The Life and Letters of John Keats

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General Books, 2013 - 96 стор.
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1867 edition. Excerpt: ...a beaten hound tremble thou shalt--as now." Adonais--Stanzas 36, 37. Now, from the enthusiastic friend, let us turn, joyfully, to the undeniable testimony of the Poet himself, writing confidentially to his publisher. Mr. Hessey had sent him a letter that appeared in the Morning Chronicle, of October 3rd, earnestly remonstrating against these examples of tyrannous criticism, and asking whether they could have proceeded from the translator of Juvenal Mr. Gifford, who had prefixed to his work "that manly and pathetic narrative of genius oppressed and struggling with innumerable difficulties, yet finally triumphing under patronage and encouragement; or from the biographer of Kirke White Mr. Southey, who had expostulated with the monthly reviewer, who sat down to blast the hopes of a boy who had confessed to him all his hopes and all his difficulties." The letter was signed "J. S.," and its author remained unknown. The newspapers generally spoke favourably of "Endymion," so that Keats could not even regard the offensive articles as the general expression of the popular voice: he may, indeed, have experienced a momentary annoyance, but, if no other evidence survived, the noble candour and simplicity of this answer is quite sufficient to place the question in its true light, and to silence for ever the exclamations either of honest wrath or contemptuous compassion. Still the malice was weak only because the genius was strong; the arrows were poisoned, though the armour they struck was proof and able to save the life within. art Oct., 1818. My Dear Hessey, You are very good in sending me the letter from the Chronicle, and I am very bad in not acknowledging such a kindness sooner: pray forgive me. It has so...

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Про автора (2013)

John Keats was born in London, the oldest of four children, on October 31, 1795. His father, who was a livery-stable keeper, died when Keats was eight years old, and his mother died six years later. At age 15, he was apprenticed to an apothecary-surgeon. In 1815 he began studying medicine but soon gave up that career in favor of writing poetry. The critic Douglas Bush has said that, if one poet could be recalled to life to complete his career, the almost universal choice would be Keats, who now is regarded as one of the three or four supreme masters of the English language. His early work is badly flawed in both technique and critical judgment, but, from his casually written but brilliant letters, one can trace the development of a genius who, through fierce determination in the face of great odds, fashioned himself into an incomparable artist. In his tragically brief career, cut short at age 25 by tuberculosis, Keats constantly experimented, often with dazzling success, and always with steady progress over previous efforts. The unfinished Hyperion is the only English poem after Paradise Lost that is worthy to be called an epic, and it is breathtakingly superior to his early Endymion (1818), written just a few years before. Isabella is a fine narrative poem, but The Eve of St. Agnes (1819), written soon after, is peerless. In Lamia (1819) Keats revived the couplet form, long thought to be dead, in a gorgeous, romantic story. Above all it was in his development of the ode that Keats's supreme achievement lies. In just a few months, he wrote the odes "On a Grecian Urn" (1819), "To a Nightingale" (1819), "To Melancholy" (1819), and the marvelously serene "To Autumn" (1819). Keats is the only romantic poet whose reputation has steadily grown through all changes in critical fashion. Once patronized as a poet of beautiful images but no intellectual content, Keats is now appreciated for his powerful mind, profound grasp of poetic principles, and ceaseless quest for new forms and techniques. For many readers, old and young, Keats is a heroic figure. John Keats died in Rome on February 23, 1821 and was buried in the Protestant Cemetery, Rome. His last request was to be placed under a tombstone bearing no name or date, only the words, "Here lies One whose Name was writ in Water."

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