Happy Birthday Elizabeth Barrett Browning!

I'm a few hours late to the game on this, since Elizabeth Barret Browning's birthday occurred yesterday. Yet after a reminder from Oxford World's Classics, I would feel quite remiss not giving her a little shout out:

Happy 207th Birthday, Elizabeth!

The Birthplace: Coxhoe Hall, Durham

One of my dissertation chapters focused on EBB, as I fondly refer to her in my notes. In studying the relationship with her spaniel, Flush, I felt I got to know her a little bit as well -- particularly through the perusal of her letters. Her passion and zeal immiediately won me over. Reading details about her secret courtship with Robert Browning and their plans to run away together felt both like reading a sensational novel and like I was intruding upon the privacy of a lovely couple (and actually, I suppose I was).

With spring break happily dawning before my eyes, I'm hoping to read her long poem Aurora Leigh. Though with my holiday reading list growing like a proverbial weed, I must concede this ambition may never materialize. In the meantime, I shall leave you with one of her poems about Flush, one that's not as widely read. A wonderful canine companion, he comforted her, just as her words provide solace and inspiration to readers two centuries later.

Flush or Faunus

YOU see this dog. It was but yesterday

I mused, forgetful of his presence here, 

Till thoughts on thoughts drew downward tear on tear;

When from the pillow, where wet-cheeked I lay,

A head, as hairy as Faunus, thrust his way

Right sudden against my face; two golden-clear

Large eyes astonished mine; a drooping ear

Did flap me on either cheek, to dry the spray!

I started first, as some Arcadian,

Amazed by goatly god in twilight grove.

But as my bearded vision closelier ran

My tears off, I knew Flush, and rose above

Surprise and sadness; thanking the true Pan,

Who, by low creatures, leads to heights of love.

The last line is my favourite! I'm tempted to make some saccharine analogies about how we are all low creatures and love and art lift us to the great heights Barrett Browning describes...but I'll spare you. Have a happy Thursday!

P.S. This intriguing article discusses the various words attributed to EBB in the OED, abandonment and goatly among them. I guess only a few of them stuck? :)

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

  Venetian Sunset

Dylan Thomas's poem 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night' stays with its reader. At the moment, it refuses to leave my mind (maybe because I recently shared it with my students). The poem concerns the author's experience watching the decline of his father's life. Dylan Thomas urges him to cling to life and its remaining experiences with every effort. 

Thankfully, I'm not in a similar position with any of my loved ones. Nevertheless, this poem resonates with me on a personal level. I think of times when I've abandoned goals and worthwhile experiences because I've doubted myself or didn't credit my own abilities. I gave up.

I find the eloquence with which Thomas urges his father to not give up the fight inspiring, whatever one's particular life challenges may present. Don't relent! Don't give in to setbacks or fatigue! Continue our efforts! Fight for what we love with every breath we're given! This is what I take away from the poem. But, of course, Dylan Thomas phrases it far more vividly and beautifully than I ever could....

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The video above features Dylan Thomas reciting this masterful poem (a villanelle to be precise). I love hearing poets share their own work. Their delivery adds a new dimension of meaning to the printed words. :)

Is any poetry inspiring you right now? If so, please share!