Coffee and Keats

 

It really is a good idea to start a morning with coffee and Keats. I have been reading through this book of  selected poems of John Keats (1814 - 1820) and so enjoy the progression of his development as a poet. They are placed in chronological order from when he was  ages 20 - 25, and as I read more and more, I see the skill of language used and marvel at the beauty of his imagery. The improvement is remarkable. He had a way with words - his imagination was immense and so ahead of his own life, which sadly ended at age 25.

This poem in particular, titled as "When I have fears that I may cease to be" was actually written in a letter to a friend, as he was sharing his fear of dying (long before he became ill) before his ability to write all that he needed/wanted/desired to write. His creative energies were just growing into who he was made to be. He had decided not to continue his studies of medicine (on the journey to becoming a doctor) but turned to devote his life to writing poetry.

In this short poem, he embodies the fears of all of us who create - that we will not have enough time to create all that we were meant to create. He does it so beautifully, in this sonnet that he models after Shakespeare's sonnets. 

When I have fears that I may cease to be

   Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,

   Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,

   Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

   Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

   That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

   Of unreflecting love—then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats' best poems are written after he scribbled this poem in a letter. And he produced a lot of poetry in the time before his death. As I read this, as a writer, I feel the same pang of time, knowing that there is so much I need to write. It is not just a passing fancy - oh I hope to write some more one day - it is a deeply rooted purpose in life. I agree with Charlotte Brontë in what she wrote in her journal - "I must write". 

I love how Keats phrases the cloudy symbols above as his inspiration and then never having the ability to trace their shadows with the magic hand of chance. For what is the work of a sub-creator but to take that deep searching for beauty through experimenting with words in the most thoughtful manner?

And oh, how my pen has so much more to glean from my teeming brain. I love that image of the gleaning of the brain, just getting the bits and clips takes time and practice. Just as this collection of poems shows me, in my very long appreciation of Keats, that his poetry grew and improved over time. I read two of his longest poems, Endymion (1817), and then read his later poem Hyperion (1819), and there is a significant difference in the flow and imagery of these poems that makes the latter the better poem by far. That's why the idea of gleaning is so perfect, as a reminder that any skill or talent that we work on is done not in vain. Every little bit that we give to our talent to share with the world might have meaning and purpose well beyond our own time.