A Question of Nature (Reading Response #3)

A Question of Nature: Byron and Wordsworth by J. Andrew Hubbell is an article that goes into depth from the views of Romantic eco-criticism to do a Wordsworthian eco-poesis of Lord Byron using the terms of “dwelling” and “nature”. (In the rest of the paragraph I will summarize the article I have read and try to explain parts that I feel need further explanation. My purpose is to summarize as best as I can and I have no intentions of plagiarism, all credit goes to the author J. Andrew Hubbell.) Though Lord Byron is ignored by most critics and seen as an outsider to Romantic poetry he is still an “important Romantic nature writer”. This article explains the dwelling, wandering, nature, culture, and the environment as binaries (something based on two parts) to the final product of important Romantic nature writers. Lord Byron is one of those writers, but for different reasons than most of them. Three binaries are what help describe the Romantic nature writers, and they specify on nature and dwelling. The main dwelling-wandering binary reinforces the other two which are nature-culture and ecocentric-anthropocentric binaries. According to Hubbell dwelling is to embed oneself within the texture of one’s place. This means that one is fixed into a certain place and its surroundings for deeper reasons other than where that place is. Dwelling can also become a synonym for “rootedness” because there’s more extensive action the greater the length of time spent in a place. Wandering is referred to as “touristic mentality” because it becomes a state of mind that does not understand the environment for what it actually is. So they view the environment as a resource instead of valuing its meaning. Wanderers don’t necessarily see the depth of life, but the outer top “beauty” or in their eyes “resources” and they are more self-centered. Hubbell refers to nature as nature as wild, unspoiled backcountry, the antithesis of the modern, anthropocentric city. This means that the city is tame, neat buildings that we see today, and according to Wordsworth a place where one achieves less. The article refers to nature as a place where a poet can “strip off corrupting layers of culture, and then dwell, achieving environmental consciousness.” This goes back to combining nature and dwelling because the sense of true nature is felt; whereas the city is combined with culture because it is more corrupt and unattached to nature. The same goes with ecocentric which is nature centered and anthropocentric which is self centered. Now that all definitions are explained, I can explain the rest of the article that has to do more with Lord Byron and where he fits into this question of nature. According to the definition of eco-poet Byron is excluded because he spent most of his life going from one tour to another and never dwelt anywhere, he was a wanderer. Hubbell states that, “Byron recognizes that as soon as ‘nature’ is represented in art, it becomes part of culture; there is to ‘nature’ in art”. With this Hubbell is explaining how Byron explains his thought in rhetorical statements and questions making his point clear to others. It also shows how Byron views nature and culture as “different parts of the same whole”. Byron had a way of viewing both sides of the binaries and bringing both aspects into his life. This is proven when Hubbell ponders on whether Byron’s wandering was a sort of dwelling or not. To further explain this Hubbell writes of Byron’s trips to Greece and how they helped Byron be a “dweller in the landscape”.  And in the end Byron achieved the same sense of place through his dwelling in Greece that Wordsworth achieved through his dwelling in the Lakes. This understanding for nature can be derived from either dwelling or wandering in the end because it is possible to gain that knowledge of culture and environment.

After thoroughly reading through Hubbell’s amazing article [that I personally though I would not understand and not enjoy, which turned out to be wrong], I can understand why Lord Byron was not accepted as easily as other poets in the Romanticism society. I knew that his sexual preferences, descriptive poems, and way of life had made him widely unpopular and made him disliked, but I would have never guessed that his understanding for nature, or even his trips to other countries, would have affected his life as a poet. This article has made me think about so many things that I had not thought of when researching Romanticism at first. It has also made me understand Lord Byron and the question of nature and even how his poetry was affected by his beliefs of nature and wandering. Byron’s poems really convey his beliefs of wandering and city, a perfect example would be Don Juan, with the more “city-boy’ poem than actually explaining nature in depths such as other Romantic poets. But in the end I can conclude that no matter the life style one may live we can all still have an understanding for the environment and the city, for culture and nature, for being self centered and nature centered. I think that as long as there is a balance that one can live with, one that understands with both sides of life, that we, as people in general, will be able to live a life better for others and nature. A life where we don’t only care about people or what’s on the earth, but also for the earth we live in and the environment we dwell (or wander) on.

