Nah, I don't mind. You're my best friend, ya know? I don't mind. And sparkles like you do? Purple Silence Joni wasn't happy in Austin so she moved back home.
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Home When are you coming back home, babe? Always Someone Else Ain't there always someone else? Whose got the right? What will the Spirit do? Annie Annie…Annie…. Revolution Ten beard covered wagons came down from the hills to eat. Come quick, give us hope for peace! Fall down on your knees. Pour another drink! Down to the Pit O Lord, I call to you, come quickly to me. Hear the echo ring.
John Russell, was induced to take the practical management of the work, which, in honor of its founder, was called " Russell's Magazine. On the first day of April ominous coincidence! It was neatly printed in the style of " Blackwood ," and the general impression, typographical and intellectual, made by it, was certainly favorable. In the long run, however, a want of capital proved in this case, as it must prove in all similar cases, fatal!
Simms used to call it, can never be permanently maintained; nor, were that possible, would it in all likelihood be worth maintaining. Nevertheless, we struggled on with the work for years; nor until the completion of the fourth volume, did we confess ourselves beaten, and retire with our defunct "Maga" from the public view. The lost means and labor expended on this Monthly I have always looked upon us counterbalanced by the facilities for publication it afforded to our gifted local Page 24 authors; especially to Timrod, some of whose most charming and characteristic poems were composed for its pages.
Such, for instance, was " The Arctic Voyager ," in which we detect for the first time in our author's art, the influence of Tennyson, not superseding, but harmoniously blending with the earlier influence of Wordsworth.
It is in a loose, reckless measure, rhythmically unlike any other production of the writer, and since this volume does not include it, we will quote the lines. Discussing that venerable question, "What is Poetry? However abstract be his thought, the poet is compelled, by his passion-fused imagination, to give it life, form, or color. Whenever a poet drags a number of these words into his verse, we say that he is prosaic; meaning by this, not that he has written prose, nor that he is simply deficient in spirit and vivacity; but that he has not used the legitimate language of poetry; he has written something which is only distinguished from the ordinary dead-level of unimpassioned prose by the feet upon which it crawls.
From this characteristic of the poet results what we regard as an essential characteristic of poetry, namely, the medium of strong emotion through which poetry looks at its objects, and in which, to borrow a chemical metaphor of Arthur Hallam, 'it holds them all fused. Timrod, as was natural with a disciple of Wordsworth, enthusiastically admired the Sonnet.
He defends it against the assaults of a large body of depreciators with admirable skill and effect.
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It is artificial, but only as all forms of verse are artificial. There are persons who imagine poetry to be the result of a sort of mystical inspiration, scarcely to be subjected to the bounds of time or space! Others, regarding it as the outgushing of a present emotion, cannot conceive how the poet, carried on by the 'divine afflatus,' should always contrive to rein in his Pegasus at a certain goal. All this is ridiculous!
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It is in the conception only that the poet is the vates! In the labor of putting that conception into words, he is simply the artist. Were this so, the poet would be the most wonderful of improvisators; and perhaps poetry would be no better than what improvisations usually are. It forces him to condensation, and if it sometimes induces a poetaster to stretch a thought to the finest tenuity, what argument is that against the Sonnet? As well might Jones object to the violin of Paganini, because Smith, his neighbor, is a wretched fiddler!
We know not how else to characterize it but as the law of unity! In a poem made up of a series of stanzas, the thought in the first stanza suggests the thought in the second, and both may be equally important. The concluding stanza may have wandered as far in its allusions from the opening stanza, as the last from the first sentence in an essay.
In other words, the poet has the liberty of rambling somewhat, if his fancy so dispose him. It must consist of one leading idea around which the others are grouped for purposes of illustration only. We could gather from it a greater body of tersely expressed and valuable thought, than from any equal quantity of those fugitive verses, the laws of which are less exacting. Thought is independent of space; and it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that the poet - the minister of thought - enjoys an equal independence.
A better first volume of the kind has seldom appeared anywhere.
It was welcomed outside the author's immediate circle by a few cultivated Southern editors, and some even of the critics of the North did not hesitate to commend it. For example, " The Tribune " said: "These poems are worthy of a wide audience. They form a welcome offering to the common literature of our country. The author, whose name promises to be better known from this specimen of his powers, betrays a genuine poetic instinct in the selection Page 30 of his themes, and has treated them with a lively, delicate fancy, and a graceful beauty of expression.
The subject is one of difficulty, demanding for its successful treatment not only an originally comprehensive and subtle mind, but no little knowledge of psychological truths, and the philosophy of intellectual growth. Apropos of this volume, a kindly but discerning critic observes: - "The book was full of promise; it gave evidence of considerable culture, of a lively fancy, a delicate, and at times vigorous imagination, and a rare artistic power.
Yet it fell almost dead from the press!
