Part Six of the Aurora Leigh venture… Today’s blog is going to be a short one – on account of my lack of motivation and raging procrastination. But never fear, the overview of today’s section: Aurora in now in France, roaming the streets of Paris, until she comes across Marian with a child. I like this section because we see Aurora in a new and foreign environment, but then she is met by a face from the past. (Insert evil laugh here)
And so I am strong to love this noble France, This poet of the nations, who dream on And wails on (while the household goes to wreck) For ever, after some ideal good,– Some equal poise of sex, some unvowed love Inviolate, some spontaneous brotherhood, Some wealth, that leaves none poor and finds none tired, Some freedom of the many, that respects The wisdom of the few. Heroic dreams! Sublime, to dream so; natural, to wake: And sad, to use such lofty scaffoldings, Erected for the building of a church, To build instead, a brothel . . or a prison– May God save France!
Two blogs in a day… wow…somebody finished their assignment! So thus, the journey continues and we are on Book Five of Aurora Leigh.
I am really enjoying blogging about this in my Pandemic Ponderings series – after a day of writing assignments and reading endless streams of critical material, I look back on the section of Aurora Leigh that I am blogging about and just enjoy something different! I haven’t read this epic poem , in its entirety, for over year, and combing through it everyday reminds me how much I loved reading it the first time around.
In this section, Aurora continues to write and doesn’t let society stop her! She tries not to be confined by society’s ideal role of a women, yet fears that epic poetry may not be the correct mode of expression. She also thinks of Romney and reveals that she has not seen him for over two years. Then after wallowing over a man, by the end of the book, Aurora decides to travel to Italy for some new inspiration.
Aurora Leigh – Book V
We women are too apt to look to one, Which proves a certain impotence in art. We strain our natures at doing something great, Far less because it’s something great to do, Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves As being not small, and more appreciable To some one friend. We must have mediators Betwixt our highest conscience and the judge; Some sweet saint’s blood must quicken in our palms. Or all the life in heaven seems slow and cold: Good only, being perceived as the end of good, And God alone pleased,–that’s too poor, we think, And not enough for us, by any means. Ay–Romney, I remember, told me once We miss the abstract, when we comprehend! We miss it most when we aspire, . . and fail.
I think most students would reply with either ‘exams’ or ‘coursework’. But what makes this ten times worse, is when you are trying to do these in the middle of a pandemic.
Many university students are heading towards the end of their Summer semester, and this can only mean one thing: deadlines! More so, than ever before, the pressure is on to produce something which resembles academic thought and show off what you have learnt throughout the year.
And guess what??
A pandemic makes this really hard to do!
I thought that I would talk about some of the challenges I have come across when studying and writing from home, and maybe some solutions to combat these problems:
Researching
For somebody who spends all day, everyday in the library, with an endless amount of books and resources, this has been a hard change for me. Usually, when I start researching for an essay, I walk along the bookshelves on the top floor of the library, hoping for something to jump out at me and help begin my argument. In a pandemic, I didn’t have this! I like to have a mixture of print sources and a few electronic sources (mostly Cambridge Companions – because they are god-send) just to show a range… and look like I’m well read! As university buildings and libraries are closed, the internet has never been, becoming the centre of student research.
My advice is that with these assignments, don’t do something really obscure – I know a lot of students want to write about something really out-there, but sometimes you need to cut back and use your available secondary sources as best you can! You’ll have time to do something quirky later in your degree!I have decided to focus on texts that I am relatively confident talking about, and that will make an interesting piece. – figures like Thomas Hardy or Virginia Woolf! These writers are so interesting, have a lot of research readily available to use (on so many platforms) and can easily become the centre of your academic arguments!
If your university or institute do not have as many online articles or journals or books, then never fear! There are many sites which are helping students out during the pandemic, with readily available research. Here are a few of my recommendations:
Now a lot of students are home, don’t have to cook their own meals or even get out of bed to go to a lecture, the motivation and procrastination hits a whole new level. Even for me, as a morning-person, I know that I would rather just watch Netflix in my bed, all day, instead of listening to an hour-long lecture on punctuation (trust me – the pain is real!). Whilst everyone in the house is reading or watching what they want to and I am stuck, attempting to write something that doesn’t sound like a 10-year old wrote it!
Here are a few things that I have done to help me get into the working zone:
Don’t spend hours upon hours working on one thing – work in small intervals
Music can help – I usually listen to instrumental music, or classical piano to drown out the sound of my siblings, and as an attempt to get moving
Tea breaks are a lifesaver
Plan your time – sometimes if you write nearer the deadline, the adrenaline might help!