She Walks In Beauty

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

I interpreted ‘She Walks in Beauty” to be a romantic poem on a clear description of natural beauty. Byron writes what he feels and not what he thinks, it comes from within. His descriptions of a starry sky speak to me, a cloudless climb is like a perfect accomplishment. The climb or accomplishment could have not gone better for Byron. This is a love poem, describing how beautiful the women is, also how her personality as well as her looks are proportional. If it was a true love statement or just about admiration is left to the reader, because this poem was written about his cousin, whom he had met at a party. Byron describes a night with bright stars and compares this women to the night. She creates a tender light with the opposites her beauty, this light is described as a gaudy light; a light that can’t be seen in the daytime, one that the gods don’t even honor. Inside this poem light and dark come together when she appears, the eyes are where they meet, a portal to one’s soul. Byron comments on how opposites meet in the soul, and that if the light and dark proportions were off her beauty would be ruined, and only be half wonderful. Hidden within the poem is alliteration that is magnificently used. “She walks in Beauty” is a poem by George Gordon, Lord Byron, written in 1814 and published in 1815 in “Hebrew Melodies”. Several months before the author met and married his first wife, Anna Milbanke, Lord Byron attended a party at Lady Sitwell’s, and Byron met his cousin, the beautiful Mrs. Wilmot, and her beauty inspired the author. The author was inspired by the sight of his cousin, and she became the essence of his poem about her. it is a brilliant poem, with some of the concepts not being too hard to comprehend. Byron was a strange fellow, for having relationships with his cousins or men, but the way this poem talks about the beauty of a women that he met at a party is incredible for such a non-causal meeting. 

Your Future (Prose Poem)

Darkness, a scary place of beasts and unnatural beings. Its has lots of power, don’t underestimate it, or you to could suffer what some have suffered a life time. The dark holds many secrets only a few can tell them, the ones that come back form his hold. But if you do no wrong you might get set free form living in such conditions, go to the light  that shines so bright and live with peace and grace. But if you do wrong there is a place for you, not a bright and lovely place of course, but a reward of a deep and dark pit. This pit makes people lose hold of their sanity and  changes so often that its hard to tell where you are. The pit is dark and thick with spirits and wont let them go. If only you did your rights instead of wrong you might not have to see such a sight. People who do no wrong, even though there is only a few, live happy free spirits and aren’t weighed don’t with chains. There is no choice of where you go but there is your past and present time that is the key to what road you will travel. If you make it to the light that’s shines ever so bright there will be happy and joyful pleasures that one can not imagine. If like to have fun and live without fear, regret, or seriousness, then only time can tell if you will suffer your worst nightmare. Maybe you will go to the light and party with your parents and family up there, have a good time and be free. It’s the choice you make right then and now what type of road to travel. Once its too late there is no going back, your future is what you make it.

The River (Prose Poem)

We were finally going to go to the river again, to spend time with family and friends, to enjoy another day of summer, to go swimming. Who knew the day would end in misery? A day so lovely and filled with memories would be haunted by that one thing.

The day was hot, the skies were blue, the wind was mellow, the sun was bright, it was a perfect day to be there. You could feel the anxiety in the car to get to the river, the anticipation. You could hear the hum of the radio below your parents’ conversation and the gleeful conversation of the kids. It was a peaceful day, it was vacation, it was summer.

We are the first to arrive; we pick the best table, with the best view. We were only three families, but still a large group. The view from our table was one of the best, the distance from the river, the play ground, and parking-lot was about the same. We wanted the best view, the best distanced table, and we got it. The parents said it was in order to keep an eye on the kids, so that they could be safe. It didn’t matter to us kids we were at the river with friends.

The view is never appreciated, but it is known. You can see the bridge, the river running beneath it, and the trees with their deep green shades providing a habitat for the wildlife, and yes a perfect view of the kids that would soon be in the water.

The kids know the routine, help the parents unload everything and take it to the picnic table. After that is done you are free to go play. Oh and play we do. The younger kids stay by the shallow end of the river, they know the danger of those calm looking waters, their parents tell them. The older kids know too, but they want to swim. That’s what we do. The water is cold, but when you want to beat your friends into the water, who cares?

Oh yes, the water is freezing. The deeper you go in the colder the water, but the blissful warmness of the sun helps. The teasing and joking around makes everyone want to beat each other to get into the river and to the other side. But we still remember the warnings our parents tell us, that even though the river looks calm, it can be dangerous. With undercurrents that can sweep faster than you know, with coldness that can cause cramps, or just the river, the water, the deepness. So we cross, with caution, taking care of each other, working with our arms and legs.

