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Songs of Innocence and of Experience
Songs of Innocence and of Experience is an collection of poems by William Blake.
Note: For a complete Table of Contents of the included poems, see the 'Questions' section below.
This book appeared in two phases. A few first copies were printed and illuminated by William Blake himself in 1789; five years later he bound these poems with a set of new poems in a volume titled Songs of Innocence and of Experience Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul.
The work compiles two contrasting but directly related books of poetry by William Blake. Songs of Innocence honors and praises the natural world, the natural innocence of children and their close relationship to God. Songs of Experience contains much darker, disillusioned poems, which deal with serious, often political themes. It is believed that the disastrous end to the French Revolution produced this disillusionment in Blake. He does, however, maintain that true innocence is achieved only through experience.
Note: For a complete Table of Contents of the included poems, see the 'Questions' section below.
This book appeared in two phases. A few first copies were printed and illuminated by William Blake himself in 1789; five years later he bound these poems with a set of new poems in a volume titled Songs of Innocence and of Experience Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul.
The work compiles two contrasting but directly related books of poetry by William Blake. Songs of Innocence honors and praises the natural world, the natural innocence of children and their close relationship to God. Songs of Experience contains much darker, disillusioned poems, which deal with serious, often political themes. It is believed that the disastrous end to the French Revolution produced this disillusionment in Blake. He does, however, maintain that true innocence is achieved only through experience.
56 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1794
About the author
William Blake
1,078 books3,039 followersWilliam Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognised during his lifetime, Blake's work is today considered seminal and significant in the history of both poetry and the visual arts.
Blake's prophetic poetry has been said to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the language". His visual artistry has led one modern critic to proclaim him "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced." Although he only once travelled any further than a day's walk outside London over the course of his life, his creative vision engendered a diverse and symbolically rich corpus, which embraced 'imagination' as "the body of God", or "Human existence itself".
Once considered mad for his idiosyncratic views, Blake is highly regarded today for his expressiveness and creativity, and the philosophical and mystical currents that underlie his work. His work has been characterized as part of the Romantic movement, or even "Pre-Romantic", for its largely having appeared in the 18th century. Reverent of the Bible but hostile to the established Church, Blake was influenced by the ideals and ambitions of the French and American revolutions, as well as by such thinkers as Emanuel Swedenborg.
Despite these known influences, the originality and singularity of Blake's work make it difficult to classify. One 19th century scholar characterised Blake as a "glorious luminary", "a man not forestalled by predecessors, nor to be classed with contemporaries, nor to be replaced by known or readily surmisable successors."
Blake's prophetic poetry has been said to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the language". His visual artistry has led one modern critic to proclaim him "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced." Although he only once travelled any further than a day's walk outside London over the course of his life, his creative vision engendered a diverse and symbolically rich corpus, which embraced 'imagination' as "the body of God", or "Human existence itself".
Once considered mad for his idiosyncratic views, Blake is highly regarded today for his expressiveness and creativity, and the philosophical and mystical currents that underlie his work. His work has been characterized as part of the Romantic movement, or even "Pre-Romantic", for its largely having appeared in the 18th century. Reverent of the Bible but hostile to the established Church, Blake was influenced by the ideals and ambitions of the French and American revolutions, as well as by such thinkers as Emanuel Swedenborg.
Despite these known influences, the originality and singularity of Blake's work make it difficult to classify. One 19th century scholar characterised Blake as a "glorious luminary", "a man not forestalled by predecessors, nor to be classed with contemporaries, nor to be replaced by known or readily surmisable successors."
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February 5, 2024
William Blake
Is not my mate.
His poems can put me to sleep
Although that can be neat.
Most of them are about religion
But I would rather stare at a pigeon.
Boring and old
To read these again, I would need some gold.
This book is one of James Mustich’s 1,000 Books to Read.
2024 Reading Schedule
Jan Middlemarch
Feb The Grapes of Wrath
Mar Oliver Twist
Apr Madame Bovary
May A Clockwork Orange
Jun Possession
Jul The Folk of the Faraway Tree Collection
Aug Crime and Punishment
Sep Heart of Darkness
Oct Moby-Dick
Nov Far From the Madding Crowd
Dec A Tale of Two Cities
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Is not my mate.