Food always works as a motivational device
If anyone has any advice about how to combat lack of motivation or procrastination, then please let me know!
Stressing about making an essay perfect
Many of my friends are worrying about making our essays perfect – we are in our second year, and this year’s grades count! But my advice is don’t worry!
You are writing in a time with heightened anxiety and uncertainty – all the rules have been thrown out of the window and turned upside down. I think, even if you are getting up everyday, turning on your laptop and writing anything, you are already doing a great job!
A good way to keep active and creative is to try and write something everyday – whether this is an idea, something creative, a diary entry – it will keep you productive, allowing you to reflect or get into that mode of thinking again. I have found writing a blog a day for the last three weeks, has helped keep me busy and productive. And it doesn’t have to be any good!
At my university, there is so much support in regards to submission – from academic advice, to more appointments with tutors and aids for hardship. This is a strange time, and university lecturers understand that lives have been changed completely by this pandemic. I would recommend grabbing all the help you can get, and make the most of your support networks and advice.
Even if you have picked up a pen – you are doing amazing!
And the Aurora Leigh saga continues! We are on Book Four and practically half way there! This section focuses quite a bit on the relationship between Aurora and Romney, and I think most of all, we feel sorry for Aurora here. Things have not gone the way she would have liked, and her prospects for marriage soon become uncertain…
I kissed the lips that ended.–’So indeed He loves you, Marian?’ ‘Loves me!’ She looked up With a child’s wonder when you ask him first Who made the sun–a puzzled blush, that grew, Then broke off in a rapid radiant smile Of sure solution. ‘Loves me! he loves all,– And me, of course. He had not asked me else To work with him for ever, and be his wife.’ Her words reproved me. This perhaps was love– To have its hands too full of gifts to give, For putting out a hand to take a gift; To love so much, the perfect round of love Includes, in strictly conclusion, the being loved; As Eden-dew went up and fell again, Enough for watering Eden. Obviously She had not thought about his love at all: The cataracts of her soul had poured themselves And risen self-crowned in rainbow; would she ask Who crowned her?–it sufficed that she was crowned. With women of my class, ’tis otherwise: We haggle for the small change of our gold, And so much love, accord, for so much love, Rialto-prices. Are we therefore wrong? If marriage be a contract, look to it then, Contracting parties should be equal, just; Bit if, a simple fealty on one side, A mere religion,–right to give, is all, And certain brides of Europe duly ask To mount the pile, as Indian widows do, The spices of their tender youth heaped up, The jewels of their gracious virtues worn, More gems, more glory,–to consume entire For a living husband! as the man’s alive, Not dead,–the woman’s duty, by so much, Advanced in England, beyond Hindostan.
I sate there, musing, till she touched my hand With hers, as softly as a strange white bird She feared to startle in touching. ‘You are kind. But are you, peradventure, vexed at heart Because your cousin takes me for a wife? I know I am not worthy–nay, in truth, I’m glad on’t, since, for that, he chooses me. He likes the poor things of the world the best; I would not therefore, if I could, be rich, It pleasures him to stoop for buttercups; I would not be a rose upon the wall A queen might stop at, near the palace-door, To say to a courtier, ‘Pluck that rose for me, ‘It’s prettier than the rest.’ O Romeny Leigh!
NB: I am half way through my final year assignments, so hope to have some better quality blogs written and published soon – more theatre criticism and book reviews (yay!!!) – but at the moment, I am just sticking with short quotes, poetry and small ponderings, which come to me in the evenings : usually after a day, attempting to write about narratology or French feminism, like today! Never fear, the good stuff will return ASAP!
Today, we get onto the Third Book Aurora Leigh. I like this book as it explores the Aurora in her apartment, in London and she is doing small pieces of writing, for magazines and newspapers. For me, it echoes with ‘A Room of One’s Own’ by Virginia Woolf – and that what a woman needs to do in order to write (fiction – but i feel there is still the same sentiment!), is have a room of their own, and perhaps I see this idea within this epic poem/novel. It’s also nice to see the London poet in this extract – the reader get’s an inside into the creative process of Aurora, and an understanding her vision of the world a bit better! It also reiterates her point of not needing a man in order to produce something beautiful!
