the possibility of Aytoun’s Firmilian being a genuine attempt at composing a spasmodic poem, I found a book entitled Memoir of William Edmondstoune Aytoun (1867) by Sir Theodore Martin that quite obviously disproves my theory. In a letter addressed to Martin from May 27th, 1854, Aytoun states the following with regard to Firmilian:

Did you see the sham notice of "Firmilian" in Blackwood for May? Strange to say, the newspapers (with but four or five exceptions) have treated it as an actual production, and some of them declare that the review is grossly unfair, and entreat Percy Jones to give his volume to the public! (Aytoun as cited in Martin 1867: 146)

Obviously, the quote above proves my theory to be completely incorrect, but it gets worse. In my last blog post, I primarily referenced Aytoun’s statements in the preface as evidence to support my theory, but as it turns out, he was just using these as a tactic to reinforce his ultimate goal of confusing London’s readers. Aytoun goes on to say:

Between you and me [Martin], I intend, for the sake of mystification, to gratify them, and have already done a good bit, so that you may expect one of these days to see a real roaring tragedy. […] Don't say anything about this at present. I want to mystify the London humorists (Aytoun as cited in Martin 1867: 146-147).

And mystify he did. When the tragedy was released in its entirety, it was considered by many to be “[…] a serious production of the spasmodic school” (Martin 1867: 14), but as we now know, it definitely was not. But, on the upside, this neither disproves the fact that Aytoun had genuine respect for the spasmodics themselves, nor does it completely discredit their unorthodox way of writing poetry. Martin reveals that Aytoun had actually expressed approval for spasmodic poetry and one spasmodic poet in particular, namely, Alexander Smith, who, as we know from class, worked at the university with Aytoun:

Aytoun was quite alive […] to the unquestionable power which some of these writers displayed; and for the youngest writer of the school, Mr Alexander Smith, he entertained a genuine admiration, which, on their becoming acquainted, as they afterwards did, was mingled with warm personal regard (Martin 1867: 148).

It’s very nice to hear that they enjoyed each other’s company, but how warm was Smith’s personal regard for Aytoun after he had (inadvertently?) destroyed Smith’s career? And what about the rest of the spasmodic poets? They seem to have fallen from the face of the earth as a direct result of Aytoun’s Firmilian, a fact that Martin himself confirms only fourteen years after the initial publication of Smith’s A Life-Drama:

His masterly parody had this excellent result, that the field of literature has since then be all but free from these "weeds of glorious feature" with which Bailey, Dobell, and their followers might otherwise have overrun it (Martin 1867: 148).

As disappointing as it is that Firmilian was definitely meant to be a parody, I am not really surprised. Even though I was hoping to find more evidence to back up my theory, evidence to disprove it is, in my opinion, just as good. At least now I know what I’m reading.

Works Cited

Martin, Theodore. Memoir of William Edmondstoune Aytoun. Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood and Sons, 1867.

The loss of sensation: A spasmodic catastrophe

noreply@blogger.com (random) — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 12:42:00 +0000

As I was looking through a blog I occasionally read, I came across a quote by Oscar Wilde (=non-'spasmodic'), that instantly reminded me of two poems by Smith and Jones: Namely, "The night before the wedding; or, Ten years after" and "A Crisis".

The quote I found was this one, taken from his drama Lady Windermere's Fan:

DUMBY: She doesn't really love you then?

LORD DARLINGTON: No, she does not!

DUMBY: I congratulate you, my dear fellow. In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. The last is much the worst; the last is a real tragedy! But I am interested to hear she does not love you. How long could you love a woman who didn't love you, Cecil?

CECIL GRAHAM: A woman who didn't love me? Oh, all my life!

DUMBY: So could I. But it's so difficult to meet one. (69)

These lines, and especially the highlighted part, reminded me of the poems by Smith and Jones, because they kind of reflect what the main problem in both of them is all about:

In both poems the lyrical I will strive for something, just to realize the (emotional) fatality of that act.

In Smith's poem, "The night before the wedding; or, Ten years after", the lyrical I, a bridegroom, moans about how the feeling/passion he once shared with his soon-to-be wife will not reoccur like this ever again. The feeling he had back then is in my opinion the process of meeting and falling hopelessly in love. As a whole, the poem has a very dark mood, and the bridegroom never really tries to cover any of his utterances, to weaken the impact:

I cannot say, in Eastern style,

Where'er she treads the pansy blows;

Nor call her eyes twin-stars, her smile

A sunbeam, and her mouth a rose.

Nor can I, as bridegrooms do,

Talk of my raptures. Oh, how sore

The fond romance of twenty-two

Is parodied ere thirty-four ! (City Poems 98f.)

As it seems here, the lyrical I somehow lost his affection for the bride, contradicting what he first felt for her in that "fond romance of twenty-two" (City Poems 99). He continues like this, closing in for the tragedy:

The man who knew, while he was young,

Some soft and soul-subduing air,

Melts again he hears it sung,

Although 't is only half so fair. (City Poems 99)

Having known the feeling, experiencing the absence of the same, and considering the unsatisfactory resurrection of it through marriage, really go in accordance with Wilde's quote. It might have been better for the bridegroom to have not experienced it, now that he griefs so much over it.

Grim-featured Time begins to smile.

Last star of night that lingerest yet

In that long rift of rainy grey,

Gather thy wasted splenderous, set,

And die into my wedding-day. (City Poems 103)

The ultimate tragedy in this first poem seems to be that the lyrical I settles for his current 'emotionless' situation, and even asks the last 'star of night', that last piece of hope on that 'rainy grey' firmament, to die with him into his wedding-day (City Poems 103).

Jones' poem features a very similar topic. There, the lyrical I meets a woman, falls in love, and talks quite a bit about the feelings that come up, but also about how experiencing something like this is not solely a good thing - even though he would not want to go on without.

-a look that never,

Never, never, may either look again; for night

Brought with its darkness, when the maiden's face

Was dusked over, to the young man's blood,

His wild desire; and they went not thence

Till there had passed that sacrifice thereto,

After which never again may exist the feelings

That holiest look did utter, and which makes

The life thus spoiled, one long, long funeral,

With never a single mourner;-'twas a look

Painter hath never limned, nor poet sung,

Nor dreamer visioned; and could poet sound

Words, that should give the minds of those who heard,

Knowledge of its prompting feelings, he would fling

Art to the winds, thought, life, and heaven, forget,-

And though the uttering the words should shatter

Him to annihilation, he would speak,

And shatter himself into eternal fame. (Studies... 140)

Again, we can identify similar parts to both quotes. For one, the uniqueness if the moment, of that one look, and feeling both shared, and the catastrophe, the "long, long funeral" that life became thanks to it. Additionally, the lyrical I talks about the inability of man to capture, and frame this special moment into either paintings, or poetry. But if some poet actually managed to put this moment into words, and on paper, the reciting would hurt him, as he has felt it before - in the eyes of others though, he will "shatter himself into eternal fame" (Studies... 140).

