#@!% Wordsworth

Not really. I mean, I am angry, but I'm angry with myself and taking it out on him. I haven't been paying attention, I've been coasting along and now I realize that I am six books into The Prelude and I have no idea what is going on. None. It was the passage about Mount Blanc and Chamonix that brought it home. Since I've been there I felt I could, finally, relate to one of his experiences so I stopped to think about it and that's when I noticed that I don't understand any of it. Here is the beginning of the passage:

That day we first
Beheld the summit of Mont Blanc, and grieved
To have a soulless image on the eye
Which had usurped upon a living thought
That never more could be.

OK, what? It's one of the most jaw-dropping sights in the world, so what is the problem? So I reread this book, which is called Cambridge and the Alps, and I found this passage which I vaguely remembered. This is about his life at Cambridge, before the trip:

And not to leave the picture of that time
Imperfect, with these habits I must rank
A melancholy (from humours of the blood
In part, and partly taken up) that loved
A pensive sky, sad days, and piping winds,
The twilight more than the dawn, autumn than spring-
A treasured and luxurious gloom, of choice
And inclination mainly, and the mere
Redundancy of youth's contentedness.

I think I get this part, it's like choosing to wear all black and listen to a lot of Smiths maybe. So then I thought that his mopey reaction to Mont Blanc was a matter of teenage moodiness (actually I don't know exactly how old he is at this point, but that is the least of my worries and anyway it's post-university, so an angsty time). I was going with that, but then what he says next still doesn't make any sense to me. Here's the whole passage:

That day we first
Beheld the summit of Mont Blanc, and grieved
To have a soulless image on the eye
Which had usurped upon a living thought
That never more could be. The wondrous Vale
Of Chamouny did on the following dawn,
With it's dumb cataracts and streams of ice,
A motionless array of mighty waves,
Five rivers broad and vast, make rich amends,
and reconciled us to realities.

So then to the OED (the two-volume Shorter- I once worked in a place that had the entire glorious 20 volume set and it was shelved right next to my desk, so basically heaven on earth as I spent slow periods happily reading away and it looked like I was working) to find out that 'dumb cataracts' means silent waterfalls. OK... I still don't know what he is saying here. Imagining Mont Blanc is better than seeing it, the waterfalls are silent, the water is frozen, the waves are motionless and.. what? What does this mean? Anyone? Bueller?

While I await your thoughts (please!), I am going to start the whole thing over from the beginning. I will understand this.

And later, when I'm not in a temper, I may admit that the language is rather beautiful whether or not I get it.

Comments

[Eiron Page]

It is like the difference between a painting, or the image in the eye of an artist, and the real thing. Once you eradicate the mystery all you have left is the photographic image. The idealised Mont Blanc of his mind's eye could no longer be considered his own true Mont Blanc as he had the empirical evidence of his own truly sensory eyes to replace it. I think he knows he has achieved something wonderful, but has lost so much for the efforts. I'll stop now as I'm getting the feeling, tired as I am, that I'm simply repeating the same idea over and over. It is, I imagine, a bit like meeting me for the first time. Clearly you'd be expecting something quite wonderful, perhaps even dazzlingly so; when the moment comes, though, disappointment hits you like a sockful of damp sand, and knocks away any sense of positive illusion.

Mostly in the early sections I just read it for the lyrical language, which is pretty. Suddenly, just around this stage, I really got into it.

[adam]

They have a big thing about the sublime, these romantic boys - how nature is beyond intellectual comprehension, beyond understanding, and just needs to be experienced and grasped at and how it's likely to leave you feeling terrified and hollow and kind of wordless, so vast it is. I've never read the prelude at all - I'll dig it out today.

[Eiron Page]

In this case though it is different. The vision he has himself of just how vast and terrible this mountainous region must be doesn't equate with his actual experience, just as the cold objective snapshot cannot capture the subjective emotion of a dramatic painting.

[Eiron Page]

It ties in with the earlier themes of the creative imagination and the roll of the artist. It almost contrasts with his earlier complaints of being unable in words to do justice to all the wondrous and mysterious elements at work in nature. It's less of the "Is it for this?" and more of the "Is this it?"

He does, however, following this cold shock of the real, concede that the sights and sounds grew on him in this instance and note that reality isn't all bad and does contain some of those sublime forces he was hoping to witness.

[Eiron Page]

And by "roll" I do, of course, mean "role". It is early and I've not really come to properly yet this morning.

[adam]

How do you make a romantic poet visiting the alps roll?

Serves me right for commenting on a poem I don't actually know :)

[Melissa Donovan]

I wish I could help but these long poetic works rarely hold my attention. I appreciate their beauty but I prefer to read material that requires a little less translation. I admire your dedication to this though ;)

[Greer]

I guess I am surprised to see this kind of reaction. My understanding of Romanticism so far was based on the idea that nature inspired the poets to all their great imaginative heights and made them feel like they had a connection to the divine and so I wasn't expecting this kind of disappointment in nature not living up to imagination. It's hard to imagine Keats reacting that way.

Anyway, Wordsworth also seems let down when he finds out they have crossed the Alps, so I think that matches up with what Eiron is saying. This part comes right after that and seems important but I'm still trying to figure it out (Book VI, Lines 525-):

Imagination- lifting up itself
Before the eye and progress of my song
Like an unfathered vapour, here that power,
In all the might of its own endowments, came
Athwart me! I was lost as in a cloud,
Halted without a struggle to break through;
And now, recovering, to my soul I say
'I recognize thy glory.' In such strength
of usurpation, in such visitings
Of awful promise, when the light of sense
Goes out in flashes that have shown to us
The invisible world, does greatness make abode,
There harbours whether we be young or old.
Our destiny, our nature and our home,
Is with infinitude, and only there-
With hope it is, hope that can never die,
Effort, and expectation, and desire,
And something evermore about to be.
The mind beneath such banners militant
Thinks not of spoils or trophies, nor of aught
That may attest its prowess, blest in thoughts
That are there own perfection and reward-
Strong in itself, and in the access of joy
Which hides it like the overflowing Nile.

Any thoughts? Is he talking about how the imagination is reconciled to reality or something like that?

I sincerely appreciate your comments so far. It means a lot that you're willing to think about this with me, or at least say hi :).

And Eiron, people are always more interesting in real life!

[jc]

Dearest Greer

I just imagine you EVER getting angry, so reading this is a bit of a shock...

I'd love to help out, but Melissa has completely nailed ny dilemma on this sort of thing. I can never disect the long poetic words.

Oh, and I'm pleased to say that so far, its also been my experience that people turn out more interesting in real life (my evidence is based on meting two fellow bloggers - FiL and Colin - and just loving them more in the flesh than over t'internet).

[Greer]

It makes me feel worlds better to know I'm not alone as far as having a hard time getting into this. If two people I respect so much can take a dislike to it, then maybe it isn't just intellectual inferiority on my part!

I think it's fun to meet people you've only known online. I met one of my best friends that way, she worked for another branch of a company I worked for and we met at meetings after only knowing each other through phone and email... we got along even better in person and are still close even though we both changed jobs long ago...

Did Cherie Sorbet come along when you met FiL??

[jc]

Sadly no. But by the end of a very drunken and enjoyable night in Toronto, I had fears that Mr Letch or Mr Thrub (I forget who)was going to leeringly materialise....

Read here:

http://thevinylvillain.blogspot.com/2007/10/frightfully-decent-chap-indeed.html

or here:-

http://pogoagogo.blogspot.com/2007/10/back-where-i-belong.html

[Greer]

Ha!! Sounds like a fun night, thanks so much for the links :).