So, happy and unafraid of solitude, I worked the short days out,–and watched the sun On lurid morns or monstrous afternoons, Like some Druidic idol’s fiery brass, With fixed unflickering outline of dead heat, In which the blood of wretches pent inside Seemed oozing forth to incarnadine the air,– Push out through fog with his dilated disk, And startle the slant roofs and chimney-pots With splashes of fierce colour. Or I saw Fog only, the great tawny weltering fog, Involve the passive city, strangle it Alive, and draw it off into the void, Spires, bridges, streets, and squares, as if a sponge Had wiped out London,–or as noon and night Had clapped together and utterly struck out The intermediate time, undoing themselves In the act. Your city poets see such things, Not despicable. Mountains of the south, When, drunk and mad with elemental wines, They rend the seamless mist and stand up bare, Make fewer singers, haply. No one sings, Descending Sinai; on Parnassus mount, You take a mule to climb, and not a muse, Except in fable and figure: forests chant Their anthems to themselves, and leave you dumb.
Day Two of my Aurora Leigh series and I am going to pick out my favorite passage from Book II! This epic poem/novel is on many university courses, and for me after only studying dead white mean in my Romantics to Victorians Module, it was nice to finally come across poetry by a female writer – who has just as must respect. I do think that it’s a shame that Barrett Browning was introduced in relation to her husband – but I mean ‘My Last Duchess’ is literally taught in Secondary Schools across the country, so Robert Browning is bound to be well-know, memorable and someone the tutors love talking about about!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. This portrait is in the National Portrait Gallery – surrounded by other writers of the time. The gallery is amazing if you want to walk through a visual display of your English Literature course!
We were also told how Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an extremely ill person – I don’t think we should have necessarily started with that point. I somethimes think biographical readings are pushed so much within literature, that at times we forget to look at the text, rather than it’s writer. I think that this sometimes impacts how we criticise a text too… but that is a whole other blog!. That is not to say the biography of a writer is an important factor, especially relating to context and modes of expression. But perhaps, we should just appreciate Barrett Browning and that she managed to influence the emergence of the iconic female poet (…people who call them a ‘poetess’ are literally the bane of my existence). She managed to show the world that female writing can be just as powerful as a man’s… especially in such a patriarchal society and artistic field. She was definitely not letting her husband hold her back! We love Liz!
Rant complete… here is my favourite passage from Aurora Leigh, Book II:
Aurora Leigh – Book II
Because the world is mad? You cannot count, That you should weep for this account, not you! You weep for what you know. A red-haired child Sick in a fever, if you touch him once, Though but so little as with a finger-tip, Will set you weeping! but a million sick . . You could as soon weep for the rule of three, Or compound fractions. Therefore, this same world Uncomprehended by you must remain Uninfluenced by you. Women as you are, Mere women, personal and passionate, You give us doating mothers, and chaste wives. Sublime Madonnas, and enduring saints! We get no Christ from you,–and verily We shall not get a poet, in my mind.’ ‘With which conclusion you conclude’ . . ‘But this– That you, Aurora, with the large live brow And steady eyelids, cannot condescend To play at art, as children play at swords, To show a pretty spirit, chiefly admired Because true action is impossible. You never can be satisfied with praise Which men give women when they judge a book Not as mere work, but as mere woman’s work, Expressing the comparative respect Which means the absolute scorn. ‘Oh, excellent! ‘What grace! what facile turns! what fluent sweeps! ‘What delicate discernment … almost thought! ‘The book does honour to the sex, we hold. ‘Among our female authors we make room ‘For this fair writer, and congratulate ‘The country that produces in these times ‘Such women, competent to … spell.” ‘Stop there!’ I answered–burning through his thread of talk With a quick flame of emotion,–’You have read My soul, if not my book, and argue well I would not condescend … we will not say To such a kind of praise, (a worthless end Is praise of all kinds) but to such a use Of holy art and golden life. I am young, And peradventure weak–you tell me so– Through being a woman. And, for all the rest, Take thanks for justice. I would rather dance At fairs on tight-rope, till the babies dropped Their gingerbread for joy,–than shift the types For tolerable verse, intolerable To men who act and suffer. Better far, Pursue a frivolous trade by serious means, Than a sublime art frivolously.’
Today’s Pandemic Ponderings is a section of Aurora Leigh, one of my favourite poems from the Romantic period. I wrote my final poetry coursework on this poem, in my first year of university and explored the themes of gender roles and analysed it from an Écriture féminine perspective. For the next few days, I have decided to choose my favourite passage from each book.