So, it somehow seems that the loss of sensation, pictured pretty firmly in both poems, poses something similar to a catastrophe for the 'Spasmodics'. Even though I do understand that the poets, who were so famous for their 'sensationalist' and pictorial poetry, would want to preserve these special moments, turning life into something that is not liveable by the loss of it seems irrational. Is it normally not something to be happy about, to have experienced something unique - without mourning and the pleading for it to reoccur?

For the 'Spasmodics' it seems to be somewhat of a double-edged sword though: Whatever you do, you will end up and grab the blade. It will always result in, as Wilde framed it, a tragedy. Whether you experienced and lost it, or did never experience it to begin with. Personally, I do not think that the first is any worse than the latter - not at all.

Sources:

Jones, Ebenezer. "A Crisis". Studies of Sensation and Event. London: Charles Fox, Paternoster Row. 1843. 127-140

Smith, Alexander. "The night before the wedding; or, Ten years after". City Poems. Cambridge: Macmillan and Co. 1857. 97-103

Wilde, Oscar. Lady Windermere's Fan. ReadHowYouWant. 2008.

Firmilian: A Parody?

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 16:36:00 +0000

I began reading W.E. Aytoun’s Firmilian: A Spasmodic Tragedy with high expectations. Based on the literature I had read on the poem, I was expecting Aytoun to make an outright mockery of the “spasmodic poets” of his day, but he really didn’t, at least not explicitly in the first four scenes of the poem. On the contrary, Firmilian actually seems like his own genuine attempt to compose a so-called “spasmodic” work of poetry. In the following blog post, I would like to entertain the possibility that W.E. Aytoun under the moniker of T. Percy Jones deliberately wrote a spasmodic poem not as a satire but as an honest work of art.

To my surprise, Aytoun himself provides sufficient evidence for this theory in the preface of his work. Here, he admits to having “[…] deliberately adopted the title of “Spasmodic” […]” on the title page because of his “[…] firm opinion that all high poetry is and must be spasmodic” (Aytoun v) and not because he finds the spasmodics so ridiculous as to need to mock them. He goes on to claim that if spasmodic elements had not been employed by Shakespeare in Macbeth or Othello, the works wouldn’t have had the same effect. Without “[…] the conflict of the passions […]”, he claims, Shakespeare’s masterpieces would have been “[a] mere caput mortuum” (Aytoun v). Aytoun elaborates further on the significance of expressing conflicts of passion, a very important ingredient in spasmodism, in poetry. He states:

The office of poetry is to exhibit the passions in that state of excitement which distinguishes one from the other: and, until a dramatic writer has learned this secret, all the fine writing in the world will avail him nothing (Aytoun vi).

In the quote above, Aytoun seems to be indirectly expressing great admiration for the spasmodic poets whose characters do exactly that: they seize the pleasures or pains of the moment. Aytoun’s Firmilian is no different. He exhibits all the characteristics of Dobell’s and Smith’s characters such as “[…] their extravagant affectation and obscurity […]”, knowledge of the stars, and emotional spasms blurted out in an “[…] indefiniteness of metaphor […]” (The Athenaeum 1165). However, what Aytoun failed to do is present these in a satirical manner, or he did so in such a conservative way that it is hardly noticeable to the reader. But, is that really possible? Isn’t he supposed to have been some kind of humorist?

Even Aytoun’s contemporaries were not particularly convinced of the success of Firmilian as a parody. One critic, for example, points out two weaknesses of Aytoun’s work. He maintains that

[f]or a satire it is not sufficiently pungent or distinctive; whilst as a parody it labours under the disadvantage of being a burlesque of originals not sufficiently known to the world at large to admit of easy identification. A parody, for which any considerable success is to be expected, should be founded on some poem or passage of a poem so well known that every one can recall it at will (The Athenaeum 1165).

Eleven years later, The Athenaeum (1865, 214) commemorated Aytoun’s death and elaborated upon their initial critique of Firmilian as follows: “[…] it ridiculed obscure people, on whom the world wasted no thought. It was not without imitative merit, which, however, was thrown away on originals who had none.” I won’t go into The Athenaeum’s inability to acknowledge the fact that even its critics awarded spasmodic poets with the highest praise (because it goes beyond the scope of this blog post), but I will call attention to the fact that even The Athenaeum has a hard time calling Aytoun’s Firmilian a parody.

With all this mind, especially the critics’ knowledge of the work as a supposed parody, it seems strange that Aytoun would not explicitly state this, but actually the complete opposite, in the preface to his work. As was already mentioned, all the spasmodic elements are there, even the setting of a study in the opening scene(!), but why? Did Aytoun just want to give the whole spasmodic thing a go? Or, is this just an extremely poor attempt at a parody?

Work Cited

“Firmilian; or, the Student of Badajoz. A Spasmodic Tragedy” The Athenaeum: Journal of Literature Science, and the Fine Arts. No. 1405. 1854: 1165. London: Published by J. Francis.

Jones, T. Percy (Aytoun, William Edmonstoune). Firmilian: The Student of Badajoz. A “Spasmodic” Tragedy. New York: Redfield, 1855.

“Prof. Aytoun” The Athenaeum: Journal of Literature Science, and the Fine Arts. No. 1972. July to December 1865: 214. London: Published by J. Francis.

Critical Reception of Ebenezer Jones' Studies of Sensation and Event

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 10:38:00 +0000

After reading „A Crisis“ by Ebenezer Jones and realizing how indecent the poem actually was for the period in which it was written, I became curious as to how the work Studies of Sensation and Event (1843) as a whole was received by literary critics. My curiosity was aroused even more by the fact that Jones ended up burning almost all of his work after having failed to receive the critical acclaim he had hoped for (Brookes 28-29). What is more, the criticism supposedly affected him so much so that he virtually gave up writing poetry for a career in politics and only published around a half-dozen poems by the time of his death in 1860 (Brookes 29).

Interestingly enough, the main focus of the criticism was not, as I had assumed, the indecency found in some of the poems in the Studies of Sensation and Event but rather his style, melody and rhythm. However, I did manage to find one statement by a critic from the paper The Athenaeum who criticized Jones for his “[…] constant tendency to startle by offensive daring” (The Athenaeum 335), but he failed to elaborate further on this point. Instead, this critic seemed to have responded more negatively to Jones’ exaggeration of “[…] passion into maniac defiance […]” (The Athenaeum 335).

