Let us go then , you and I ,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go , through certain half- deserted streets ,
The muttering retreats( peivate place)
Of restless nights in one- night cheap hotels
And sawdust( ) restaurants with oyster- shells :
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious( proceeding harmfully widout bing noticd) intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
10
Oh, do not ask , " What is it ?"
Let us go and make our visit .
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window - panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle(jaw) on the window -
panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered (remain in a place)upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
20
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house , and fell asleep .
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street ,
Rubbing its back upon the window - panes;
There will be time , there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet ;
There will be time to murder and create ,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate ;
30
Time for you and time for me ,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea .
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder , " Do I dare ?" and, " Do I dare ?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair ,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
40
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin !"]
My morning coat , my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest , but asserted(resting truly ) by a simple pin —
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin !"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe ?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all ;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons ,
50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room .
So how should I presume( andaza) ?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all —
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated , sprawling(stretched) on a pin ,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall ,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt - ends of my days and ways?
60
And how should I presume ?
And I have known the arms already, known them all —
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight , downed with light brown hair !]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress(to wander frm main topic) ?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl .
And should I then presume ?
And how should I begin ?
. . . . .
Shall I say , I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt - sleeves, leaning out of
windows ? . . .
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling( to run with short steps) across the floors of silent seas .
. . . . .
And the afternoon , the evening , sleeps so peacefully !
Smoothed by long fingers ,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers(to pretend sickness) ,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me .
Should I , after tea and cakes and ices ,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed ,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald ) brought
in upon a platter,
I am no prophet –and here ' s no great matter ;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker ,
And I have seen the eternal Footman( male servant) hold my coat , and
snicker(disrespectful laugh ) ,
And in short, I was afraid .
And would it have been worth it , after all ,
After the cups , the marmalade(citeus juice ), the tea ,
Among the porcelain( china ware) , among some talk of you and me ,
Would it have been worth while ,
90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile ,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question ,
To say: "I am Lazarus , come from the dead ,
Come back to tell you all , I shall tell you all "
If one, settling a pillow by her head ,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all .
That is not it , at all ."
And would it have been worth it , after all ,
Would it have been worth while ,
100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled
streets ,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail
along the floor—
And this, and so much more ? —
It is impossible to say just what I mean !
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a
screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl ,
And turning toward the window , should say :
" That is not it at all ,
That is not what I meant , at all . "
110
. . . . .
No ! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be ;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress , start a scene or two
Advise the prince ; no doubt, an easy tool ,
Deferential , glad to be of use ,
Politic , cautious , and meticulous ;
Full of high sentence , but a bit obtuse(not sharp ) ;
At times , indeed , almost ridiculous—
Almost , at times , the Fool.
I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled .
Shall I part my hair behind ? Do I dare to eat a peach ?
I shall wear white flannel trousers , and walk upon the
beach .
I have heard the mermaids singing , each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me .
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black .
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea - girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
130
Till human voices wake us , and we drown .
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
the love song of j. alfred prufrock
The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . 10
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet–and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all." 110
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old . . . I grow old . . . 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
[1915]
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, commonly known as Prufrock, is a poem by T. S. Eliot, begun in February 1910 and published in Chicago in June 1915. Described as a "drama of literary anguish," it presents a stream of consciousness in the form of a dramatic monologue, and marked the beginning of Eliot's career as an influential poet. With its weariness, regret, embarrassment, longing, emasculation, sexual frustration, sense of decay, and awareness of mortality, Prufrock has become one of the most recognized voices in 20th-century literature,[1] and is the quintessential urban zeitgeist of the 20th century.
