The Romantic Poetry Handbook seeks to enhance an understanding and appreciation of British Romantic poetry. Its intended audience is readers at all levels of familiarity with the work that it addresses. It takes its cue from Coleridgeâs comment in Biographia Literaria that âA poem is that species of composition, which is opposed to works of science, by proposing for its immediate object pleasure, not truthâ.1 Coleridge does not finally outlaw âtruthâ, but he reminds us that poetry involves play, aesthetic delight, miracles of rare devices, âpleasureâ. The word catches the professional literary critic off guard, with its seeming suggestion of something amoral, frivolous, irresponsible. Yet Coleridge invites reflection on the process and upshot of reading poems rather than, say, scientific papers. Certainly, the boldness of his investment in âpleasureâ â even when that pleasure takes the form of responding to the representation of difficult, painful or sorrowful experience â is one we take to be a clarionâcall for critical practice at a time when the word âpleasureâ is almost transgressively nonâutilitarian. Put simply, then, the bookâs âimmediate objectâ is to convey the two authorsâ enjoyment of Romantic poetry.
Jerome J. McGann argues that âThe Romantic â prototypically Coleridgean â concept of poetic pleasure is a philosophic category of human Beingâ, claiming that âThough a subjective experienceâ such pleasure âis metaphysically transcendentâ. There is a link in Coleridge between the aesthetic and the metaphysical, but it is not our purpose to enlist Romantic poetry in support of the âtranscendent Form of Beingâ that McGann halfâstigmatizes.2 Our purpose is simpler, to read the poetry as poetry and not another thing. As McGannâs work shows, the idea of âRomantic poetryâ is the subject of critical critique in recent decades. Much work has questioned assumptions underpinning the category of âRomantic poetryâ. The current volume responds to the stimulating provocation supplied by much of this work, often associated with critics writing from a new historicist perspective, but it owes its existence to a belief in the arresting achievement of poets writing in the last two decades of the eighteenth century and, principally, the first three of the nineteenth century, though beyond 1830 as well. Readings of a range of poems provide a concerted attempt to explore, illuminate, and define the nature of that achievement. At the outset, we would highlight, among the many pointers towards what makes Romantic poets original and significant, Wordsworthâs assertion in his Note to âThe Thornâ that âthe Reader cannot be too often reminded that Poetry is passion: it is the history or science of feelingsâ.3
Definitions
The idea of the âRomanticâ is entangled with seemingly endless problems of definition. When did British Romanticism begin? What, if any, are its essential characteristics? Is it merely a retrospective construction that bears witness to our need for an order to be imposed upon the flux and chaos of literary history? We acknowledge, in Stuart Curranâs words, that it is âpossible that we are holding up a mirror to ourselves and calling the reflection Romanticismâ.4 But we also note the contemporary awareness which Shelley proclaims in A Defence of Poetry of living through âa memorable age in intellectual [and poetic] achievementsâ.5 We concede that not every poet in the period betrays characteristics that can be termed âRomanticâ and that it is easy to overlook figures who donât neatly fit or who challenge subsequent categorizations: the belated admission of Byron, the poet who felt that he and his contemporaries were âupon the wrong revolutionary poetical systemâ, into the canon of the major Romantics proves the point.6 We allow for possibly problematic overlaps and gaps between âRomantic poetryâ and âRomanticâperiod poetryâ, and we have responded enthusiastically to the expansion of the canon undertaken in work on Romantic poetry in recent decades.
Accounts of the âRomanticâ that overlook the claims on our attention of writers who fail to fit a schematic critical version can be unnecessarily exclusive, and our readings indicate a wish to break away from fixation on the work of a few major writers. We by no means abandon the idea of literary or aesthetic merit, but we allow it to be explored and tested in the way that it is explored and tested by poets of the period. Our understanding of Romantic poetry has benefited from the work of those many critics and scholars who have made it possible and necessary to enlarge the number of poets writing in the period on whom critical attention can and should be brought. We acknowledge that challenges to a particular model of Romantic poetry mean that RenĂ© Wellekâs pithy formulation of Romanticism (first published in 1949) as âimagination for the view of poetry, nature for the view of the world, and symbol and myth for poetic styleâ is under assault.7
And yet those ideas named by Wellek still hold a central role in thinking about Romantic poetry. Romantic poetry prizes the imagination, praises nature, deploys symbol, and reformulates myth. The prizing of the imagination found in the poetry and poetics of the period may not be to everyoneâs taste; it doesnât mean that it isnât present. In addition, Romantic poetry often contains a powerful capacity for selfâcritique. Coleridgeâs Kubla Khan imagines a recreation of vision, but it does so in a spirit of conditionality. Wordsworth sees nature as a ministering force that ânever did betray / The heart that loved herâ (123â4), yet earlier in the same poem, âLines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbeyâ, he worries whether trust in the gifts of insight and memory bequeathed by natural scenes âBe but a vain beliefâ (50). Poets may reach for the image that embodies symbolic resolution of tensions. Yet often symbolic resolutions in Romantic poetry invite and seem aware of deconstructive energies; they participate in the dialogic instinct present in philosophers as diverse as Plato and Hume, whose influence on Romantic poetry lies more in their drive to present their thought through dramatic means than in their supposedly paraphrasable positions. In its dealings with analytical thought, Romantic poetry shapes procedures that put into the foreground the value of imaginative thinking and experiencing as ongoing actions of consciousness. One can speak of Adonais as showing the influence on Shelley of Platonic conceptions and imagery, yet to describe it as a poem written by a Platonist, someone who adopts fully a supposedly Platonic worldâview, ignores its selfâshaped existence as a drama of feeling and thought. Comparable energies are operative in the reworking of myth in Romantic poetry. The Romantics remake traditional myth, as in Keatsâs Endymion, in ways that serve less to consolidate the truth of a new story than to remind us that all human stories can be endlessly reinterpreted. And yet this twoâsidedness does not mean that imagination, nature, symbol, and myth are not crucially important in the work of Romantic poetry.
Certainly doubleness and doubt haunt and energize Romantic poetry,8 and the imps that bedevil literary history mockingly disrupt any attempt to fix a point of origin: 1784, with Smithâs Elegiac Sonnets? 1786, with Burnsâs Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect? 1789, with Blakeâs Songs of Innocence? 1798, with Wordsworth and Coleridgeâs Lyrical Ballads?9 But the fact that there are multiple claimants for a point of origin does not invalidate the sense that something new has come into being. Our solution is to accommodate all four writers as occupying the field of the Romantic, to see Smith and Burns as participating in a process of adumbration of, approach to, and involvement in the Romantic, while Blake and Wordsworth are claimed â to the degree that comparative wordâlength involves an implicit claim about significance â as figures at the heart of a process that then runs its generational course through to the later asylum poems of John Clare. Chronological messiness and complications are no reason to invalidate the emergence of a force and energy into literary history that we may justifiably call âRomanticâ. We recognize the force of Seamus Perryâs point that, unless we think about the various functions that the word âRomanticâ has been made to perform, we risk âcovert prescriptivenessâ, but like him we see the word as serving an âorganisingâ function, allowing us to adopt âa way of learning aboutâ the particulars of Romantic poetry.10