In a message dated 12/7/2002 10:52:17 PM Eastern Standard Time,
jrovira@drew.edu writes:
<< I feel the same way. But I don't think it was a matter of taste this time.
Some of Wordworth's early poetry is absolutely intoxicating. I think the
difference is the presence of Ego in Wordsworth vs. the same in Blake,
Coleridge, and Keats.
Reading Blake, for example, I get the distinct feeling that the things Blake
wrote about were more important to Blake than Blake himself. Reading
Wordsworth, I get the feeling that imagination and nature wasn't nearly so
important as WORDSWORTH'S imagination and HIS perception of nature. I feel
like Wordsworth is content to remain stuck in his head and amuse himself with
his own imagination, while Blake uses his imagination to gain insight into
Something Else, and it's this Something Else that's really important to him.
>>
Ah, Wordsworth, the lovely Idiot Boy. My favorite criticism of his ego comes
from a letter by Keats: "How beautiful are the retired flowers! How would
they lose their beauty were they to throng into the highway crying out,
'Admire me, I am a violet!', 'Dote upon me, I am a primrose!'."
But it seems to me that Coleridge in all his complaining about injured feet
and too many Sara's isn't exactly lacking the egotistical sublime.
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Received on Sun Dec 8 01:16:45 2002
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