Interpretation
Because the poem is concerned primarily with the irregular musings of the narrator, it can be difficult to interpret. Laurence Perrine wrote, "[the poem] presents the apparently random thoughts going through a person's head within a certain time interval, in which the transitional links are psychological rather than logical".[16] This stylistic choice makes it difficult to determine exactly what is literal and what is symbolic. On the surface, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" relays the thoughts of a sexually frustrated middle-aged man who wants to say something but is afraid to do so, and ultimately does not.[16][17] The dispute, however, lies in to whom Prufrock is speaking, whether he is actually going anywhere, what he wants to say, and to what the various images refer.The intended audience is not evident. Some believe that Prufrock is talking to another person[18] or directly to the reader,[19] while others believe Prufrock's monologue is internal. Perrine writes "The 'you and I' of the first line are divided parts of Prufrock's own nature",[16] while Mutlu Konuk Blasing suggests that the "you and I" refers to the relationship between the dilemmas of the character and the author.[20] Similarly, critics dispute whether Prufrock is going somewhere during the course of the poem. In the first half of the poem, Prufrock uses various outdoor images (the sky, streets, cheap restaurants and hotels, fog), and talks about how there will be time for various things before "the taking of toast and tea", and "time to turn back and descend the stair." This has led many to believe that Prufrock is on his way to an afternoon tea, in which he is preparing to ask this "overwhelming question".[16] Others, however, believe that Prufrock is not physically going anywhere, but rather, is playing through it in his mind.[19][20]
Perhaps the most significant dispute lies over the "overwhelming question" that Prufrock is trying to ask. Many believe that Prufrock is trying to tell a woman of his romantic interest in her,[16] pointing to the various images of women's arms and clothing and the final few lines in which Prufrock laments that the mermaids will not sing to him. Others, however, believe that Prufrock is trying to express some deeper philosophical insight or disillusionment with society, but fears rejection, pointing to statements that express a disillusionment with society such as "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" (line 51). Many believe that the poem is a criticism of Edwardian society and Prufrock's dilemma represents the inability to live a meaningful existence in the modern world.[21] McCoy and Harlan wrote "For many readers in the 1920s, Prufrock seemed to epitomize the frustration and impotence of the modern individual. He seemed to represent thwarted desires and modern disillusionment."[19]
As the poem uses the stream of consciousness technique, it is often difficult to determine what is meant to be interpreted literally or symbolically. In general, Eliot uses imagery which is indicative of Prufrock's character,[16] representing aging and decay. For example, "When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table" (lines 2-3), the "sawdust restaurants" and "cheap hotels," the yellow fog, and the afternoon "Asleep...tired... or it malingers" (line 77), are reminiscent of languor and decay, while Prufrock's various concerns about his hair and teeth, as well as the mermaids "Combing the white hair of the waves blown back / When the wind blows the water white and black," show his concern over aging.
Epigraph
In context, the epigraph refers to a meeting between Dante and Guido da Montefeltro, who was condemned to the eighth circle of Hell for providing counsel to Pope Boniface VIII, who wished to use Guido's advice for a nefarious undertaking. This encounter follows Dante's meeting with Ulysses, who himself is also condemned to the circle of the Fraudulent. According to Ron Banerjee, the epigraph serves to cast ironic light on Prufrock's intent. Like Guido, Prufrock had intended his story never be told, and so by quoting Guido, Eliot reveals his view of Prufrock's love song.[12]Frederick Locke contends that Prufrock himself is suffering from multiple personalities of sorts, and that he embodies both Guido and Dante in the Inferno analogy. One is the storyteller; the other the listener who later reveals the story to the world. He posits, alternatively, that the role of Guido in the analogy is indeed filled by Prufrock, but that the role of Dante is filled by you, the reader, as in "Let us go then, you and I," (1). In that, the reader is granted the power to do as he pleases with Prufrock's love song.[13]
Although he finally chose not to use it, the draft version of the epigraph for the poem came from Dante's Purgatorio (XXVI, 147-148):[14]
- 'sovegna vos a temps de ma dolor'.
- Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina.
- 'be mindful in due time of my pain'.
- Then dived he back into that fire which refines them.
- S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
- A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
- Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
- Ma perciocchè giammai di questo fondo
- Non tornò vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
- Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
- "If I thought my answer were given
- to anyone who would ever return to the world,
- this flame would stand still without moving any further.
- But since never from this abyss
- has anyone ever returned alive, if what I hear is true,
- without fear of infamy I answer you."[15]
Monday, January 24, 2011
the rise of english novel
The Rise of the English Novel
INTRODUCTION
The dominant genre in world literature , the novel is
actually a relatively young form of imaginative writing . Only
about 250 years old in England — and embattled from the
start — its rise to preeminence has been striking . After
sparse beginnings in seventeenth - century England , novels
grew exponentially in production by the eighteenth century
and in the nineteenth century became the primary form of
popular entertainment .