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction (Volume 43) basically continues where The Athenaeum left off by immediately pointing out both Jones’ use of “[…] creeping monosyllables […]” and his “[…] sins against harmony […]”, which make the work quite difficult to read (The Mirror 334). While this critic also seems to be bent on exclusively bringing attention to Jones’ faults, I did find a rare moment of praise in which he describes Jones’ work as showing “[…] sportive originality […] with occasional touches of feeling […]” (The Mirror 334), but his seemingly forced expressions of approval pale in comparison to the faults he finds in Jones’ book. In a lackluster attempt to give Jones advice for future compositions, the critic urges him to “[…] not trust too largely to his fancy, genius, inspiration […] but rather apply himself more carefully “to please by method,” and avoid these discordant words and sentences which, without aiding the sense, interrupt the song.” (The Mirror 334)

On a more positive note, Jones did receive one relatively positive review that can be found in the New Monthly Belle Assemblee. Here, he is explicitly regarded as “[…] a young poet (but really a poet!) […]” (New Monthly 59), which is a compliment in and of itself because, as we now know, the term “poet” was not arbitrarily applied to any old rhymester as it is today. While the critics did try to stress the beauty found in Jones’ poetry, they, too, find the faults that were apparent to every other critic, but go so far as to compare these with a disease: “There are portions of the volume before us that, like the green leprosy in the vale, taint the adjoining beauties with plague-spots. Would they were erased!” (New Monthly 60) To top things off, they go on to criticize his perception of melody and rhythm, wondering whether “[…] his ear is defective, or he disdains the common (and necessary) rules of rhythm” (New Monthly 60). Ouch!

You may be asking yourself why I referred to the last review as the more positive of the bunch, but I did so because the critics conclude their review by recommending a few pieces from Jones’ work “[…] for the admiration of […]” (New Monthly 60) their readers, as opposed to just giving Jones advice on how to not be such a lousy writer, as other critics did. Not to mention, they referred to him as a real poet. There are probably more critical reviews of his work floating around, but this is unfortunately all I could come up with. It may not be representative of literary criticism as a whole, but it does give insight into a overwhelmingly negative response to his work among critics and, probably, readers alike that eventually led to his literary demise.

Works Cited

Brookes, Roger Keith. Ebenezer Jones: A Study. British Columbia: The University of British Columbia, 1971.

“Studies of Sensation and Event; Poems by Ebenezer Jones.” The New Monthly Belle Assemblee; A Magazine of Literature and Fashion, Vol. XX. January to June, 1844: 59-60. London.

“Studies of Sensation and Event; Poems by Ebenezer Jones.” The Athenaeum: Journal of Literature Science, and the Fine Arts. Volume for 1844: 335. London: Published by J. Francis.

“Studies of Sensation and Event; Poems by Ebenezer Jones.” The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Vol. V. 1844: 334-335. London: Burstall Publishers

Ebenezer Jones: Greatest Hits

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 10:59:00 +0000

Here is a video of contemporary songsters, The Wraiths, singing (yes, singing) Ebenezer Jones' poems (among others). It's even better to watch from their website, where they have the text of the poem up as well. This one is from Studies in Sensation and Event, the same volume that includes "The Crisis."

Sydney Dobell, a few facts

noreply@blogger.com (random) — Mon, 21 May 2012 12:32:00 +0000

After introducing Sydney Dobell to the class last week, I would now like to write down a couple of important facts about this poet/critic of the spasmodic school.

facts:

Sydney Thompson Dobell (pseudonym: Sydney Yendys)
English poet/critic (associated with the spasmodic school)
1824 - 1874
Part of the "Society of the Friends of Italy"

major works:

The Roman 1850 (published under pseudonym) - relatively good reception in public
Balder 1854 - terrible reception, is said to have been his career's death sentence
Sonnets on the War 1855 (Collaboration with Alexander Smith)
England in Times of War 1856 - same topic as the above, the Crimean War

Sydney Thompson Dobell was, in contrast to many of his spasmodic contemporaries, born in England. His mother, the daughter of Samuel Thompson, founder of the religous sect "Church of God" and a London political reformer, gave birth to him in Cranbrook, Kent on the 5th April 1824 as the first of 10 children. His father, John Dobell, was a wine merchant and himself author of a religous pamphlet called Man unfit to govern Man. It was originally intended for Sydney to inherit his grandfather's position in the sect, and thus be installed in a religous position. Although he managed to avoid that from happening, it is said that his family never really overcame or understood his decision to choose the fine letters over the dogmatic.

Dobell shares with his scottish colleagues the relatively low level of education: He was mostly educated by means of private tutors and self study - He visited neither school nor university. And, of course, the circle of friends: He definitely knew Gilfillan, as he sought his comments on Balder, Smith because they published a collaborative work, and more ranging from Mazzini (italian patriot) to Aytoun, the "butcher" of the spasmodic movement.

Mazzini is said to have even commented on Dobell's The Roman, as Boos cites from Jolly: "That he (Dobell) had "written about Rome as I would, had I been born a poet"". Surprisingly, Dobell did this without ever being to Rome - at least not before having The Roman published. In contrast to The Roman, his second verse drama Balder was not recepted as positively by the public and critics: Especially the latter group seemed to have taken offense from the plot in general, and on how Dobell writes about such a peculiar topic without at least putting it in some mock-historical frame, to lessen its impact on the reader.

What might be interesting to note in this context is, that Dobell was not only a spasmodic in the sense of his poetry, but actually suffered from "apparent epilepsy and attacks of rheumatic fever, which began when he was in his early twenties"(Boos 569). Two accidents, one in 1866, and one in 1869, both involving falling from heights, led to him being more or less of an invalid till his death in 1874. These accidents did not keep him from planning to write more poetic works though, e.g. the continuation of Balder - even though he never managed to publish anything major again.

In contrast to Alexander Smith, whose work did not seem to attract much of an interest after his death, Dobell has had the pleasure of having two collections of his work (verse&prose) being published one, and respectively two years after his death.

Sources:

Boos, Florence S.. ""Spasm" and Class: W.E. Aytoun, George Gilfillan, Sydney Dobell, and Alexander Smith". Victorian Poetry, 2004 Winter, 42 (4): 553-584.

Nichol, John. "Dobell, Sydney Thompson". Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900, Volume 15: 133-34. (accessed via en.wikisource.org)

Sydney Dobell – „The Roman“ Scene 1

noreply@blogger.com (Franziska) — Mon, 21 May 2012 11:21:00 +0000

Sydney Dobell – „The Roman“ Scene 1

This week’s reading was Scene 1 from Sydney Dobell’s “The Roman”, published in 1852 under the pseudonym “Sydney Dobell”. It is a play set in Italy, the main protagonists (of Scene 1) are an Italian freedom fighter disguised as a monk and a few singing dancers.

