It is clear that the poem [Kubla Khan] does not make sense. It would be impossible, for example, to draw a map of the pleasure dome, though many have tried. A ‘chasm’ that slants down a green hill ‘athwart a cedarn cover’ is hard to visualise. On the other hand, the poem does make sense to the extent that it is composed of sentences that work grammatically. It is not a collection of random words assembled by free association, as the work of the French Symbolist poets at times seems to be. Coleridge was a profoundly learned thinker and critic as well as a poet, and in ‘Kubla Khan’ he has discovered the space between sense and nonsense where great poetry lies.
—John Carey, 100 Poets: A Little Anthology (Yale U. Press, 2021)
Showing posts with label samuel taylor coleridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label samuel taylor coleridge. Show all posts
1.07.2026
9.25.2014
pace coleridge
Available words in the only possible order that would be a poem.
Labels:
available,
definition,
order,
poetry is,
samuel taylor coleridge,
words
6.20.2014
infallible test
In poetry, in which every line, every phrase, may pass the ordeal of deliberation and deliberate choice, it is possible, and barely possible, to attain that ultimatum which I have ventured to propose as the infallible test of a blameless style; namely: its untranslatableness in words of the same language without injury to the meaning.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria (1817), ch. 22
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria (1817), ch. 22
Labels:
injury,
meaning,
paraphrase,
poetry is,
samuel taylor coleridge,
test,
untranslatable
8.07.2011
poet before philosopher
Here Coleridge encounters, in thoroughly existential fashion, anxiety itself. He cannot pin down this anxiety, cannot attach it to any definite object, event, or person; it is the revelation of void or non-being:
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which find no natural outlet, no relief,
In words, or sight, or tear—
All the German idealism, with which poor Coleridge’s head was crammed had nothing to say to him about this experience; it did not even provide the terms necessary for its philosophic comprehension. Kierkegaard had no yet introduced the analysis of dread into philosophy. Coleridge the poet, however, saw and knew before Coleridge the philosopher.
—William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study of Existential Philosophy (Anchor Books/Random House, 1962)
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which find no natural outlet, no relief,
In words, or sight, or tear—
All the German idealism, with which poor Coleridge’s head was crammed had nothing to say to him about this experience; it did not even provide the terms necessary for its philosophic comprehension. Kierkegaard had no yet introduced the analysis of dread into philosophy. Coleridge the poet, however, saw and knew before Coleridge the philosopher.
—William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study of Existential Philosophy (Anchor Books/Random House, 1962)
Labels:
anxiety,
dread,
philosopher,
quote,
samuel taylor coleridge
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