Elizabethan literature provides a starting point for
identifying prototypes of the novel in England . Although
not widespread , works of prose fiction were not
uncommon during this period . Possibly the best known
was Sir Philip Sidney ' s Arcadia, a romance published
posthumously in 1590. The novel also owes a debt to
Elizabethan drama , which was the leading form of popular
entertainment in the age of Shakespeare . The first
professional novelist — that is , the first person to earn a
living from publishing novels— was probably the dramatist
Aphra Behn. Her 1688 Oronooko , or The Royal Slave
typified the early English novel: it features a sensationalistic
plot that borrowed freely from continental literature ,
especially from the imported French romance. Concurrent
with Behn ' s career was that of another important early
English novelist : John Bunyan. This religious author ' s
Pilgrim ' s Progress , first published in 1678, became one of
the books found in nearly every English household .
In the second half of the seventeenthcentury , the novel
genre developed many of the traits that characterize it in
modern form. Rejecting the sensationalism of Behn and
other early popular novelists , novelists built on the realism
of Bunyan ' s work. Three of the foremost novelists of this
era are Daniel Defoe, Henry Fielding , and Samuel
Richardson. Defoe' s name , more than that of any other
English writer, is credited with the emergence of the " true "
English novel by virtue of the 1719 publication of The
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe . In the work of these three
writers , the realism and drama of individual consciousness
that we most associate with the novel took precedence
over external drama and other motifs of continental
romance. Contemporary critics approved of these elements
as supposedly native to England in other genres , especially
in history , biography , and religious prose works.
A number of profound social and economic changes
affecting British culture from the Renaissance through the
eighteenth century brought the novel quickly into popular
prominence. The broadest of these were probably the
advances in the technology of printing in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries which made written texts — once the
province of the elite— available to a growing population of
readers. Concurrent changes in modes of distribution and
in literacy rates brought ever increasing numbers of books
and pamphlets to populations traditionally excluded from
all but the most rudimentary education, especially working -
class men and women of all classes . As the circulation of
printed material transformed , so did its economics , shifting
away from the patronage system characteristic of the
Renaissance , during which a nation' s nobility supported
authors whose works reinforced the values of the ruling
classes . As the patronage system broke down through the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries , authors became free
agents in the literary marketplace , dependent on popular
sales for their success and sustenance , and thus reflecting
more and more the values of a predominantly middle - class
readership. The demand for reading material allowed a
greatly expanded pool of writers to make a living from
largely ephemeral poetry and fiction .
These monumental changes in how literature was
produced and consumed sent Shockwaves of alarm
through more conservative sectors of English culture at the
beginning of the eighteenth century . A largely upper- class
male contingent, reluctant to see any change in the literary
status quo , mounted an aggressive "antinovel campaign . "
Attacks on the new genre tended to identify it with its
roots in French romance , derided as a sensationalistic
import antithetical to English values . The early targets of
these attacks were those writers , including Behn , Eliza
Haywood, and Delarivier Manley , who had produced
original English prose " romances" based on the conventions
of the French style . At the same time , however , more
women in particular were writing novels that made a
display of decorum and piety , often reacting to detractors
who charged that sensationalistic tales of adventure and
sexual endangerment had the potential to corrupt adult
female readers and the youth of both sexes . The outcome
of this campaign was not the demise of the novel , but the
selective legitimation of novels that displayed certain ,
distinctly non - romantic traits . These traits became the
guidelines according to which the novel as a genre
developed and was valued . Most venerated by this tradition
are the three leading eighteenth- century male novelists :
Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding . Modern students of the
novel are often unaware of the tumultuous controversy
that attended its first steps at the end of the seventeenth
century. For the most part , feminist scholars have been
responsible for generating the recovery of the novel ' s
earliest roots and for opening up discussion of its cultural
value in its many different forms.
INTRODUCTION
The dominant genre in world literature , the novel is
actually a relatively young form of imaginative writing . Only
about 250 years old in England — and embattled from the
start — its rise to preeminence has been striking . After
sparse beginnings in seventeenth - century England , novels
grew exponentially in production by the eighteenth century
and in the nineteenth century became the primary form of
popular entertainment .
Elizabethan literature provides a starting point for
identifying prototypes of the novel in England . Although
not widespread , works of prose fiction were not
uncommon during this period . Possibly the best known
was Sir Philip Sidney ' s Arcadia, a romance published
posthumously in 1590. The novel also owes a debt to
Elizabethan drama , which was the leading form of popular
entertainment in the age of Shakespeare . The first
professional novelist — that is , the first person to earn a
living from publishing novels— was probably the dramatist
Aphra Behn. Her 1688 Oronooko , or The Royal Slave
typified the early English novel: it features a sensationalistic
plot that borrowed freely from continental literature ,
especially from the imported French romance. Concurrent
with Behn ' s career was that of another important early
English novelist : John Bunyan. This religious author ' s
Pilgrim ' s Progress , first published in 1678, became one of
the books found in nearly every English household .
