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Your assignments

Ashlea

Ashlea

New Member
Despite the fact that I obtained an English degree without any teacher certification so that I could never, ever possibly consider teaching English to unappreciative twits, I have this little English teacher inside me. She likes to assign people appropriate books. I've been holding her back, but she's been particularly vociferous lately, so I'll be posting assignments for people as they occur to me. Feel free to ignore me, I'm not nutty enough to give tests and expect people to show up for them. I might also assign specific movies if the mood strikes.

So, first assignment:

TMG and Tugger: Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese.
Extra credit: The Barretts of Wimpole Street.
[font=verdana,arial,helvetica][size=-1]by Rudolf Besier.(play) Tell me if it's any good, haven't actually read it.[/size][/font]
 
Ashlea said:
So, first assignment:

TMG and Tugger: Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese.
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Oh Ashlea. You are scaring me. Seriously. I suspect you have all been reading me wrong. When I say I don’t understand poetry, it is not false modesty. I achieved Higher English at school and dropped out of Sixth Year Studies (final year). I didn’t go to University.
My memories of Robert Burns: Poetry competitions at primary school. Very little explanation of the meaning of the Scottish words. Having sat in silence for the rest of the year, I am now asked to stand in front of the class reciting a poem that is, to me, a foreign language. I remember cringing when I forgot to announce the title. “To A Mouse.”
Secondary School. Shakespeare. Another foreign language. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Titania. I didn’t have a clue what Titania was doing, where she was doing it, or who she was doing it with. Nobody in the class did. Somehow we all muddled through. I was chosen to speak Titania’s words aloud in the class. I don’t remember speaking them, but I remember, distinctly, that it was my turn every time I saw 'Tit.' on the page. The full stop at the end was important to me. I don’t know why. 'Tit.' Full Stop.

I found the Sonnets from the Portuguese, and copied and pasted. I’ve read it through, and certain words leap out and interest me: mortals, melancholy, mystic, mastery. Chism. Chism – new word, so I looked it up. A line “That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred” – those words excite me too, but I can’t explain why.

I ache to understand the whole poem, but I can’t. I ache to sit close to Tugger in some darkened room, heads touching, with enough light filtering in to allow us to read the words together. I would love to appreciate the meanings and the emotions behind the poem. But I can’t. I don’t have the gift of knowledge. And that is why I fear that darkened room.

“Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow.”

Sorry Ashlea. Sorry Tugger.

Third Man Girl
 
* as usual, arrives late for class, ill-prepared and sits in the back *

Normally, when I am told to read something my inner rebel jumps into resistance mode. In this case, however, I couldn't be more anxious to jump into this assignment. Especially coming from someone who I'm sure will be an astute instructor. Thanks Ashlea. I'll pick up a copy on my lunch break and read it tonight when I can give it my full attention.

I ache to understand the whole poem, but I can’t. I ache to sit close to Tugger in some darkened room, heads touching, with enough light filtering in to allow us to read the words together. I would love to appreciate the meanings and the emotions behind the poem. But I can’t. I don’t have the gift of knowledge. And that is why I fear that darkened room.
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Please, don't be afraid, Writer. I'm sure the more the words are repeated in our heads and hearts, the more lovely and meaningful they will become. Be brave. This poetry will be a challenge for me as well. We can sit together in that darkened room in our minds. The words will bring us close. And Ashlea can answer our many questions. :)

I know a little bit about Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. I know that they were both published authors and were great admirers of each other (or, at least, he of her) before they ever met. Ashlea, correct me if I'm wrong. Didn't he write to her telling her that he greatly loved her work? And then she agreed to meet him even though she was an invalid and was reluctant to meet with people who weren't already close to her. Then after meeting, I believe, they corresponded through very romantic letters for a time before eventually being married. Is that right? Anyway it all sounds very romantic. Hmmmmm. Hence the assignment for TMG and I, I suppose. ;)
 
tugger said:
Please, don't be afraid, Writer. I'm sure the more the words are repeated in our heads and hearts, the more lovely and meaningful they will become. Be brave. This poetry will be a challenge for me as well. We can sit together in that darkened room in our minds. The words will bring us close. And Ashlea can answer our many questions. :)
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You tempt me. Both of you. You know that, don't you?

mortals, melancholy, mystic, mastery

Third Man Girl
 
There's no time limit, try reading just one little set of 14 lines, and go from there.

This is what irritates me most about schools, they teach you how to make poetry boring and not how to make it sing.