His poems can put me to sleep
Although that can be neat.
Most of them are about religion
But I would rather stare at a pigeon.
Boring and old
To read these again, I would need some gold.
This book is one of James Mustich’s 1,000 Books to Read.
2024 Reading Schedule
Jan Middlemarch
Feb The Grapes of Wrath
Mar Oliver Twist
Apr Madame Bovary
May A Clockwork Orange
Jun Possession
Jul The Folk of the Faraway Tree Collection
Aug Crime and Punishment
Sep Heart of Darkness
Oct Moby-Dick
Nov Far From the Madding Crowd
Dec A Tale of Two Cities
Connect With Me!
Blog Twitter BookTube Facebook Insta
August 10, 2023
Two contrary states of the human soul
The moon like a flower,
In Heavens high bower;
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.
(Night)
At times the weight of the reputation of an artist is that intimidating I can barely overcome trepidation to venture into approaching his or her work. William Blake is such an artist. So when this lovely little book arrived in the letter box as a birthday present, it felt like a sweet little heartening push, giving me the courage to dive into the refreshing water of the unknown, holding the promise of a thrilling encounter with the imagination of supreme mind.
Unsure what to expect and what those two parts – innocence and experience – would stand for, making Blake’s acquaintance was a highly rewarding reading experience I cannot really compare to any other I had before.
From innocence, which seems mostly the one of childhood, symbolised by scenes on infants, children, a shepherd, mothers in a pastoral setting, the transition to experience is evocated by a darkening mood and tone, in which consciousness rises of the adult world in which danger, menace , anxiety undeniably will encumber happiness and joy and where comfort is hard to find – for adults nor for children.
The powerful imagery is replete with fauna and flora, happiness and joy take the shape of a sparrow, a lamb, a robin, a grasshopper, a rose, spring, green fields, sweet sleep. Revolving to experience, a child is hungry, sweet flowers in the Garden of Love have changed into graves and tombstones, youthfulness dissolves, the narrative voice bemoans the multitudinous forms of human woe and suffering in London (‘The mind-forg’d manacles I hear’). A rose is tainted at the core. A mighty tiger roars, reminding of the mysterium tremendum et fascinans characterizing the religious experience of transcendence.
At the first read I was particularly enthralled by the compelling, sublime musicality of the rhymes and the dynamics of the verses (it is thought that Blake set several of the verses to his own tunes, no scores have survived however). These are poems one can imagine a joy to learn and know by heart. In a second read, now having read the illuminating introduction which gives insight into the patterns of ‘contrary’ or answering poems in both parts of the book and the contrasts existing within the poems themselves, pointing at the the puzzling ambiguities, the contrary energies flowing through the poems, the angle of the brilliant mirroring interconnectivity of the composition was a delightful one, and I can easily imagine a third read will unveil other aspects.
The beauteous edition I read draws on the version sold by his wife Catherine Boucher to the Bishop of Limerick in 1830 which ended up into the hands of E.M. Forster, offering it to King’s College, Cambridge – on the left page a literal transcription of each poem is printed, on the right page a reproduction of the original illustrated plate (the designs are not just for embellishment of the poems but intrinsically part of Blake’s poetic imagination).
Absorbing the combination of both the words and the quaint images of Blake’s ‘illuminated printing’ at the same time proved ineffectual for me at the first read, so this gem volunteered as a new nightstand companion. At the moment it might be mostly obscure to me, but perhaps the more complex and mysterious meanings of the verses will further show upon rereading and exploring Blake more in depth.
Youth of delight! come hither
And see the opening morn,
Image of Truth new-born.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways;
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel—they know not what but care;
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
(The Voice of the Ancient Bard)
The moon like a flower,
In Heavens high bower;
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.