In the second half of the seventeenthcentury , the novel
genre developed many of the traits that characterize it in
modern form. Rejecting the sensationalism of Behn and
other early popular novelists , novelists built on the realism
of Bunyan ' s work. Three of the foremost novelists of this
era are Daniel Defoe, Henry Fielding , and Samuel
Richardson. Defoe' s name , more than that of any other
English writer, is credited with the emergence of the " true "
English novel by virtue of the 1719 publication of The
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe . In the work of these three
writers , the realism and drama of individual consciousness
that we most associate with the novel took precedence
over external drama and other motifs of continental
romance. Contemporary critics approved of these elements
as supposedly native to England in other genres , especially
in history , biography , and religious prose works.
A number of profound social and economic changes
affecting British culture from the Renaissance through the
eighteenth century brought the novel quickly into popular
prominence. The broadest of these were probably the
advances in the technology of printing in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries which made written texts — once the
province of the elite— available to a growing population of
readers. Concurrent changes in modes of distribution and
in literacy rates brought ever increasing numbers of books
and pamphlets to populations traditionally excluded from
all but the most rudimentary education, especially working -
class men and women of all classes . As the circulation of
printed material transformed , so did its economics , shifting
away from the patronage system characteristic of the
Renaissance , during which a nation' s nobility supported
authors whose works reinforced the values of the ruling
classes . As the patronage system broke down through the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries , authors became free
agents in the literary marketplace , dependent on popular
sales for their success and sustenance , and thus reflecting
more and more the values of a predominantly middle - class
readership. The demand for reading material allowed a
greatly expanded pool of writers to make a living from
largely ephemeral poetry and fiction .
These monumental changes in how literature was
produced and consumed sent Shockwaves of alarm
through more conservative sectors of English culture at the
beginning of the eighteenth century . A largely upper- class
male contingent, reluctant to see any change in the literary
status quo , mounted an aggressive "antinovel campaign . "
Attacks on the new genre tended to identify it with its
roots in French romance , derided as a sensationalistic
import antithetical to English values . The early targets of
these attacks were those writers , including Behn , Eliza
Haywood, and Delarivier Manley , who had produced
original English prose " romances" based on the conventions
of the French style . At the same time , however , more
women in particular were writing novels that made a
display of decorum and piety , often reacting to detractors
who charged that sensationalistic tales of adventure and
sexual endangerment had the potential to corrupt adult
female readers and the youth of both sexes . The outcome
of this campaign was not the demise of the novel , but the
selective legitimation of novels that displayed certain ,
distinctly non - romantic traits . These traits became the
guidelines according to which the novel as a genre
developed and was valued . Most venerated by this tradition
are the three leading eighteenth- century male novelists :
Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding . Modern students of the
novel are often unaware of the tumultuous controversy
that attended its first steps at the end of the seventeenth
century. For the most part , feminist scholars have been
responsible for generating the recovery of the novel ' s
earliest roots and for opening up discussion of its cultural
value in its many different forms.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I tasted a liquor never brewed.
_______________________________________________
Title: The I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed
Author : Emily Dickinson [More Titles by Dickinson ]
I taste a liquor never brewed ,
From tankards(large cup handled) scooped in pearl ;
Not all the vats(tanks) upon the Rhine(river)
Yield such an alcohol !
Inebriate (nashe me tunn)of air am I ,
And debauchee (addiction of sensual pleasures)of dew ,
Reeling , through endless summer days ,
From inns of molten blue .
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove' s door,
When butterflies renounce(volunteerely give)their drams[1/8 weight],
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs(archangel) swing their snowy hats ,
And saints to windows run ,
To see the little tippler(drink alcohol)
Leaning against the sun!
The speaker in Emily Dickinson ’s “ I taste a liquor never
brewed ” is describing a mystical state that she experiences
through her soul awareness ; the state is so overwhelmingly
uplifting that she feels as if she had become intoxicated by
drinking alcohol . But there is vast difference between her
spiritual intoxication and the literal , physical intoxication of
drinking an inebriating beverage .
The poem consists of four four- line stanzas. The second
and fourth lines in each stanza rime , with the first rime
pair “ Pearl ” and “Alcohol ” being near or slant rime . The
poem is # 214 in Thomas H. Johnson ’ s The Complete
Poems of Emily Dickinson .