At the beginning of the scene, the dancers sing a song about not hurrying because the next day will not be good (some “seize the day”-motif). The monk sees the “Youths and Maidens” dancing on the very ground on which many soldiers and his mother died, he chides them for their profanity. The dancers leave because they don’t want to insult the monk’s sorrow.

Then the monk talks about his mother, how he loved her and how she nursed him etc. He blames himself (and his brothers) for abandoning her: they did not stop her abusers. Then one of the dancers speaks (weren’t they gone???) telling the others to seize the monk (for his crimes). He and his brothers gave away their mother for gold. The others (not nearer defined) want to seize him, but he calls them slaves and asks them if they will let his brothers, who “assisted” at his mother’s abuse, escape? They want to know where his brothers are and he says they’re among them.

Then we find out that he is actually not talking about his (birth)mother, but about Rome as the mother of them all. He describes Rome in full colours, as if she was a real mother. Not everyone is worthy of being a Roman. He references Romulus, who, according to mythology, was brought to Rome by Aeneas with his brother Remus. The boys were raised by a wolf and later founded Rome.

In Plutarch’s version of the myth, Rhea Silvia, an evil king’s niece who had to become a priestess, was raped by Mars and she had to abandon her children, Romulus and Remus. After their birth she was imprisoned by the king and her children were put in a basket on the river Tiber. A wolf found them on the riverbank and nurtured them. Later, they were discovered by swineherds who brought them up not knowing who they really were. One day, Remus, who had found out who he was, was taken captive by hostile shepherds. When Romulus, who knew about his heritage as well, tried to rescue his brother, the evil king (who had sent their mother to prison) was killed in the riots. Romulus and Remus were allowed to found their own town at the place where they were abandoned first, because they rid the people off the evil king. They fought over the borders of the town and eventually Remus was killed by Romulus. Nevertheless, Romulus founded the town on the 21^st of April, 753 BC. He reigned for 38 years and was either taken back by his father Mars or killed by senators, depending on the source.

So you can draw lines from “The Roman” to the founding story of Rome. Romulus and Remus’ mother was raped as well as Rome was “raped” by the foreigners who stepped on her ground. But they do not have to be scared of the foreigners because they won’t be able to live there.

The monk then tells them to free Rome like Andromeda. She was the daughter of an Ethiopian king and Cassiopeia. Andromeda was once chained to a rock in the sea to rid the country of a monster (as sacrifice for a deity). Perseus defeated the monster and freed Andromeda. The country needs someone like Perseus to unbind its chains. He wants Rome to be free (so she can ascend to heaven, where she belongs).

The monk nearly shouts himself to ecstasy when promising and praying for Rome’s freedom. He is alone then, his “brothers” left. He is angry at them for leaving because he needs them to free Rome. Towards the end of the scene he is a little doubtful. Maybe Rome was wrong choosing him as the leader of “Operation Freedom”?

Sources:

Yendys (i.e. Dobell), Sydney, The Roman, London, 1852. found at: http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924013453968#page/n5/mode/2up (21.05.2012)

N.N., “Romulus und Remus” in http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romulus_und_Remus(21.05.2012)

N.N., „Andromeda (Mythologie)“ http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andromeda_%28Mythologie%29(21.05.2012)

Why America?

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Sat, 19 May 2012 13:26:00 +0000

While skimming over the individual poems in Alexander Smith’s and Sydney Dobell’s Sonnets on the War, I came across not one but two sonnets entitled “America” and continued to read, thinking nothing of it. Then, it occurred to me that I had no clue what role America played in the Crimean War, nor did I know why Dobell and Smith had written about her. Therefore, I would like to dedicate this post to interpreting the first America sonnet based on some historical background information I was able to gather on the topic.

As we all know, America was not directly involved in the Crimean War, but maybe indirectly? There must have been something in the air, otherwise Dobell and Smith wouldn’t have written the two sonnets about her in the first place. And, indeed, the answer lies in the opening line of the first poem on America in which she is directly addressed: “Men say, Columbia, we shall hear thy guns.” (Dobell/Smith: 29). As the speaker insinuates here, there were rumors going around that America (“Columbia”) would join the fight, but as the second line indicates, there was a cloud of confusion lingering over both the England and Russia as to what side the Americans would be on: “But in what tongue shall be thy battle-cry?” (Dobell/Smith: 29). This confusion can be traced back to discussions the Russians and Americans had concerning future conflicts involving England. As Dvoichenko-Markov, the author of the article Americans in the Crimean War, claims, “[l]ong before the Crimean War, when discussing the possibility of a future conflict between Russia and England, both the Russians and the Americans considered their countries as potential allies” (Dvoichenko-Markov: 137). To make things worse, Dvoichenko-Markov states that the Anglo-French alliance during the Crimean War “was directed not only against Russia, but also against the United States” (Dvoichenko-Markov: 137). This is due to England’s fear of not only a Russian expansion into the territory of the weakened Ottoman Empire but an American expansion as well (Dvoichenko-Markov: 137), a fact that is reflected in the sonnet itself when the speaker goes on to refer to the common history of the two countries in order to persuade America to consider forming an alliance with England:

Not that our sires did love in years gone by,
When all the Pilgrim fathers were little sons
In merrie homes of Englaunde! Back, and see
Thy satchelled ancestor! (Dobell/Smith: 29)

In the first line of the excerpt, Dobell and Smith’s strategy seems to be an apologetic one, admitting to England’s cruelty toward America in the past, but the lines that follow take on a new direction and emphasize their common history, pointing out that the Pilgrims who founded the colonies in America came from the “merrie homes” of England. In the lines thereafter, the speaker succeeds in evoking an image of unity in which two ancestors find each other who then “side by side” equate to “our Father.”

Behold, he [the ancestor] runs
To mine, and, clasped, they tread the equal lea
To the same village-school, where side by side
They spell “our Father.” (Dobell/Smith: 29)

The brilliance of the last line is that it expresses sameness in both their history and contemporary lives, thus creating an undeniable unity between the American and British people. The use of the possessive pronoun “our” and words like “one” are and continue to be instrumental in creating this unity throughout the remainder of the poem. For example, the speaker states: “Oursister-mothers sit beneath one tree / Meanwhile our Shakespeare wanders past and dreams / His Helena and Hermia” (Dobell/Smith: 29 (italics added)). Here, though, the speaker manages to get not only unity but also a lack thereof across to the reader by referencing Shakespeare’s Helena and Hermia from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I believe the reference serves as a metaphor for the relationship between England and America (“our sister-mothers”) because they were once ‘one’ just as Helena and Hermia, who, if my memory serves me correctly, were the best of friends and soon became the worst of enemies. Satisfied with the arguments he delivered, the speaker concludes the poem with the propositional question: “Shall we fight?”