For me, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poetry really does rock!
From Book I of Aurora Leigh
‘She said sometimes, ‘Aurora, have you done Your task this morning?–have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?’– As if she said, ‘I know there’s something wrong, I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household uses and proprieties, Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. What, you’re green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?’ To which I answered, ‘Would she hear my task, And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?’ … Then I sate and teased The patient needle til it split the thread, Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. I was not, therefore, sad; My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense, as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight, In vortices of glory and blue air. And so, through forced work and spontaneous work, The inner life informed the outer life, Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms, Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams, And, rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body, struck a colour up the cheeks, Though somewhat faint. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass, And said, ‘We’ll live, Aurora! we’ll be strong. The dogs are on us–but we will not die.’
For today’s Pandemic Ponderings, I thought that I would share a picture from when I ventured into the wild forests of Lincolnshire…. and then some pretty poetry. Enjoy!
My version of the wild!
A Light exists in Spring by Emily Dickinson
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament.
Having studied French for over seven years, it was no surprise that when it came to looking at French Literature, I would become heavily invested! From Camus and Molière to the infamous Charles Baudelaire…
This is a photograph that I took in Paris, from the Champs-Élysées on Bastille Day 2018
Today, I thought I would share my favourite Baudelaire poem. It is from his famous Fleurs du Mal collection:
Les Bijoux
La très chère était nue, et, connaissant mon coeur, Elle n’avait gardé que ses bijoux sonores, Dont le riche attirail lui donnait l’air vainqueur Qu’ont dans leurs jours heureux les esclaves des Mores.
Quand il jette en dansant son bruit vif et moqueur, Ce monde rayonnant de métal et de pierre Me ravit en extase, et j’aime à la fureur Les choses où le son se mêle à la lumière.
Elle était donc couchée et se laissait aimer, Et du haut du divan elle souriait d’aise À mon amour profond et doux comme la mer, Qui vers elle montait comme vers sa falaise.
Les yeux fixés sur moi, comme un tigre dompté, D’un air vague et rêveur elle essayait des poses, Et la candeur unie à la lubricité Donnait un charme neuf à ses métamorphoses;
Et son bras et sa jambe, et sa cuisse et ses reins, Polis comme de l’huile, onduleux comme un cygne, Passaient devant mes yeux clairvoyants et sereins; Et son ventre et ses seins, ces grappes de ma vigne,
S’avançaient, plus câlins que les Anges du mal, Pour troubler le repos où mon âme était mise, Et pour la déranger du rocher de cristal Où, calme et solitaire, elle s’était assise.
Je croyais voir unis par un nouveau dessin Les hanches de l’Antiope au buste d’un imberbe, Tant sa taille faisait ressortir son bassin. Sur ce teint fauve et brun, le fard était superbe!
— Et la lampe s’étant résignée à mourir, Comme le foyer seul illuminait la chambre Chaque fois qu’il poussait un flamboyant soupir, Il inondait de sang cette peau couleur d’ambre!
I think often English translations remove the emotion or desired impact which the writer is trying to produces, so I prefer not to read the English translations, when I can help it anyway! French already is a beautiful language but its poetry is definitely something else!
The story of the cats who mostly like me… but on occasion don’t!
Louis
Although we shouldn’t admit it, Louis was our favourite cat. He was ginger. He was our first pet. He always wanted attention! Mum named him after Louis Vuitton, but wanted to call him Smirnoff… we thought best to stick with Louis, in case the teachers at school asked us what our cat was called.
Lola
Next, we have Lola or most commonly known as the Female Garfield. She will fight you to the death, if there is food going, whilst shedding fur as she goes. Her and Louis used to be pals, but now she is the moodiest of the cats, we own… if Lola was a human she would be a Regina George.
Peaches
Peaches is the cat who will come and sit on your lap, your head, or anybody part she can reach. She loves to pose, as you can see with this entire art gallery full of pictures (pretty good given she is a black cat, right?). But don’t be fazed, she will dribble all over you…
Lola, Louis and Bea
Now, I can’t be certain – but I think the other black cat is Bea (Peaches’s sister). We didn’t have a Bea long, but she liked to sleep on my head at night, and be held like a baby. I am still bitter that my Mum didn’t let me call her ‘Zelda’…
Olive
Then, we have Olive… we definitely have a strange relationship. I reckon she absolutely hates me, but since I’ve been home we have sorta become friends – I think it’s because we are both similar, in that we hate people!
Oh! You Little Things 