(Night)
At times the weight of the reputation of an artist is that intimidating I can barely overcome trepidation to venture into approaching his or her work. William Blake is such an artist. So when this lovely little book arrived in the letter box as a birthday present, it felt like a sweet little heartening push, giving me the courage to dive into the refreshing water of the unknown, holding the promise of a thrilling encounter with the imagination of supreme mind.
Unsure what to expect and what those two parts – innocence and experience – would stand for, making Blake’s acquaintance was a highly rewarding reading experience I cannot really compare to any other I had before.
From innocence, which seems mostly the one of childhood, symbolised by scenes on infants, children, a shepherd, mothers in a pastoral setting, the transition to experience is evocated by a darkening mood and tone, in which consciousness rises of the adult world in which danger, menace , anxiety undeniably will encumber happiness and joy and where comfort is hard to find – for adults nor for children.
The powerful imagery is replete with fauna and flora, happiness and joy take the shape of a sparrow, a lamb, a robin, a grasshopper, a rose, spring, green fields, sweet sleep. Revolving to experience, a child is hungry, sweet flowers in the Garden of Love have changed into graves and tombstones, youthfulness dissolves, the narrative voice bemoans the multitudinous forms of human woe and suffering in London (‘The mind-forg’d manacles I hear’). A rose is tainted at the core. A mighty tiger roars, reminding of the mysterium tremendum et fascinans characterizing the religious experience of transcendence.
At the first read I was particularly enthralled by the compelling, sublime musicality of the rhymes and the dynamics of the verses (it is thought that Blake set several of the verses to his own tunes, no scores have survived however). These are poems one can imagine a joy to learn and know by heart. In a second read, now having read the illuminating introduction which gives insight into the patterns of ‘contrary’ or answering poems in both parts of the book and the contrasts existing within the poems themselves, pointing at the the puzzling ambiguities, the contrary energies flowing through the poems, the angle of the brilliant mirroring interconnectivity of the composition was a delightful one, and I can easily imagine a third read will unveil other aspects.
The beauteous edition I read draws on the version sold by his wife Catherine Boucher to the Bishop of Limerick in 1830 which ended up into the hands of E.M. Forster, offering it to King’s College, Cambridge – on the left page a literal transcription of each poem is printed, on the right page a reproduction of the original illustrated plate (the designs are not just for embellishment of the poems but intrinsically part of Blake’s poetic imagination).
Absorbing the combination of both the words and the quaint images of Blake’s ‘illuminated printing’ at the same time proved ineffectual for me at the first read, so this gem volunteered as a new nightstand companion. At the moment it might be mostly obscure to me, but perhaps the more complex and mysterious meanings of the verses will further show upon rereading and exploring Blake more in depth.
Youth of delight! come hither
And see the opening morn,
Image of Truth new-born.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways;
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel—they know not what but care;
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
(The Voice of the Ancient Bard)
June 19, 2017
“Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?”
Out of all the poetry I have read, these four lines are amongst my favourite. They have stuck with me over several years and seem to resonate within me. I’ve even considered having them tattooed onto my arm. Why these lines? You may ask.
It’s simple really: they say so much. Different readings can be made here, but the one I see most strongly is man talking to nature. Man questions it; he asks if he is the same as nature and if nature is the same as him. Is not the fly equal to him? Is not the fly’s life just as valuable as his own? All life is precious, and what I read here is a man coming to the realisation that this is so. Nature is valuable, and no matter how high man may place himself all life remains the same; it is the same force: the same energy. It could also be a bourgeoisie facing a member of the lower class and realising the same thing, but I prefer to stick with the human to animal relationship.
Nature is huge, the ecosystem is huge. And, again, no matter how high man may place himself he is still just another cog on an ever turning mechanism. In the modern world he has damaged the system, the environment, but he is still part of a greater whole. And his part is no more important than that of the rest of the cogs. What I read in Blake’s words is an ideal, a projection of a semi-paradise; one man can perhaps reach if when he has gained experience he remembers where he came from: his innocence.