First Stanza – “ I taste a liquor never brewed ”
In the first stanza, the speaker begins the extended
alcohol / intoxication metaphor by claiming that she
experiences a state of awareness that she has rarely , if
ever , heard described before. At this point, she likens this
experience to being drunk , but the “ liquor ” that made her
drunk is not “ brewed ”; in other words, her intoxication is
not caused by the physical ingestion of a drink .
The next line, “From Tankards scooped in Pearl , ” describes
the cup from which the speaker has drunk . Again she must
resort to metaphor to express where this feeling comes
from, because the experience is from the soul , or spiritual
level of being , which is ineffable and cannot be described
exactly in words, but can only be experienced. So when
she claims that the tankards or large mugs are “ scooped in
Pearl , ” she places them outside physical reality just as she
has done when she said she “ taste [ s ] a liquor never
brewed .”
Second Stanza – “ Inebriate of Air – am I –”
Even though her state of mind is ineffable , she continues to
dramatize the feeling by continuing to liken it to natural
experiences ; thus , she claims she is simply drunk on air ,
merely breathing makes her feel inebriated . And even the
“ Dew ” makes her feel drunk . And the “ endless summer
days ” make her feel as though she has been imbibing at
“ Inns of Molten Blue . ” It ’s as if the sky was one huge
tavern from which the liquor flowed, and after she had
drunk her fill, she goes “ reeling” from the intoxication
through those “ endless summer days .”
Third Stanza – “ When ‘ Landlords ’ turn the drunken
Bee ”
Next, the speaker likens the bees and butterflies to fellow
drinkers , whom she will outdrink . After the flower , from
which the bee is imbibing, closes up and the bee has to
leave or be trapped , and after the butterflies have had their
fill of securing nectar from the flowers, the speaker will be
able to continue drinking her soul - intoxication , because it
is not physical and, therefore , has no limit .
Fourth Stanza – “ Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats
–“
In the final stanza , the speaker reveals when she will have
to stop drinking her special intoxicating beverage , and that
time is never . The last line in stanza three claimed , “ I shall
but drink the more !” And although the sentence seems to
end, the idea continues in the next stanza with “ Till ”— I
shall continue drinking until the highest order of angels
remove their “ snowy Hats , ” and saints hurry to the
windows to watch me “ Leaning against the – Sun –“; and
these events will never take place : seraphs do not wear
hats , and saints would hardly be interested in peering
through windows to observe a “ little tippler . ”
The poem , in the Johnson version , ends with a dash –
indicating further that the speaker never has to stop her
drinking , as those drinking the literal alcohol must .
Title: The I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed
Author : Emily Dickinson [More Titles by Dickinson ]
I taste a liquor never brewed ,
From tankards(large cup handled) scooped in pearl ;
Not all the vats(tanks) upon the Rhine(river)
Yield such an alcohol !
Inebriate (nashe me tunn)of air am I ,
And debauchee (addiction of sensual pleasures)of dew ,
Reeling , through endless summer days ,
From inns of molten blue .
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove' s door,
When butterflies renounce(volunteerely give)their drams[1/8 weight],
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs(archangel) swing their snowy hats ,
And saints to windows run ,
To see the little tippler(drink alcohol)
Leaning against the sun!
The speaker in Emily Dickinson ’s “ I taste a liquor never
brewed ” is describing a mystical state that she experiences
through her soul awareness ; the state is so overwhelmingly
uplifting that she feels as if she had become intoxicated by
drinking alcohol . But there is vast difference between her
spiritual intoxication and the literal , physical intoxication of
drinking an inebriating beverage .
The poem consists of four four- line stanzas. The second
and fourth lines in each stanza rime , with the first rime
pair “ Pearl ” and “Alcohol ” being near or slant rime . The
poem is # 214 in Thomas H. Johnson ’ s The Complete
Poems of Emily Dickinson .
First Stanza – “ I taste a liquor never brewed ”
In the first stanza, the speaker begins the extended
alcohol / intoxication metaphor by claiming that she
experiences a state of awareness that she has rarely , if
ever , heard described before. At this point, she likens this
experience to being drunk , but the “ liquor ” that made her
drunk is not “ brewed ”; in other words, her intoxication is
not caused by the physical ingestion of a drink .
The next line, “From Tankards scooped in Pearl , ” describes
the cup from which the speaker has drunk . Again she must
resort to metaphor to express where this feeling comes
from, because the experience is from the soul , or spiritual
level of being , which is ineffable and cannot be described
exactly in words, but can only be experienced. So when
she claims that the tankards or large mugs are “ scooped in
Pearl , ” she places them outside physical reality just as she
has done when she said she “ taste [ s ] a liquor never
brewed .”
