Hello Unregistered, It looks you have never posted to our site before! Why not make your first post today by saying hello to our community in our Introduce Yourself forum. Why not start with your first post today and become an active part of our growing community of writers!
Of course Thoreau and Emerson were different from those poets. Yeats was a Victorian, and Wordsworth was a British Romantic, not a transcendentalist. Spenser was a 16th century (renaissance?) dude.
Read Blake. There's your ethics and morality right there. Or Frankenstein.
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by Drzava
Usually it takes at least 100 [posts] before people start to hate Hodge
When Newton closed his eyes beneath a tree
and took the apple from the serpent, he
conceived the urge of humanity, plea, plea,
procreant desire and tendency.
The gothic novel is a subgenre of Romanticism. Frankenstein is all about romantic stuff -- human nature, emotion, the cold, harsh reality of the world... Romantic all the way, baby.
Huh. I had never thought of Frankenstein as romantic, though, in retrospect, I can understand that it might be.
The only thing that disappointed me about it the story was that all the characters used the same kind of voice, until:
the reader discovers that it's one guy narrating the entire tale in extraordinary detail.
I know they were poets, but Emerson and Thoreau were best known for their essays and personalities. Thoreau was the nature loving metrosexual, and Emerson was the disillusioned old man who had a lot of great ideas but didn't always abide by them himself.
Whitman was totally American. Arguably the first American poet, as those who came before him were still very European in style.
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by Drzava
Usually it takes at least 100 [posts] before people start to hate Hodge
Gothic literature is dark literature. Dark, brooding, mysterious, almost always supernatural, and emotional. Frankenstein epitomizes gothic literature (and I believe it was one of the first).
Speaking both pedantically and tiresomely, I'd have to say that it was actually one of the later gothic novels, especially if one notes that there were really two flowerings of the genre - the first spanning the late 18th Century and early 19th and the second the mid-to-late 19th. Frankenstein was written in 1818, if memory serves, which was a full half-century after the genre was invented by Horace Walpole in The Castle of Otranto (1764). Mary Shelley's work was unique in that it deviated from the standard Gothic motifs, i.e. plucky (if useless) heroines being troubled by a dark legacy as found within a labyrinthine castle or estate, while an anti-hero wanders around dolefully bemoaning his lot and plotting. Polidori, Byron, Percy Shelley, Beckford, Lewis, Radcliffe, etc., had already experimented with and enhanced the genre. After this, however, the appeal of gothic literature diminished slightly until it was revived in the more romantic styles of Le Fanu, the Brontes, and Gaskell; this final flowering arguably ended with the profoundly different styles of James and Wilde.
That said, Frankenstein is by and away the most popular gothic novel, although either Otranto, which originated not only the style but most of the standard motifs, or The Monk would be likelier candidates for the "epitomy of gothic literature".
__________________
Great God, how frail a thing is man; how swift his minutes pass:
His age contracts within a span, he blooms and dies like grass.
thanks for popping in gigi, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself .
On The Grasshopper And Cricket by John Keats.
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
__________________
In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. -John Muir
I like Blake's "The Tyger" and Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner." Blake is my favorite.
Tiger, tiger
Burning bright!
in the forests of the night!
I remember the Calvin and Hobbes strip where calvin recited that part of 'The Tyger' over Hobbes as he was sleeping. I enjoy both those poets and poems. The latter especially so.
Love's Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single:
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
__________________
In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. -John Muir
Does anyone know of any active writers who either identify there writing w/ romantacism or dark romantacism or are labeled as throwbacks to the area by consenting critics?
. 