In short, the sonnet addresses the rumors about America’s potentially entering the war and the confusion surrounding her intentions. Dobell and Smith try to depict England and America as ‘one’ by focusing on their similarities and not their differences, thereby rendering America's hesitation about who to side with pointless.

I hope this was just as interesting for you to read as it was for me to interpret.

Bibliography

Dobell, Sydney/Smith, Alexander. Sonnets on the War.London: David Bogue, 1855

Dvoichenko-Markov, Eufrosina. “Americans in the Crimean War”, in Russian Review

Vol. 13, No. 2 (Apr., 1954), pp. 137-145

"Miss Nightingale"

noreply@blogger.com (Franziska) — Wed, 16 May 2012 12:39:00 +0000

"Miss Nightingale“ from Sonnets on the War (1855)

“Miss Nightingale” is a sonnet from Alexander Smith and Sydney Dobell’s collection of poems called “Sonnets of the war”, which was published in 1855 by D. Bogue in London, and it goes like this:

MISS NIGHTINGALE

How must the soldier's tearful heart expand,

Who from a long and obscure dream of pain,

His foeman's frown imprinted in his brain,

Wakes to thy healing face and dewy hand!

When this great noise hath rolled from off the land,

When all those fallen Englishmen of ours

Have bloomed and faded in Crimean flowers,

Thy perfect charity unsoiled shall stand.

Some pitying student of a nobler age,

Lingering o'er this year's half-forgotten page,

Shall see its beauty smiling ever there;

Surprised to tears his beating heart he stills,

Like one who finds among Athenian hills

A Temple like a lily white and fair.

Before interpreting the sonnet some information on Florence Nightingale:

Florence Nightingale was a nurse who rose to fame for taking care of British soldiers during the Crimean War. She is known to have had a pet owl and she was called the “Lady with the Lamp” by the soldiers.

Florence was born on 12 May, 1820 in Florence, Italy, and her parents named her after her birthplace. She had an older sister named Parthenope (=Naples). Their parents were rather rich and enjoyed travelling. At the age of seventeen, Florence knew she did not want to become the wife of some rich duke or lord, but that she would rather be a nurse. She keeps on travelling a lot, she even goes to Egypt, and visits hospitals in all those places she goes to. In 1850, Florence spends some time training at a hospital in Kaiserswerth, Germany. When the Crimean War broke out in 1854, Florence and 38 other women were sent to today’s Turkey to take care of the wounded soldiers. The hospital in Istanbul was in a state of mess and the soldiers died from the cold there, from typhoid, cholera and dysentery. So Florence takes on the organization of the hospital and asks the government for more money for beds, food, sheets etc. At first, the male doctors did not want the women around, but as soon as they saw how good their work was, they accepted the female nurses. Florence was the only one who checked on the soldiers at night, making the rounds with a lamp in her hand. The soldiers appreciated her and the other nurses very much for their kindness. Even in England, Florence had become a star people were carrying pictures of her with them. However, Florence did not enjoy her fame, but she used it to lobby for a health care reform, because the hospitals in England were not much better than the ones in Turkey. In 1860 she opens a nursing school at St Thomas’ Hospital. Florence also wrote a large number of books, most of them on hygiene in hospitals and nursing. She thought that a clean and comfortable environment, care, good food, a shower every now and then etc. are necessary for a good and quick recovery of the sick.

In the first few lines, the lyrical I describes how good it feels for a wounded soldier to wake up to Florence’s face. He knows he’s safe and he’s well taken care of. The lyrical I knows, a lot of soldiers will have died in Crimea soon, and Florence is the only thing that will still be there. In the last few lines, the thematic content develops (away from the battle fields and hospitals) and leaps into the future. The lyrical I thinks that people in the future will still read about Florence (and this poem) and the readers will be overwhelmed by Florence’s beauty (and charity). The last two lines contain an interesting comparison: the lyrical I compares a reader in the future reading about Florence and being impressed by her beauty to someone who finds a Temple in Athens which is as white and fair as a lily. So you could say that Florence is also compared to a lily, white and fair. This poem is basically an ode to Florence, her beauty and her goodness.

Sources:

http://www.zeit.de/wissen/geschichte/2010-08/nightingale-krankenpflege

http://www.florence-nightingale.co.uk/cms/index.php/media-centre/florence-biography

http://openlibrary.org/works/OL639010W/Sonnets_on_the_war

Spasmodism - First steps

noreply@blogger.com (Franziska) — Wed, 16 May 2012 12:33:00 +0000

Sorry, I forgot to post this, but now and here it is:

When I registered for this class, I had no idea what “Spasmodism” is. After only two class sessions I still find it rather hard to pinpoint exactly what it is about and what is so special (if there is something special at all??) about it. What we learned in this class so far is that Spasmodic poets (the Spasmodic writers mainly wrote poetry) were actually rather popular around their time, which was the 1850s, but somehow their names sound unfamiliar to our ears. Some of the most famous writers include Alexander Smith, Sydney Dobell, Philipp James Bailey, Elizabeth Barret Browning and William Aytoun. They originate from almost all parts of present-day UK, so you cannot say Spasmodism was connected to one particular region or part of England, but it was “restricted” to the UK (so no Spasmodic writing in the USA or in the rest of Europe).

In the first two sessions we talked mostly about John Keats and how some characteristics of his poems can be found in Spasmodic poetry, too. Keats’ Ode on a Grecian urn (1819), e.g., describes the drawings on a Grecian urn, more precisely the stories which the drawings on said urn tell. Links to ancient Greece and Rome are drawn. Alexander Smith, who is from the Glasgow area, also mentions names (Leander, Antony) from ancient Greece and Rome in his poetry, e.g. in The night before the wedding or Ten years after and in some of his sonnets. You can also go so far as to say that you will not understand the outcome of some poems if you are not familiar with the tales of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Yet he does not only drop their names, Smith also writes a poem around their names, e.g. Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears. As mentioned above, Smith wrote poetry (among other things) in the form of a sonnet. Formally, he sticks to the restrictions such as metre, rhyme scheme, and number of lines. Yet the content differs from what we are used to in sonnets. Sonnets started out as love poems, which Smith also wrote, but he deviated from the norm by writing about fame (I cannot deem why men toil so for fame), critics (There have been vast displays of critic wit), his “poetic doom” (Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas-streets) and more.

From the refrences to ancient Greek and Rome you can see that Alexander Smith seems to be well-read, yet the critics of his time were not very fond of him and his fellow Spasmodics. They were criticized for being not well-read, too emotional and for overstuffing, over-decorating their poems.