The smaller kids play in the sand; they make bridges, castles, motes. They try to catch small fish that stay in the shallows.

Our parents call us to go eat, but we want to continue being in the river. With its cold water surrounding us until we no longer feel the cold, but the feel of the water. Till we no longer feel the fear of the dangers, but the thrill of the game.

The day passes in this same fashion, swimming, eating, the guys playing soccer, the kids playing in the sand, the parents speaking.

In the end we all end up in the playground, on the swings and see-saw.

It feels as it should, the shadows of the night are starting to appear, its dusk. The trees that once provided shade for the wilderness now provide shadows for the night. Without the suns warm rays of light the rivers’ water now appears eerie, dangerous like our parents said, like the depth of a horror movie. We never expected the news. The sorrow of hearing what could happen, all because of the river.

We saw the car at first, a police car. They were common at this time of the day because the park was going to close. We were one of the last groups of people left at the park. We were almost done packing everything up when the cop got out and asked us about the river.

He asked us if we had seen anyone on a small yellow boat on the river. It was supposed to be a man, a big man, a grown up. This was surprising, because no one had been in the section of river for a while. It was almost night time and we hadn’t seen anyone in the river for a long time. The cop said to keep an eye out and to have a good night.

There was surprise on everyone’s face, with wonder, worry, fear for what could have happened to that man.

We didn’t know him, but there was worry. We looked, saw nothing, found nothing, there was only the river.

The river that was used for one’s pleasure and others misery. We wondered what could have happened to the man. Went home wondering if we would hear of this incident on the news, all because of the river. A river that looked so inviting for our fun, a river that could very much take a life if messed with. A river that is good and bad, calm and violent. A river that has life, but can very easily take it.

Dodge Park: Sandy, OR

Poem in memory of a time at the river,

Summer 2010

To Close the Doors and Windows of Conciousness for a Time. R.R. 3

Byron, Nietzsche, and the Mystery of Forgetting


In the article Byron, Nietzsche and The Mystery of Forgetting, James Soderholm exploits the similarities between Wilhelm Nietzsche and Byron's play Manfred, along with the irony of mindful forgetfulness. Manfred is a play best known for its shocking plot, but even more shocking the reality that encouraged Byron to write the play. Crafted after his own life, the show opened a gateway to freedom for Byron from the loneliness of his secrets. Thus helping him deal with the pain. As an intentional result of the plays release Byron enjoyed the humiliation that his two ex-lovers; ex-wife Annabella Byron, and half-sister Augusta Leigh had to endure in England while he lay low out of town. One of the most important scenes in Manfred is when a discouraged boy calls upon spirits to help him do what he could not, forget the past and move on. Next he was, instead, handed eternal memory. In real life Lord Byron wished he could escape from the mistakes he made in the past. In his heart he knew the mind is a wonderful thing, but can not erase what is real. If Byron could intentionally forget anything he wished, I'm sure after the play was released would be the time to use the skill. Nietzsche mentioned the concept of mindful forgetfulness in several of his own writings such as a series of books entitled Daybreak, Disadvantages of History for Life then again in Essay of the Genealogy of Morals. Even though one could say Nietzsche was an "expert" in the art of consciously forgetting Nietzsche wouldn't except that his mind was actively forgetting. An example is this quote by thee refusing to believe that the plot for Manfred had been taken from a previous play written by Goethe entitled Faust,
"I have no word, only a glance, for those who dare to pronounce the word Faust’ in the presence of Manfred".
Another example is when Nietzsche contradicts himself when he writes an article summarized by James, "We must fasten on those qualities most admirable in our heroes and neglect what is contradictory, absurd, or otherwise disagreeable in their works." Nietzsche puts Byron before him as a hero, when Byron is no such thing. Byron, Nietzsche and The Mystery of Forgetting is about James pointing out the paradoxes of Nietzsche excessive writing on the mechanics of forgetfulness yet indulges in forgetting himself.