Blake’s poetry is marvellously deceptive; it appears so simple, but that’s the beauty of it. Hidden behind the seemingly innocent childlike songs is a sense of irony, sarcasm and genius. The speakers of the poems describe the world as they see it; it is a mere reflection of their own limited perceptions; they see the world through a childlike and predetermined state. In essence, they see what they are meant to see, and nothing beyond that. Well, not until they gain experience and look back on their own folly. Even at this stage, Blake portrays the duality of the human soul; the two states coexist and inform each other. From this collection of poetry I’m left with the impression that these two stages are necessary for human development, but not exclusively so; it’s like Blake is suggesting that one should be able to see the world as an aspect of both.
Throughout the poetry Blake also questions the meaning of standard religion and proposes his own ideas of a more natural approach to divinity. He believed that the gods existed within the bosom of man, and not in an exogenous limited interpretation. In this, he is a true Romantic poet. The more poetry I read in this age, the more I come to appreciate this idea. Blake’s poetry stands out amongst the crowd though. He used a completely unique style to get his the two states of the human soul across to the reader. But, again, he reflects the movement; his poems have a heavy emphasis on the freedom of self-expression and can only really be appreciated in conjunction with the plates he engraved them on. He was a true artist:
"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Indeed, for me, the comparison between the “Lamb” and the “Tyger” cannot be appreciated without looking at the images. The two poems are not simply about different animal types. They are about good and evil; they are a comparison of the badness and benevolence of humankind. The lamb represents the most profound sense of inexperience; it is innocence and pure: it is docile and vulnerable in its infancy. In this it is comparable to the Christian saviour: it is the best degree of humanity. The Tyger, on the other hand, has a corrupt heart. He represents the negative aspects of humankind, and can be interpreted as part of industrialisation, commerce and power. Through this comparison the narrator of the poems questions how a creator could forge two opposing states. What is the purpose of such a thing?
When the experience section has been read, it is vital to go back and look at innocence. It changes the nature of the poems, as the implicit becomes explicit. The layers of meaning are multiple and complex. I could spend a day pondering over some of them, but for me the most memorable one is “the fly” for the reasons I discussed: it will always stay with me.
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?”
Out of all the poetry I have read, these four lines are amongst my favourite. They have stuck with me over several years and seem to resonate within me. I’ve even considered having them tattooed onto my arm. Why these lines? You may ask.
It’s simple really: they say so much. Different readings can be made here, but the one I see most strongly is man talking to nature. Man questions it; he asks if he is the same as nature and if nature is the same as him. Is not the fly equal to him? Is not the fly’s life just as valuable as his own? All life is precious, and what I read here is a man coming to the realisation that this is so. Nature is valuable, and no matter how high man may place himself all life remains the same; it is the same force: the same energy. It could also be a bourgeoisie facing a member of the lower class and realising the same thing, but I prefer to stick with the human to animal relationship.
Nature is huge, the ecosystem is huge. And, again, no matter how high man may place himself he is still just another cog on an ever turning mechanism. In the modern world he has damaged the system, the environment, but he is still part of a greater whole. And his part is no more important than that of the rest of the cogs. What I read in Blake’s words is an ideal, a projection of a semi-paradise; one man can perhaps reach if when he has gained experience he remembers where he came from: his innocence.
Blake’s poetry is marvellously deceptive; it appears so simple, but that’s the beauty of it. Hidden behind the seemingly innocent childlike songs is a sense of irony, sarcasm and genius. The speakers of the poems describe the world as they see it; it is a mere reflection of their own limited perceptions; they see the world through a childlike and predetermined state. In essence, they see what they are meant to see, and nothing beyond that. Well, not until they gain experience and look back on their own folly. Even at this stage, Blake portrays the duality of the human soul; the two states coexist and inform each other. From this collection of poetry I’m left with the impression that these two stages are necessary for human development, but not exclusively so; it’s like Blake is suggesting that one should be able to see the world as an aspect of both.