Sonnets on the War by Alexander Smith and Sydney Dobell

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Fri, 11 May 2012 13:45:00 +0000

Due to the lack of background knowledge I have on the Sonnets on the War by Alexander Smith and Sydney Dobell, I thought I would try to research the topic and post my findings here. I will begin by briefly describing how Dobell and Smith met and how the two came to collaborate on the work. Then, I will briefly address the sonnets themselves and how Smith and Dobell obtained information on the war for the purpose of writing poetry.

In the early 1850s, 24-year-old Alexander Smith had reached the pinnacle of his career with his work A Life-Drama, which had supposedly "taken the world by storm" within a very short period of time (Walker, 519). There were obviously differing opinions on the poetic quality of Smith's work, but the critique only aroused more interest among the public and quickly catapulted him to stardom (Walker, 519). Smith's success was indeed short lived, but within this short period of time he managed to make a lasting impression on poets and critics alike, including Sydney Dobell, who was immediately taken aback by Smith's poetry and really wanted to arrange a meeting with him (Walker, 519). By this time, Dobell, who had already completed one of his more well-known pieces, Balder, had moved with his wife to Edinburgh partly because of both of their health issues but also "[...] for the sake of the intellectual stimulus it promised [...]" (Walker, 518). Dobell's presence in Edinburgh soon drew Smith there as well (Walker, 519) and resulted in not only a close friendship between the two but also a collaboration on a series of poems known as the Sonnets on the War (Dobell, ix).

The Sonnets on the War is a volume (1855) consisting of a series of poems on the Crimean War (xxxviii), which took place on the Crimean Peninsula and in some surrounding areas from 1853-1856 (Editors, 350). The sonnets are characterized by vivid descriptions of death, but the main theme of the collection seems to be that peace can only be gained through war: “The far-off lily of a worthy peace / Can be plucked only by War’s bloody hand” (from War, Dobell, 36). Interestingly, neither Dobell nor Smith was in combat; they merely gathered information on the war from reports in newspapers (Allen xxxviii). They may have even received some photographs of the front via the electric telegraph…Who knows? Be that as it may, the fact that they were nowhere near the front raises the question as to how one writes war poems without having experienced it first hand? Or does it even matter? I’m sure writing a few poems based on newspaper articles pales in comparison to actual combat, but do you really have to have been there to write about it?

Bibliography:

Allen, Michael J. The Anthem Anthology of Victorian Sonnets. Vol. 1 1836-1850.

London: Anthem Press, 2011.

Dobell, Sydney. Poems. Author’s Ed. Cambridge, 1860.

Editors of Kingfisher. The Kingfisher History Encyclopedia. Boston: Kingfisher

Publications, 2004.

Walker, Hugh. The Literature of the Victorian Era. Cambridge, 1910.

Metaphors in Alexander Smith's A Life-Drama

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan) — Tue, 08 May 2012 06:21:00 +0000

In this contribution, I would like to address Alexander Smith’s use of metaphors through Walter in A Life-Drama to express intense emotion. Obviously, one could go on forever about Smith’s use of metaphors, but that would go way beyond the scope of this blog post. Therefore, it will be limited to a few examples that I found particularly interesting. Before I get started, I would like to provide a brief description of the protagonist himself so that readers who lack the necessary background knowledge are still able to follow. This will be immediately followed by a short analysis of selected metaphors.

Smith’s protagonist, Walter, has the ultimate goal of becoming famous through his poetry. Poetry seems to be all the man has. He longs for it as one longs for love. One could even go so far as to compare it with a strong sexual desire that the speaker strives to fulfill. His description of poetry becomes increasingly intense, beginning with rather subtle expressions, as in lines 6-7, then peaking in lines 27-31. There are, of course, similar developments in A Life-Drama, but I wanted to focus on this one. In the opening lines of the poem, Walter’s unconditional love for poetry is made especially clear when Walter, overcome by an emotional outburst at the mere thought of what poetry could give him, exclaims:

For Poesy my heart and pulses beat,
For Poesy my blood runs red and fleet;
As Moses' serpent the Egyptians' swallowed,
One passion eats the rest. My soul is followed
By strong ambition to out-roll a lay,
Whose melody will haunt the world for aye,
Charming it onward on its golden way. (I, 6-12)

In these seven lines alone, a significant characteristic of not only Smith’s but also other ‘spasmodic’ poets’ expression of intense emotion comes to light, namely, their use of jumbled metaphors. Not only is there a reference to the Old Testament that vividly illustrates his one intense passion (for poetry) eating up the others, but Smith’s speaker also describes poetry as if it were a song carried by a melody so strong that it is capable of haunting “[…] the world for aye, / Charming it onward on its golden way” (I, 11-12). These two lines, particularly the speaker’s use of the phrase “[c]harming it onward on its golden way”, immediately made me think of the sirens from Greek mythology whose enchanting song lured sailors to wreck their ships on some faraway rocky coast. This is precisely (well, without killing his readers, of course) the impact Walter wants to make on his readers; he wants to cast a spell, and his use of jumbled metaphors seems to serve exactly that purpose; they not only invest the poem with strange and beautiful images (like that of Moses’ snake) but also depict a speaker scrambling to find words worthy of comparison. At this point in the scene, Walter tears up the poem only to start anew.

He continues to search for an image or something worthy of describing his beloved “Poesy”, the development of which is clear in the lines that follow. In lines 24-25, for example, he claims that just one smile from “Poesy” would endow him with the riches of a powerful king: “but with one smile thou canst / Clothe me with kingdoms” (I, 24-25). In his desperation, however, he ups the ante and not only compares his own love for “Poesy” with a maiden wasting her love on a marble statue of Jove but also implicitly declares that poetry is on the same, or even higher, level as the gods:

As well may some wild maiden waste her love
Upon the calm front of a marble Jove.
I cannot draw regard of thy great eyes.
I love thee, Poesy! Thou art a rock;
I, a weak wave, would break on thee and die!” (I, 27-31).

Smith’s use of metaphors through Walter from lines 6-31 seems to serve a particular purpose in the poem. I think Smith was actually trying to provide insight into the extremes of Walter’s personality when it comes to his personal desires by using certain metaphors in a particular order. Walter goes from speaking of “Poesy” as if he were pining over a woman (For Poesy my heart and pulses beat, / For Poesy my blood runs red and fleet;) to describing how intense his passion for poetry actually is by likening the acts of Moses’ snake to his passion for poetry feasting upon his lesser passions all the way up to placing "Poesy" upon a pedastal (perhaps) even taller than that of the most powerful of Roman gods. Am I reading to much into this?

