The topic of passiveness in poetry first came about in class discussion when we were studying Wordsworth’s poems. Indeed, I think Wordsworth is a necessity when discussing passiveness in Romantic poetry. His poem that best exemplifies mental passiveness is “A slumber did my spirit seal”. As I discussed in my post on this topic, Wordsworth starts the poem in a slumber—it is not a poem of wakefulness of action, but rather being acted on. This poem is part of a series of the Lucy poems, which were written about the loss of a character who has often been attributed to a real person in Wordsworth’s life. This particular poem uses passiveness as a mental state to deal with grief and the realization of a loved one passing on, into “earth’s diurnal course”. In some ways, the distance caused by death in this poem serves as a coping mechanism as sorts—a way for the author to deal with emotional loss. If we listen to Patrick Phillips’ reading of the poem, there is a clear and even sound to the rhyme. It is melodic and peaceful, much like the sense one finds drifting into slumber. The difficulties of the poem itself—dealing with the fact that its subject now “neither hears nor sees” and is presumably dead—are disguised in the gentle rhythm of the poem that creates a meditative state. In this instance, passiveness is working to allow both the author and reader to take in and cope with the situation being described. Mental passiveness is also particularly interesting in the context of the Victorian era. Psychology was developing as a legitimate field at this time, with William James writing “Principles of Psychology” in 1890. “A slumber did my spirit seal” was in both the 1798 and 1800s versions of Lyrical Ballads and thus predates the book, but this demonstrates that there was a climate of psychological exploration during that time.
A similar use of passiveness happens in poem “Darkness” by Byron. As discussed by Adam, Warren, and myself in the comments and post entitled “Entranced”, Byron begins his poem with the line ““I had a dream, which was not all a dream”. He then goes on to describe an apocalyptic scene in which light ceases to exist, and in which humanity has destroyed the earth. As described for the poem above, the first line of “Darkness” also provides distance. But instead of being a coping mechanism, this trance-like state that the poem starts out in allows for realization. The apocalyptic future described hasn’t happened yet, but it is very possible. Thus, starting the poem in a state of mental passiveness—a dream, allows the reader to lower their guard in a sense and pay better attention to the image being presented. It’s true that at some point, for change to truly occur, the reader will have to make the jump from this passive state of mind to an active one. However, to get to that point, one must first be able to truly take in the image with all its terror, and Byron makes that happen by disguising it as a dream. Adam notes that this poem does not reach the state of a call to action, writing that Byron is “putting this information out into the world as a fact and a call for people to be aware of their dreaming tendency but it does not specifically give a solution to man's self-centeredness”. Indeed, starting this poem with a dream emphasizes the passiveness of humanity as we race towards a potentially apocalyptic future.
Tennyson also uses passiveness as a way to cope with grief in In Memoriam. Laura discussed Tennyson’s use of form, pointing to how the fact that the large poem is broken up into smaller sections allows for Tennyson to “divulge his fleeting thoughts and emotional experiences born in various periods of introspection during which he is enveloped in various moods”. This is still mental passiveness, but it is represented through a form rather than the content itself. Health, not just physical, but also spiritual and mental health was a key topic in the Victorian era, and Tennyson affirms this as he uses verse to cope with the difficult topic of death. He also strays from just death to considering religion and humanity’s purpose—but throughout the entirety of the poem, he maintains the same form. Thus, while his topic may seem to be one of very active and engaged thought, the form adds a unifying feel and a passiveness to the entire work. Tennyson is taking these expansive, difficult thoughts and confining them to the space of a stagnant form. This further confirms the idea that passiveness in Romantic poetry increases the ability to deal with and understand difficult topics, and make observations about those topics. The concept of Nature is one of these topics that comes into play in Tennyson’s work—thus passiveness is helping to lead to an understanding of Nature.