Throughout the poetry Blake also questions the meaning of standard religion and proposes his own ideas of a more natural approach to divinity. He believed that the gods existed within the bosom of man, and not in an exogenous limited interpretation. In this, he is a true Romantic poet. The more poetry I read in this age, the more I come to appreciate this idea. Blake’s poetry stands out amongst the crowd though. He used a completely unique style to get his the two states of the human soul across to the reader. But, again, he reflects the movement; his poems have a heavy emphasis on the freedom of self-expression and can only really be appreciated in conjunction with the plates he engraved them on. He was a true artist:
"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Indeed, for me, the comparison between the “Lamb” and the “Tyger” cannot be appreciated without looking at the images. The two poems are not simply about different animal types. They are about good and evil; they are a comparison of the badness and benevolence of humankind. The lamb represents the most profound sense of inexperience; it is innocence and pure: it is docile and vulnerable in its infancy. In this it is comparable to the Christian saviour: it is the best degree of humanity. The Tyger, on the other hand, has a corrupt heart. He represents the negative aspects of humankind, and can be interpreted as part of industrialisation, commerce and power. Through this comparison the narrator of the poems questions how a creator could forge two opposing states. What is the purpose of such a thing?
When the experience section has been read, it is vital to go back and look at innocence. It changes the nature of the poems, as the implicit becomes explicit. The layers of meaning are multiple and complex. I could spend a day pondering over some of them, but for me the most memorable one is “the fly” for the reasons I discussed: it will always stay with me.
December 24, 2018
I have to admit that I rarely read poetry, not because I don’t want to but mostly because my library usually doesn’t have the kind of poetry that I long for. So imagine my surprise when I found this little new gem in between one of my beloved and already so very familiar bookshelves.
It was love at first sight and I don’t regret anything. <3
”O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.”
- The Sick Rose
William Blake is definitely one of my favourite poets and I can recommend this to everyone who doesn’t only like his poetry but also appreciates his art. =)
P.S: "A Poison Tree", "The Tyger" and "London" are really good as well! ;-)
It was love at first sight and I don’t regret anything. <3
”O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.”
- The Sick Rose
William Blake is definitely one of my favourite poets and I can recommend this to everyone who doesn’t only like his poetry but also appreciates his art. =)
P.S: "A Poison Tree", "The Tyger" and "London" are really good as well! ;-)
April 6, 2016
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,I don’t think I would dare give any collection of poems that contains the above lines anything less than five stars. Luckily, although every poem isn’t a winner for me (cough*Laughing Song*cough), there are so many immortal poems in this collection that I don’t feel the least bit guilty for giving the collection the full five stars. I started collecting some of my favorite lines to put in this review (not even the whole poem in many cases), and when I got to three pages in Word I realized I would have to restrain myself from posting half the collection in this review. This review is still going to be on the long side, but you’ll have to just deal. :)
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake, one of the most well-known authors of the Romantic era, published this short collection of poems or songs in the late 1700s. The full title was “Songs of Innocence and of Experience Showing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul,” which aptly describes the dichotomy echoed in most of these poems, with innocent Christian belief and pastoral joy in the foreground in the nineteen Songs of Innocence, and dark cynicism, criticism of man’s institutions (including churches), and even despair playing a more prominent role in the twenty-seven Songs of Experience. In fact, many of the poems in the Innocence set have their darker counterpart in the Experience set. So you go from “The Lamb”:
Little Lamb, who made thee?to “The Tyger”:
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek, & he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
When the stars threw down their spears,Even in the more lighthearted Songs of Innocence, more often than not there’s a dark undercurrent, a hint (or sometimes a slap across the face) that the narrator of the poem is being unintentionally ironic:
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
"The Little Black Boy"That last line is a heartbreaker. Even though the black boy sees that the white child is equally under a cloud, he still can’t imagine being accepted by him until he looks like him.
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereav'd of light.
… And thus I say to little English boy:
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
Similarly, we have “The Chimney Sweeper,” where the young boys sold by their destitute families to be chimney sweepers’ assistants ― a terrible, cold, dirty job ― aptly cry “weep” in their childish lisps instead of "sweep":
When my mother died I was very young,Such an indictment of those who mistreat children and the less fortunate among us!
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep, & in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when you head's bare
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet, & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.