My favorite part of James Soderholm’s article is where he quotes Kierkegaard,
"The more poetically one remembers, the more easily one forgets, for to remember poetically is actually only an expression of forgetting". The quote makes you question what forgetting really is to the mind. If you remember only the good, you’re forgetting the bad. If you remember the bad you’re often forgetting the good. To think poetically is to look at everything with a new eye, and see beauty. So no matter what situation placed in, you’re always mindfully forgetting certain aspects. As for choosing your memorize, I’m not sure if that can be done. Automatically when a person goes through a tragic experience I believe the mind blocks the pain and fear that you at one time felt, but is easier to survive without. Over the summer I was in a small car crash. When my friend and I finally got home after the scene we tried to bring up the emotions we felt while it was happening, but neither of us could remember. This is one of my only stories of active forgetfulness that I recall. The concept of the mind and why it chooses some memories while discarding others is interesting. I think it’s a good concept for James to bring in with romantic poets since romanticism is about being more actively involved with your natural abilities. Maybe there is a way to control what you remember, or maybe more access to the mind would make situations even more difficult to forget. James mentions that Wordsworth is a "lover of memory" and can even recall the garments he wore on certain days. This could be why the romantic poet Lord Byron had such a hard time coping with his mistakes, he was so in tuned that his mind wouldn’t let him free. Just like with Byron I feel like remembering everything would make it difficult to be happy. Nietzsche said it best, "There could be no happiness, no cheerfulness, no hope, no pride, no present, without forgetfulness".

Winter Winds (Prose Poem)

A crisp winter night spent in the same place were so many memories were made in summers passed. I never attended the school but every time I went there I found myself at ease, at home.
This specific night I strayed from the group of people to sit on the swing furthest away. I wanted to enjoy the darkness in peace. I hadn't realized the chains were full of ice until the brisk wind was hitting my face but I couldn't feel it on my hands. I didn't care. The stars were so distracting I couldn't look anywhere else. The sky completely clear. I had forgotten I was leaning back in the swing, refusing to look away from the soft sky, my arms quickly fell asleep. I then forced myself against gravity and pulled my body up strait.
"How could things have changed so quickly?"
Under these same stars after the sun went down on warm summer nights, I would listen to the sweet sound of a close friend playing out his dreams on the guitar. This was our sacred place. Somewhere to come when it was too late to go anywhere else. A place to go to search for shooting stars and real conversation. Everyone has forgotten that now. Always looking for something better to do because the people present aren't enough. Just some kids you have one or two things in common with. Not enough to enjoy the wonder of a simple night.
There's no way to describe the summer from two years ago, except... maybe.. free. We were never bored, we didn't even know the meaning of the word.
I opened my eyes wider in the darkness. I heard the murmuring getting louder with more excitement in the unfamiliar voices. "Are we leaving?" I asked in disbelief. I didn't even have to ask, I already knew the answer. Dragging my feet on the padded ground beneath me the swing slowed down enough for me to agonizingly slide off. After I shoved my slightly blue hands into my pockets I walked away knowing it wouldn't be long before I visited the familiar place again.

Eternal Knowledge

While looking on Etsy.com I came across this painting of Lord Byron. I had never thought that a poems purpose was to leave an impact.I always thought of poetry as another way to express oneself like dancing, or playing an instrument, and the information got leaked out into the public. Then again even dancing and music are meant to provoke emotions from audiences. But was that the point at the beginning? Anyway the artist Lydia Burris explained that she made this after hearing that Byron made a request before he died; He'd rather someone make a wine glass from his skull than have it uselessly rot inside the Earth. Byron believed that whoever were to drink from the glass would inherit some of his roaming minds thoughts and ideas. It sounds like something Romans used to believe from hods, and i think that's what Lydia was trying to portray with the stoic face, and neutral color pallet. My favorite part is how she used a dead tree for the branches of knowledge coming from his mind, and the cracked forehead as if the only purpose for these vessels is to carry around our brains like greenery in a garden pot. Also like a living thing a tree must be fed nourishment. Lord Byron's love for literature, along with many other things, certainly fed his appetite. Another reason it was appropriate for Lydia to use a tree was Byron's close mind with the natural world. Like all romantics Byron believed in inhaling organic beauty instead of crushing it with bare feet.  The quote "The Immortal Ideas of a Dead Poet"  is appropriate for not only all poets, but people who choose to share their beliefs. I don't see why every human on the planet can not be a poet of their own, we all write our thoughts down. The difference is not all are made into books, though still equally important. Individualism is a strong piece of romanticism too, so I hope that Byron would agree with me if he were still here. Even the tiniest sentence with just enough creativity and faithfulness to the author's heart can be a masterpiece.

For more beautiful artwork by Lydia Burris click here

-Athena