As a final example for mental passiveness, I look to Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale”. As Cole discusses,” this poem is about escape, through the transitory nature of a nightingale's song or through poetry.” The poem starts off with the words, “MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/My sense” and we are already let on to the realization that the speaker is not fully coherent in this poem. It is once again reminiscent of the trance-like states the above poems involve, and in this poem we lose the activeness of sense. Loginus in “On the Sublime” says that “sublime implies that man can, in emotions and in language, transcend the limits of the human condition.” In some ways, “Ode to a Nightingale” fits this idea—by losing some the speaker’s human senses, Keats is transcending the normal perspective of what a human might experience in a nightingale’s song. Keats goes on to describe the Nightingale’s song, at times reminding the reader that he “cannot see” (line 41). The poem ends in the same trance it began with—the speaker questions in the final line “do I wake or sleep?” Yet the poem doesn’t lack beauty in any way—the Nightingale’s song (featured below) can already be trance-like with its varying tones and chirps and the description of it is powerful and rich. Here’s a song similar to what the Keats is describing:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVZVm_ReDe0
Despite the fact that the poet is in a state of numbness, he is still able to take away something from the experience of hearing the nightingale. This is a reoccurring paradox that seems to occur throughout Romantic era poetry—mental passiveness allows for better observation—in this case, it provides a unique perspective on the Nightingale’s song.
I think there is also a second category of passiveness—this is passiveness in observation. Laura discusses this in terms of Clare in “Recollections after a Ramble”, saying that he “also focuses on the everyday dealings of the people of the town from the position of a passive observer.” This again fits the theme of the previous poems, but without any mental inhibitions or a trance-like state. Instead, the speaker is able to witness and discover nature by maintaining a distance from it and merely observing. The realization comes from this distance and separation.
The sublime came up in the topic of mental passiveness, and also is evident in this passiveness of observation. Take, for instance, the sublime painting by Caspar David Friedrich entitled “Wanderer Above a Sea Fog”:
The man in the picture is merely observing nature at a distance—there is no interaction with the natural world, he is not even reaching towards it in posture. It is completely observation. Yet, at the same time, we are able to see and recognize the beauty in this obscure landscape—despite the fact that we, too, are merely passive observers.
Wordsworth’s poetry also exhibits passiveness in observation, particularly in his poem “Expostulation and Reply”. There is a conversation within the poem and in it, the narrator is encouraged to turn away from his passive observation and dreaming towards books. Jim notes “according to the speaker, much like how we cannot tell our eyes to stop seeing or ears to stop hearing, we cannot stop these “powers” which drive us to contemplative passiveness. This passiveness allows one to gain access to an insight which affords the forsaking of books and of literature.”
This poem does include a reference to the narrator “dreaming”, but I don’t think this would qualify the passiveness in this poem as mental passiveness. I think the dreaming here is more of a daydreaming that comes from uninterrupted observation. Essentially, “Expostulation and Reply” explains the argument behind observatory passiveness—that there is more to be gained from observing the natural world than books and science offer. “Wise passiveness” is observatory passiveness, and it is a passiveness that can feed the mind.
McKusick in “The Economy of Nature” discusses “The Eolian Harp”, another poem exemplifying passiveness. He writes, “Coleridge’s emphasis falls not on the autonomy of the organism, but on its vital response to an external stimulus, represented [in the poem] as an ‘intellectual breeze’ that sweeps over it.” (2) I think “The Eolian Harp” serves as a great representation for the human mind in the act of passive observation. The mind simply takes in its surroundings and is still, waiting for an “intellectual breeze” to pass over it. This allows the reader to make observations that don’t normally come with active interaction with the surrounding world.
In conclusion, passiveness of the mind and of observation both allow for the development of new perspectives and are the first steps in fleshing out a relationship between humanity and nature. To truly be able to reflect on Nature and be able to comprehend our relationship with it, Romantic poetry requires that we allow ourselves to be passive and occasionally examine the world through a lens that isn’t interactive or doesn’t use the entirety of our senses. To fully understand and reflect on nature, we must occasionally let it flow over us, or look at it through the mentality of a dream or a trance-like state. This passiveness ultimately provides us with the ability to get a more fulfilled and fleshed-out perspective of nature.
Citations:
Longinus, “On the Sublime.” Philosophical Ideas of the Sublime. Web.
McKusick, James. “Coleridge and the Economy of Nature.” Studies in Romanticism. Version 35 (1995): 375-392. Print.
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