Yep, you're right about the history. Her love poetry has such a beautiful melancholy edge as she never expected or really wanted love, it found her anyway, and she sometimes has a hard time adjusting to the brilliance of it.

Note on the title, she called it Sonnets from the Portuguese as if they were translations and not her own emotions. Doubt it fooled anybody though.

In Victorian times, she was immensely popular, and kept up a huge corresponence with all the literary figures of the day. He wasn't appreciated. These days, it's the opposite, he's taught and she isn't.
 
It's a crime the way the first line of this one has become a cliche when the rest of it is so, so beautiful.


Sonnets from the Portuguese

XLIII

How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
 
Okay, I picked this up at lunch and read all 44 sonnets quickly (in about an hour). I didn't stop or let myself get hung up on individual words or phrases that I didn't quite understand. I just wanted to let the music of the poetry wash over me and get the very general feelings of the sonnets. But based on this most superficial of readings, I was quite amazed at how clearly her feelings shined through. She certainly doesn't shy away from openly expressing what is in her heart! And this is romantic stuff here too. I mean, she certainly believes that this guy's love has saved her from death (or a death-like life).
At first, in the first few sonnets I was a little put off by her "oh you are SO much better than I am and I am not worthy of you and what on earth do you see in me" attitude. And she seems so subservient. I wonder how you two strong independent women feel about that. I guess, her fragile physical condition has a lot do with it, as well as the times in which she lived. By the middle sonnets, though, they are just so like any couple -- trading locks of hair and calling each other pet names. And then by the final sonnets, she seems pretty confident in there love. She gets pretty trancendental in her descriptions there.

There were a lot of images and particular lines that struck me as wonderful. Right at the beginning where his love for her strikes her as so sudden that it's like it comes up from behind her and yanks her by the hair. That's pretty powerful. I liked that part in Sonnet III, that goes, "Our ministering two angels look surprise on one another, as they strike athwart their wings in passing." That really expresses how surprised she is by his love and how unlikely it is.

I think on first reading my favorite might be Sonnet XIV. That's the one where she writes that he should love her for love's sake alone, and not for any attributes she may have, because those things may not last. Only love itself in its purest form is everlasting. I believe that too.

I'm looking forward to reading this again tonight, more carefully. I'm sure there is a lot I missed. Writer, I wish we could read these aloud to each other in that darkened room. ;) We might not get very far, though, before ...
 
Sorry, I have my PM turned off. :( You should be able to email me though. Just go to the members list area. :)
 
Well, actually, you can just click on my name anywhere to bring up my profile and then there is a link there to send me an email. :)
 
tugger said:
Oh, Professor Ashlea, why do you think this is? :confused:
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His poetry is very modern and not-Victorian and different than what everyone else was doing. He was just ahead of his time.

You're right about hers not being very feminist, which contributes to her current unpopularity, though to a certain extent doesn't everyone in love feel unworthy?

I didn't receive any PM's :(. You can send me an email or PM, either way.
 
Ashlea said:
You can send me an email or PM, either way.
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I'll send you a PM. Off work this week, so can't communicate by email. Sorry Tugger, but I can't do this. :( I'll send Ashlea the long-winded explanation.

Third Man Girl
 
Where is my assignment, Mistress from the land of steers and queers? (Okay. So I just got done watching Full Metal Jacket)
 
Sorry Tugger, but I can't do this.
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SHIVER

There is nothing
Inside my chest
To warm the flesh
And the bone.
The wind that
Blows ice
Has blown the
Fragile bird
Away. And
What remains
Is left to
Shudder.
I held her
So close in
The quiet
Of a darkened room,
But the noise
Of the miles
Between us
Has left her
A vanished word
Away, and I
Am speechless.
And cold.

--tugger
 
tugger said:
The wind that
Blows ice
Has blown the
Fragile bird
Away.
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A Warm Breeze

A bird
Fragile indeed
But a bird that can span wide oceans.
A sun
Cold at dawn
But shimmering hot as she climbs.
A wind
An iced chill
But lifting, rising as a warm breeze.
A noise
A crashing wave
calming to still silence on a lake.
A lick
A flickering flame
A beacon fire of consuming passion.

Third Man Girl
 
warm_enema said:
Where is my assignment, Mistress from the land of steers and queers? (Okay. So I just got done watching Full Metal Jacket)
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Hmm, you're a tough nut to crack. What is missing in your life?
 
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