Essays on various aspects of Spasmodism

noreply@blogger.com (random) — Mon, 07 May 2012 12:53:00 +0000

I'd like to use this blog post to collect, over the course of the semester, scholarly essays and other statements that were made on Spasmodic Poetry and Poets in a central spot. At least one entry per week.

I'll try to give a little insight into what the different essays are about, where one can access related secondary sources, and finally give my personal opinion about them. If I should actually mess up on an essays central idea, or someone finds another interesting article, just leave a comment!

Part 1 - Essays in reaction to the 2003 MLA call for papers

1.1
Title: Editorial Introduction: Spasmodic Poetry and Poetics

Author: Laporte, Charles and Rudy, Jason R.

Where to access: MLA International Bibliography

Central topic/ideas:

Relation to what we discussed in class:

Original Source:

1.2

Title: Alexander Smith and the Bisexual Poetics of A Life-Drama

Author: Hughes, Linda K.

Where to access: MLA International Bibliography

Central topic/ideas:

Relation to what we discussed in class:

Original Source:

1.3

Title: "Spasm" and Class: W.E. Aytoun, George Gilfillan, Sydney Dobell, and Alexander Smith

Author: Boos, Florence S.

Where to access: MLA International Bibliography

Central topic/ideas:

Relation to what we discussed in class:

Original Source:

First Impressions: A Life-Drama

noreply@blogger.com (random) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 11:31:00 +0000

Poems was published in the year 1853 as Alexander Smith's first major work. Back then, even though he was only 21 years old, he had already contributed to several periodicals. His first volume contained, among other things, the verse drama A Life-Drama, with which I will be concerning myself in the following post.

A Life-Drama is, contrary to its name, not a drama in the sense of, for example, Shakespeare's compositions: Because even though it features different voices/characters one feels like reading epic poetry, since the assumed dialogues are composed of several long monologue entries. Its protagonist seems to be Walter, a seemingly young and handsome man (= your stereotypical poet), whose motives become clear pretty soon - even without reading the assigned introduction: He wants to get famous through his poetry - and he wants that pretty badly.

A Life-Drama goes hand in hand with other poems by Smith, not only from Poems, but also from his second volume City Poems. His poetry is clearly positioned on the spasmodic side, mostly because of one distinct feature. This feature is often mentioned by critics as one of their major points of critique, while I think that this feature is just what spasmodic poetry seems to be all about:

The rich usage of imagery, the distinct expression and recreation of a situation felt to the reader of the poetic work.

And especially A Life-Drama, as it is an epic, does not fail to brag to its reader about its very own nature. From the very beginning onward, several good examples can be identified:

Poesy! Poesy! I'd give to thee,
As passionately, my rich-laden years,
My bubble pleasures, and my awful joys,
As Hero gave her trembling sighs to find
Delicious death on wet Leander's lip. (Poems 6)

That "great and small, weakness and strength, are naught,
That each thing being equal in its sphere,
The May-night glow-worm with its emerald lamp
Is worthy as the mighty moon that drowns
Continents in her white and silent night."
This - this were easy to believe, were I
The planet that doth nightly wash the earth's
Fair sides with moonlight; not the shining worm,
But as I am - beaten, foiled and shamed,
The arrow of my soul which I had shot
To bring down Fame, dissolved like shaft of mist,
This painted falsehood, this most damned lie,
Freezes me like a fiendish human face,
Its hateful features gathered in a sneer. (Poems 7-8)

Because these are not just 5-9 verse long sentences that one just read, but picture over picture created through similies, allusions and the likes, that make it seem so much more colourful, and fun - even though it might not be the most fluent read that I've had in a while.
But it seems to be fine, just the way it is, and I liked it because of that extra, that thing one has a hard time to find in another era's poets - or even in another spasmodic.

related literature/sources:

anonymous. "Alexander Smith". Macmillan's magazine, 1859-1907; Feb 1867; 15, 88; British Periodicals pg. 342-352
Nicolson, A. "Alexander Smith". Good Words, 8, [172]-178. 1867.

Smith, Alexander. Poems. Philadelphia: Moss & Brother. 1853.

First Read: "High Summer" by Ebenezer Jones

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 12:44:00 +0000

photo by manyfires

I've just discovered, and read for the first time, this little sonnet by Ebenezer Jones. I found it in a book of his (accessed through Google Books) called Studies of Sensation and Event, which sounded like a great title for a book of poetic experimentation, which the Spasmodics can be said to have practiced, and that self-consciously. I also like the almost medical ring that the title has, as though poetry were not the business of the inspired artist-class, but of serious scholars, who conduct "studies" in human response and whose laboratory is the sensorium. The work would fit nicely into Kirstie Blair's theory of Spasmodism which focuses on the bodily connection of spasm and weakness.

I don't know anything about Jones (yet) except that he's mentioned in the only book in Bechtbau Library at the University of Tübingen that says anything about Spasmodism, and I have it in my head that he has a brother who was a writer as well.

I'm presenting the poem "High Summer" below, because I think it can count as a defining poem of that genre. I'm not sure how popular, and therefore, influential it ever was, but it's aesthetic is just right. The poet is a figure, who knows the Summer has arrived, but doesn't feel it bodily, until he's climbed up above the fray, beyond the strictures of form--in this case, hedge-rowed fields--and let's himself go to enjoyment. That's about the sum of the Spasmodic project: the climb, the emphasis on bodily sensation, the privileged view of the ascendant, the breaking of confines (convention/poetic form), and release, and the jouissance, the sheer unembarrassed enjoyment of the world.

High Summer by Ebenezer Jones

I never wholly feel that summer is high,
However green the trees, or loud the birds,
However movelessly eye winking herds,
Stand in field ponds, or under large trees lie,—
Till I do climb all cultured pastures by,
That hedged by hedgerows studiously fretted trim,
Smile like a lady's face with lace laced prim,
And on some moor or hill that seeks the sky
Lonely and nakedly,—utterly lie down,
And feel the sunshine throbbing on body and limb,
My drowsy brain in pleasant drunkenness swim,
Each rising thought sink back, and dreamily drown,
Smiles creep o'er my face, and smother my lips, and cloy,
Each muscle sink to itself, and separately enjoy.

Introduction to Dobell

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:18:00 +0000

Introduction to Bailey

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:02:00 +0000

Introduction to Smith

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 14:57:00 +0000

Poems (poetry) 1853

Sonnets on the War [with Sydney Dobell] (poetry) 1855

City Poems (poetry) 1857

Edwin of Deira (poetry) 1861

Dreamthorp: A Book of Essays Written in the Country (essays) 1863

Alfred Hagart's Household (novel) 1865

A Summer in Skye (essays) 1865

Miss Oona McQuarrie: A Sequel to Alfred Hagart's Household (novel) 1866

Last Leaves: Sketches and Criticisms (poetry and essays) 1868

Introduction and Biography at eNotes.