Second Stanza – “ Inebriate of Air – am I –”
Even though her state of mind is ineffable , she continues to
dramatize the feeling by continuing to liken it to natural
experiences ; thus , she claims she is simply drunk on air ,
merely breathing makes her feel inebriated . And even the
“ Dew ” makes her feel drunk . And the “ endless summer
days ” make her feel as though she has been imbibing at
“ Inns of Molten Blue . ” It ’s as if the sky was one huge
tavern from which the liquor flowed, and after she had
drunk her fill, she goes “ reeling” from the intoxication
through those “ endless summer days .”
Third Stanza – “ When ‘ Landlords ’ turn the drunken
Bee ”
Next, the speaker likens the bees and butterflies to fellow
drinkers , whom she will outdrink . After the flower , from
which the bee is imbibing, closes up and the bee has to
leave or be trapped , and after the butterflies have had their
fill of securing nectar from the flowers, the speaker will be
able to continue drinking her soul - intoxication , because it
is not physical and, therefore , has no limit .
Fourth Stanza – “ Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats
–“
In the final stanza , the speaker reveals when she will have
to stop drinking her special intoxicating beverage , and that
time is never . The last line in stanza three claimed , “ I shall
but drink the more !” And although the sentence seems to
end, the idea continues in the next stanza with “ Till ”— I
shall continue drinking until the highest order of angels
remove their “ snowy Hats , ” and saints hurry to the
windows to watch me “ Leaning against the – Sun –“; and
these events will never take place : seraphs do not wear
hats , and saints would hardly be interested in peering
through windows to observe a “ little tippler . ”
The poem , in the Johnson version , ends with a dash –
indicating further that the speaker never has to stop her
drinking , as those drinking the literal alcohol must .
Philip larkin wants
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone :
However the sky grows dark with invitation - cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flagstaff —
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone .
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs :
Despite the artful tensions of the calendar ,
The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites ,
The costly aversion of the eyes from death —
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs .
I think Larkin relies on the weight of his line to
convey the nature of death , which he uses as a symbol
throughout his works. Death is unfathomably heavy , and
each of us is Atlas holding up the world . If only we could
look death in the face , we would not be doomed to this
partial understanding of the world .
I think Philip Larkin is saying . . .
despite all the typical rituals of every- day life ( invitations ,
family photographs ) - - all these things which seem the
\'norm \' in the ordinary days of one\'s life. . . beyond it all
there is still the wish to be alone . . .. and not to have all of
this.. .
The wish for \" oblivion \" (forgetfulness, unconsciousness) ,
despite the everyday things that take place in one \'s life . ..
\'Life insurance \'.. .
Despite our vain attempts to prevent the inevitable process
of death .. .. Underneath it all there is still the desire for
oblivion ( unconsciousness).
For forgetting it all and just. .. \" sleeping \" .
However the sky grows dark with invitation - cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flagstaff —
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone .
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs :
Despite the artful tensions of the calendar ,
The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites ,
The costly aversion of the eyes from death —
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs .
I think Larkin relies on the weight of his line to
convey the nature of death , which he uses as a symbol
throughout his works. Death is unfathomably heavy , and
each of us is Atlas holding up the world . If only we could
look death in the face , we would not be doomed to this
partial understanding of the world .
I think Philip Larkin is saying . . .
despite all the typical rituals of every- day life ( invitations ,
family photographs ) - - all these things which seem the
\'norm \' in the ordinary days of one\'s life. . . beyond it all
there is still the wish to be alone . . .. and not to have all of
this.. .
The wish for \" oblivion \" (forgetfulness, unconsciousness) ,
despite the everyday things that take place in one \'s life . ..
\'Life insurance \'.. .
Despite our vain attempts to prevent the inevitable process
of death .. .. Underneath it all there is still the desire for
oblivion ( unconsciousness).
For forgetting it all and just. .. \" sleeping \" .
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone :
However the sky grows dark with invitation - cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flagstaff —
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone .
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs :
Despite the artful tensions of the calendar ,
The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites ,
The costly aversion of the eyes from death —
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs .
However the sky grows dark with invitation - cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flagstaff —
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone .
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs :
Despite the artful tensions of the calendar ,
The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites ,
The costly aversion of the eyes from death —
Beneath it all , desire of oblivion runs .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)