He had surrendered everything to his art. Dickson Bruns. Page 31 from the fact that the narrative was composed in sections, and after the lapse of periods so long between the different bouts of composition, that much of the original fervor of both conception and execution must have evaporated. It is that employed by Shakspeare in his " Venus and Adonis ," by Spenser in his " Astrophel ," and Cowley in his least ambiguous verses; being, briefly, the elegiac metre, with its alternate rhyme, so warmly defended by Dryden, ending in the terseness of the rhyming couplet, in which the picture should be closed, or the sense clinched.
But, of course, the chief merit of " The Vision " is to be found in the unfolding of its leading idea. To accomplish this, Timrod has introduced a story of the mental progress of a youth, possessed of brilliant poetic gifts, which are partially nullified, in the end, by the joint operation of mistaken views of his art, and a morbid subjectivity of nature, fatal to the acknowledgment of his genius by humanity at large. The story is divided into three Parts; each devoted to some particular phase of its hero's experience. Excepting a few passages which declare themselves to the intelligent reader, the poem was written at a comparatively early age.
She recalls a marvel that attended her child's birth, once considered an omen of good, but now converted by superstitious fancy into a curse and prophecy of disaster! Tremulously she tells her son this story of his birth-night. Thenceforth the boy keeps his strange imaginings, which he perceives cannot be understood, locked in the depths of his own consciousness. Meanwhile, the quiet days speed on, and in due course of time "the thoughtful boy blossoms into youth. A spirit of unrest, yet of beauty, it drives him to seek the heart of lonely forests, and to wander over distant hills.
One night he comes to his favorite spot. This is, I think, the most thoughtful and highly-wrought portion of the poem. Part the Second forms the connecting link between the opening and the concluding events of the poet's career. It is written in blank verse, and with characteristic care and skill. A love "not wisely placed," a genius not wisely directed, these induce a "sickness of the soul," and, gray before his time, his ideals shattered, and his true passion unappreciated, if not scorned, the poet seeks his ancient home, in order that he may look on its beloved scenes again before he himself is called hence, to be beheld of men no more.
There is something in this description of the bard's latter and darker days; of his mournful disenchantment, his mild, yet profound despair, which is singularly pathetic; the more pathetic indeed, as the catastrophe, losing for an instant its idealism, becomes, as it were, half subjective in its nature, and points to the author's own melancholy doom!
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With the instinct of right art and genuine feeling, Timrod has taken care not to make his hero a bitter misanthrope, nor to leave him skeptical of the joy and glory "which may hereafter be revealed. The ablest of them have been included in the present edition. We now come to the period of the War, during the first months of which Timrod remained chiefly in Charleston, serving his country a thousand times more effectually with his pen , than he could possibly have served her with his sword.
It was in that he inaugurated that remarkable series of poems, suggested by the incidents of the great conflict, tragic or triumphant, in which he struck a higher and firmer note than any hitherto elicited from his lyre.
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The dignity and calmness of its tone, covering unsounded depths of ardor and enthusiasm; its subtle grace of imagination, feeling, and imagery, and the crisp purity of the versification are so artistically blended in this ODE, that one cannot criticise, but must simply and honestly Page 37 admire it! The concluding stanza cannot now be read, at least by any Southerner, without a yearning and passionate regret. How the Poet's cordial sympathetic temper reveals itself in these lines, which came more naturally to him than visions of violence and blood!
I read them first, and was thrilled by their power and pathos, upon a stormy March evening in Fort Sumter! Walking along the battlements, under the red light of a tempestuous sunset, the wind steadily and loudly blowing from off the bar across the tossing and moaning waste of waters, driven inland; with scores of gulls and white sea-birds flying and shrieking round me, - those wild voices of Nature mingled strangely with the rhythmic roll and beat of the poet's impassioned music. Towards the close of , a project was formed in Charleston, with the view of having an illustrated and highly embellished edition of Timrod's works published in Page 39 the city of London.
Vizetelli, an Englishman of Italian blood, and an artist of some eminence, then the Southern War Correspondent of " The London News ," offered to supply original illustrations of his own; and so warm was the support the proposition met with from some of the chief men and most opulent merchants of the State, that but little doubt was entertained of its immediate and practical realization. Among his war-lyrics he placed some poems, also lately written, of a more subjective tone and character, for example - " Katie ," and " An Exotic ;" both of which, from their references to English history, scenery, and manners, were likely to be appreciated in the "motherland.
Edmunds; and of her innocent holiday pastime in the lovely country around it. The piece is almost pre-Raphaelite in the delicious minuteness of its word-painting. But alas! Every hour his once bright anticipations grew duller, until ultimately they smouldered out, one by one, in the anguish, solitude, and bitterness of his soul.
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So fades, so languishes, grows dim and dies, the hope of every poet who has not money! An unspeakable disappointment! Perhaps in HER case, the disappointment was even greater, since, in extreme old age, she could scarcely look forward to the sharing of any possible literary triumph of her son in the future. The mention of her here, gives us the opportunity of quoting some passages from an interesting letter descriptive of this lady's family, her character, intellect, etc.
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