Here you can read many of Smith's Essays Online at Quotidiana.

A lively appreciation of Smith's writing at The Dabbler.

"Christmas in Edinburgh" by Alexander Smith

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 14:37:00 +0000

Sheath'd is the river as it glideth by,
Frost-pearl'd are all the boughs of forests old,
The sheep are huddling close upon the wold,
And over them the stars tremble on high.
Pure joys these winter nights around me lie;
'Tis fine to loiter through the lighted streets
At Christmas-time, and guess from brow and pace
The doom and history of each one we meet,
What kind of heart beats in each dusky case;
Whiles, startled by the beauty of a face
In a shop-light a moment. Or instead,
To dream of silent fields where calm and deep
The sunshine lieth like a golden sleep--
Recalling sweetest looks of summers dead.

II.

Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas streets,
But I am sitting in my silent room,
Sitting all silent in congenial gloom
To-night, while half the world the other greets
With smiles and grasping hands and drinks and meats,
I sit and muse on my poetic doom;
Like the dim scent within a budded rose,
A joy is folded in my heart; and when
I think on poets nurtured 'mong the throes
And by the lowly hearths of common men,--
Think of their works, some song, some swelling ode
With gorgeous music growing to a close,
Deep muffled as the dead-march of a god,--
My heart is burning to be one of those.

"Love" by Alexander Smith

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 14:33:00 +0000

THE fierce exulting worlds, the motes in rays,
   The churlish thistles, scented briers,
The wind-swept bluebells on the sunny braes,
   Down to the central fires,

Exist alike in Love. Love is a sea
   Filling all the abysses dim
Of lornest space, in whose deeps regally
   Suns and their bright broods swim.

This mighty sea of Love, with wondrous tides,
   Is sternly just to sun and grain;
'Tis laving at this moment Saturn's sides,
   'Tis in my blood and brain.

All things have something more than barren use;
   There is a scent upon the brier,
A tremulous splendour in the autumn dews,
   Cold morns are fringed with fire.

The clodded earth goes up in sweet-breath'd flowers;
   In music dies poor human speech,
And into beauty blow those hearts of ours
   When Love is born in each.

Daisies are white upon the churchyard sod,
   Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give.
The world is very lovely. O my God,
   I thank Thee that I live!

a louse

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 14:18:00 +0000

test test

"Glasgow" by Alexander Smith

noreply@blogger.com (Mischa Willett) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 14:17:00 +0000

SING, poet, 'tis a merry world;
That cottage smoke is rolled and curled
In sport, that every moss
Is happy, every inch of soil: -
Before me runs a road of toil
With my grave cut across.
Sing, trailing showers and breezy downs -
I know the tragic hearts of towns.

City! I am true son of thine;
Ne'er dwelt I where great mornings shine
Around the bleating pens;
Ne'er by the rivulets I strayed,
And ne'er upon my childhood weighed
The silence of the glens.
Instead of shores where ocean beats
I hear the ebb and flow of streets.

Black Labor draws his weary waves
Into their secret moaning caves;
But, with the morning light,
That sea again will overflow
With a long, weary sound of woe,
Again to faint in night.
Wave am I in that sea of woes,
Which, night and morning, ebbs and flows.

I dwelt within a gloomy court,
Wherein did never sunbeam sport;
Yet there my heart was stirred -
My very blood did dance and thrill,
When on my narrow window-sill
Spring lighted like a bird.
Poor flowers! I watched them pine for weeks,
With leaves as pale as human cheeks.

Afar, one summer, I was borne;
Through golden vapors of the morn
I heard the hills of sheep:
I trod with a wild ecstasy
The bright fringe of the living sea:
And on a ruined keep
I sat, and watched an endless plain
Blacken beneath the gloom of rain.

Oh, fair the lightly-sprinkled waste,
O'er which a laughing shower has raced!
Oh, fair the April shoots!
Oh, fair the woods on summer days,
While a blue hyacinthine haze
Is dreaming round the roots!
In thee, O city! I discern
Another beaity, sad and strern.

Draw thy fierce streams of blinding ore,
Smite on a thousand anvils, roar
Down the harbor-bars;
Smoulder in smoky sunsets, flare
On rainy nights; with street and square
Lie empty to the stars.
From terrace proud to alley base
I know thee as my mother's face.

When sunset bathes thee in his gold,
In wreaths of bronze thy sides are rolled,
They smoke is dusky fire;
And, from the glory round thee poured,
A sunbeam like an angel's sword
Shivers upon a spire.
Thus have I watched thee, Terror! Dream!
While the blue night crept up the stream.

The wild train plunges in the hills,
He shrieks across the midnight rills;
Streams through the shifting glare,
The roar and flap of foundry fires,
That shake with light the sleeping shires;
And on the moorlands bare
He sees afar a crown of light
Hang o'er thee in the hollow night.

And through thy heart as through a dream,
Flows on that black disdainful stream;
All scornfully it flows,
Between the huddled gloom of masts,
Silent as pines unvexed by blasts -
'Tween lamps in streaming rows,
O wondrous sight! O stream of dread!
O long, dark river of the dead!

Afar, the banner of the year
Unfurls: but dimly prisoned here,
Tis only when I greet
A dropt rose lying in my way,
A butterfly that flutters gay
Athwart the noisy street,
I know the happy Summer smiles
Around thy suburbs, miles on miles.

'Twere neither pæan now, nor dirge,
The flash and thunder of the surge
On flat sands wide and bare;
No haunting joy or anguish dwells
In the green light of sunny dells,
Or in the starry air.
Alike to me the desert flower,
The rainbow laughing o'er the shower

While o'er thy walls the darkness sails,
I lean against the churchyard rails;
Up in the midnight towers
The belfried spire, the street is dead,
I hear in silence overhead
The clang of iron hours:
It moves me not - I know her tomb
Is yonder in the shapeless gloom.

All raptures of this mortal breath,
Solemnities of life and death,
Dwell in thy noise alone:
Of me thou hast become a part -
Some kindred with my human heart
Lives in thy streets of stone;
For we have been familiar more
Than galley-slave and weary oar.

The beech is dipped in wine; the shower
Is burnished; on the swinging flower
The latest bee doth sit.
The low sun stares through dust of gold.
And o'er the darkened heath and wold
The large ghost-moth doth flit.
In every orchard Autumn stands,
With apples in his golden hands.

But all these sights and sounds are strange;
Then wherefore from thee shoud I range?
Thou hast my kith and kin;
My childhood, youth, and manhood brave;
Thou hast that unforgotten grave
Within thy central din.
A sacredness of love and death
Dwells in thy noise and smoky breath.