And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he open'd the coffins & set them free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the Sun.
Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, & never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags & our brushes to work,
Tho the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm,
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
This next one has stuck with my since I studied it in college. Even if you have Christian beliefs (as I do), you have to admit that the institutions of churches have often been misused by those in power. The last lines are haunting:
“The Garden of Love”Notice how the meter and rhyme change in those last two lines ― there’s something inexorable about it.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires.
A few more: I appreciate the insight into the effects of anger and grudges offered by “A Poison Tree”:
I was angry with my friend:And the stultifying strictures and chains of society get a knock in “London”:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
I wander thro' each charter'd street,I’ll go back to the Songs of Innocence to end on a more hopeful note:
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
“On Another's Sorrow”I highly recommend this collection, and you can find copies of it free all over the web.
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?
… He doth give his joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh
And thy maker is not by;
Think not thou canst weep a tear
And thy maker is not near.
O! he gives to us his joy
That our grief he may destroy;
Till our grief is fled & gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
A couple of notes on bonus material: When this book was originally published, each poem was handwritten by Blake on a separate page with an original painting that he did to go with that poem. For example:
They're worth looking up, and often add to understanding of the meaning or intent of the poem.
Also, many of these "Songs of Innocence and of Experience" actually were songs: at least some of them were set to music. As far as I'm aware none of the original tunes used by Blake have survived, but different people since have tried their hand at setting some of them to music, with varying results. Wikipedia links several of these modern song versions of the poems. I haven't checked them out yet, but if I find any good ones I'll link them here.
2016 Classic Bingo Challenge: 5 down, 19 to go.
June 29, 2020
Billy Blake Who Made Thee?
Poet Poet, burning bright,
In the stanzas of the night;
What romantic coquetry,
Could frame thy fearful poetry?
In what distant when or whys,
roll'd the epic of thine eyes?
On wet verse dare he aspire?
What poet's hand, robs Shelly's pyre?
And what meter, & what art,
Could twist the cadence of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread iambs? & what dread feet?
What the motif? what the type,
In what belly was thy gripe?
What the image? what simile,
Dare its deadly metaphors be!
When all critics threw down their pens
And water'd heaven twixt now and then:
Did Marx his smile his classes see?
Did he who made cultural criticism make thee?
Poet Poet, burning bright,
In the stanzas of the night;
What romantic coquetry,
Dare frame thy fearful poetry?
Poet Poet, burning bright,
In the stanzas of the night;
What romantic coquetry,
Could frame thy fearful poetry?
In what distant when or whys,
roll'd the epic of thine eyes?
On wet verse dare he aspire?
What poet's hand, robs Shelly's pyre?
And what meter, & what art,
Could twist the cadence of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread iambs? & what dread feet?
What the motif? what the type,
In what belly was thy gripe?
What the image? what simile,
Dare its deadly metaphors be!
When all critics threw down their pens
And water'd heaven twixt now and then:
Did Marx his smile his classes see?
Did he who made cultural criticism make thee?
Poet Poet, burning bright,
In the stanzas of the night;
What romantic coquetry,
Dare frame thy fearful poetry?
April 19, 2023
This collection is my first introduction to William Blake's poetry. I have a soft spot for poets of the Romantic Age and have been much interested in reading Blake's poetry for a while now.
These collected poems have brought out Blake's own reflections on God, Nature, Religion, and Society. The Songs of Innocence are more on the spiritual side. It includes Blake's most religious poem, "The Lamb":
"Little Lamb, who made thee?
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek & he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child & thou a lamb.
We are called by his name."
It is also a firm expression of Blake's personal views on God, as is seen in, The Little Black Boy, where he claims everyone is equal before God.
"And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child,
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,"
and The Divine Image , where the virtues were given both a divine and human form.
"For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is Man, his child and care.
Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too."
The collection also includes poems on nature and life. From the collection of The Songs of Innocence, what I liked the most was "Night" and "The Chimney Sweeper", former for its lyrical beauty on nature and the latter for the irony on the cruelty of child labour.
