Reflection on Byron

[Countess]

For lack of a better title.

Preface -
I write on rhythm,
for rhythm is the vital force,
Great or small,
That makes for great poetry
Or not at all. :lol:

***

Stream-of-consciousness main -

Oh my indelible bard,
With elevated ideals
- unachievable by any strenuous strain -
Girded round your brain like wrapped bacon
On a steak filet, great to the taste but a tad
Spoiled and certainly wasted on your life

36 years of wanton paradise destroyed you
But laid bare your immortal verse,
Perhaps God chooses his highest to curse,
Lest vain love pervade our mortal kind
And lead the sublime to ceaseless sorrow
Everlasting.

Could I now hate you more for your crime
Or love you less for your penetrating mind,
Sharp and shrill ,with glorious requiem hymned,
With you I could dispose, but nay, tis
Not to be so, for in every word or decree
I hear the image of God speak, or rather sing.

It is a recondite thing, such utter talent
Suffering the mark of Cain, but moreso
For the beauty it brings - both in form and face
Inspiring with the gods. Such blue eyes -
vast and wide like the unfathomable
Ocean permeating its incomparable confines,
Which - I might add -
though steeped in sin
Is nonetheless blessed and placed
under the sky
- the all-forgiving, endlessly tolerating divine eye.

But oh my, I could write for years upon you,
And that luxurious dark hair cascading
And those bright, blue eyes so penetrating
But at this my verse ends. Adieu.

[Countess]

Notes:
First stanza:
discusses Byron's continous fame, his idealism (which often caused people to laugh at him) compares his idealism to bacon, his mind to steak, the food of connaisseurs (food for thought), but the food is spoiled (like him; also suggests the mind is tainted - bipolar disorder). Just like spoiled food is wasted, so his brilliant mind is wasted on a profligate life: a creative genius without reason required to not destroy himself.

Second Stanza:
He died at the age of 36 from a fever, which might have been prevented had he taken care of himself. His debaucherous life stood in stark contrast to his elevated faculties (a human paradox). Perhaps God curses the brilliant with something (like bipolar disorder) to prevent humans from thinking they are God - a tragic flaw so we don't deify a man.

Third Stanza:
He was guilty of the crime of incest with his half sister. If I could despise him more for this, then (like most self-righteous moralists) I could completely disown him, OR if I weren't so madly in love with his genius and beauty, then the hate for the crime would win out and I could disown him. As it stands, I forgive him his sins and love the man because his verse resounds of God's own creative talent.

Fourth Stanza
It's a great mystery how a man so brilliant/so gifted could simultanously be so decadent and licentious. He's the physical embodiment of irreconcilable opposites. The "mark of Cain" - Byron considered his limp foot the mark of Cain, the sign that he was eternally damned. Obviously, I don't; I consider his mark of Cain his notion that his limp foot was a sign he was damned. His grevious, faulty belief led to his downfall, not some limp foot.

It's even more mysterious how such talent, given such mental illness, could be so physically beautiful. He was an absolute Adonis: curly dark hair, big, blue eyes, full, pouty lips, a perfect nose, white, fair skin.

The boundaries of the ocean are immeasurable and everchanging. During floods, the sea overflows/permeates his boundaries. So are Byron's eyes, threatening to overflow their boundaries, to burst forth / take over his face. His eyes fascinated one French writer, who saw him from afar at the opera. He said Byron's eyes were the most fascinating he had ever seen - so large and wrought with the most intense emotion he has ever witnessed.

Byron's eyes are steeped in sin much like the ocean, whose bottom is the abode of numerous shipwrecks, victims of shipwrecks, victims from tidal waves, etc. Like the ocean, Byron had the capacity to give life or destroy, and his moods were like the thunderstorms that stirred the ocean to fury or the calm sky that brought peace to it.

Last Stanza:
I could write years on this but I won't.

[SleepyWitch]

thanks for your notes, Countess, I suppose one needs to know a lot about Byron to get the references in your poem..
haha, now you've made me so interested in the guy I'll end up talking more about your notes than the poem.

how old was his half-sister at the time of the 'crime'? I'd think she was just as guilty as him, unless she was a minor at the time.


It's a great mystery how a man so brilliant/so gifted could simultanously be so decadent and licentious.
who said intelligence and morality go hand in hand? maybe he had a high IQ but low 'emotional/social IQ'?


It's even more mysterious how such talent, given such mental illness, could be so physically beautiful. He was an absolute Adonis: curly dark hair, big, blue eyes, full, pouty lips, a perfect nose, white, fair skin.
got a pic/painting?

[mazHur]

Modern research has revealed that poets and writers are the most ''licentious' of all. Hence, Byron was no exception.

[andave_ya]

Hi Countess. This made a lot of sense with the notes now. The comparisons in the first stanza were very interesting -- at first I thought they were out of place but your notes explained the why and wherefore. Idealism is constantly smiled at; a nice thing to have but one needs to be grounded in "reality." Bah humbug.

"Perhaps God choses his highest to curse" -- I always noticed that most if not all genius writers/poets/musicians/artists seem to have led crazy lives; characterized by dissipation and debauchery or emotional or mental pain and suffering while producing the most elevated of materials but I never though that that's how God made it in order for man not to deify himself. Definitely some food for thought, for me.

Incest is gross, but I do understand what you mean about forgiving and loving him in spite of it. I always felt that one shouldn't forbid themselves from enjoying fine arts if the creator was debauched.