John Keats

what are ur collective thoughts on "When i have fears that i may cease to be"
here it is for those unfamiliar:

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd 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

what emotions strike you the hardest in this piece?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by optisuol

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd 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

---

Wow, how rare to come across a Shakespearean sonnet by John Keats - easily one of my favorite poets of all time, especially in Romanticism.
I think I have only read this poem one or two times before, but, by reading it again, I only love it more. Keats, I believe, lived a very short life, but wrote much; in the first few lines, I think, he expresses his desire to write his every thought, before he "ceases to be," compared well with nature with words like 'gleaning' a 'teeming brain,' like 'full ripen'd grain.'
Like many poets of his time, Keats lived much for dreaming and Romanticism, never in a bad manner that I look down upon. In essence, Keats, when writing this, wanted to live as long as the 'cloudy symbols of a high romance,' comparing, probably, one of his many loves to one of the never-aging fairies. In death, however, he finds himself alone, forlorn, in 'the wide world,' sinking with his love intact.
I find this piece so touching, not only that I call John Keats one of my biggest influences in writing, but that he lived so much for transcending love and its expression in flaunting Romanticism, casting away a life of what others could call success (as a surgeon, I believe). So much of his work, I have found, especially in Endymion, his own philosophy bleeds through the powerful words that often compels me to tears, I feel unashamed to admit.
Thank you, optisuol, for sharing the work. Welcome to the forum. :)

nicely stated. i think your thoughts on Keat's highly romantic ideals are accurate. in a few months time i will be transposing this piece into music and sound, so ive just been trying to gather a few opinions.
thanks

Into music? Wow, I have heard of songs from E.E. Cummings and Edgar Allan Poe, for example, but never with Keats' poetry. I wish you the best of luck, though I think anything stemming from his verse would bring much beauty. ;)

You picked a great piece.

I am not extremely fond of Keats. But I think he surely is " the purest poet " ( quoted from Hyperion)

as Emerson said, the Romantics are "liberating gods," fixing dislocation by ascention.

: )
well im glad that you're all so confident in Keats. keeps me secure in my decision.
... shall let you know how it comes together.
thanks

very nice poem

Certainly a lovely poem by Keats... and the theme holds a greater resonance when one considers that Keats would certainly die well "before his time".

"This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed- see, here it is-
I hold it towards you."

These were perhaps the last lines of serious poetry ever penned by Keats who was already dying of tuberculosis. He must have been truly aware that what he was suggesting... the poet's own death... the fact of the warm hand soon being reduced to the icy lifeless thing of the grave... was no mere poet's conceit. Poetry is full of such similar suggestions: You will regret it when I'm gone. Pick the flowers while ye may... "Quand vous serez bien vielle..." "When you are old and sitting by the fire..." Yet what power Keat's fragment has... he stretches his hand out to his reader... and to you... in the terrifying knowledge that such death... such absence of the poet is not an abstraction... something far off (presumably)... but an immediate reality.