Night
"The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon like a flower,
In heavens high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight;
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom."
The Chimney Sweeper
"So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl’d like a lamb’s back, was shav’d: so I said
“Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head’s bare
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.”
While Songs of Innocence depict the innocence and pastoral world of child and youth, Songs of Experience represent the adult world corrupted and weighed down by culture, religion, and society. In his poem "Tyger", Blake compares the nature of an adult to a tiger and questions how such a personality was created.
"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?"
And in "A Poison Tree", the nature of the adult world as Blake saw, was made quite explicit.
"I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil’d the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch’d beneath the tree."
And "The Human Abstract" ironically portrays the values placed by society for the adult world!
"Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we."
From Songs of Experience, what I liked the most is "The Garden of Love" which I fully quote here.
"I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turn’d to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires."
Blake's poetry is simple, yet beautifully rhythmic. Through the simple lines, he conveys many deeper thoughts for our reflection. However, his poetry didn't speak to me quite as well as some other Romantic poets I've read. This is not to say I didn't like or enjoy them, for I did, but not as much as I expected.
These collected poems have brought out Blake's own reflections on God, Nature, Religion, and Society. The Songs of Innocence are more on the spiritual side. It includes Blake's most religious poem, "The Lamb":
"Little Lamb, who made thee?
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek & he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child & thou a lamb.
We are called by his name."
It is also a firm expression of Blake's personal views on God, as is seen in, The Little Black Boy, where he claims everyone is equal before God.
"And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child,
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,"
and The Divine Image , where the virtues were given both a divine and human form.
"For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is Man, his child and care.
Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too."
The collection also includes poems on nature and life. From the collection of The Songs of Innocence, what I liked the most was "Night" and "The Chimney Sweeper", former for its lyrical beauty on nature and the latter for the irony on the cruelty of child labour.
Night
"The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon like a flower,
In heavens high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight;
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom."
The Chimney Sweeper
"So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl’d like a lamb’s back, was shav’d: so I said
“Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head’s bare
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.”
While Songs of Innocence depict the innocence and pastoral world of child and youth, Songs of Experience represent the adult world corrupted and weighed down by culture, religion, and society. In his poem "Tyger", Blake compares the nature of an adult to a tiger and questions how such a personality was created.
"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?"
And in "A Poison Tree", the nature of the adult world as Blake saw, was made quite explicit.
"I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil’d the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch’d beneath the tree."
And "The Human Abstract" ironically portrays the values placed by society for the adult world!
"Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we."
From Songs of Experience, what I liked the most is "The Garden of Love" which I fully quote here.
"I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turn’d to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires."
Blake's poetry is simple, yet beautifully rhythmic. Through the simple lines, he conveys many deeper thoughts for our reflection. However, his poetry didn't speak to me quite as well as some other Romantic poets I've read. This is not to say I didn't like or enjoy them, for I did, but not as much as I expected.
January 26, 2018
...Folly is an endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways;
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel — they know not what but care;
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
- William Blake, "The Voice of the Ancient Bard"
The smile of a child. The face of a lamb. The purity of maternal love. Solidarity. These are images chosen by Blake to convey his thoughts on innocence. When I think of innocence, I cannot help picturing in my head the greenest meadows, sheltered by the warm light of the sun, and the sound of a nearby river serving as a mirror to reflect your own thoughts. Such an idyllic setting is an invitation to contemplate your own soul. For me, the countryside is where anything can happen. I feel hopeful. I find rest. I make time stand still; I see bliss. And I accept the countryside's cruelty on a dark, rainy day. That is the inevitable dichotomy of any form of life.
Innocence. To see the world through the eyes of a child. Something so necessary, and so distant. Something that we lose too soon, now.
Simply too soon.
Laughing Song
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;
When the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;
When Mary and Susan and Emily
With their sweet round mouths sing 'Ha ha he!'
When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread:
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha ha he!' (10)
Night
The sun descending in the West,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight,
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen, they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom... (14)
Different perspectives. The pain of adulthood. The fight between love and selfishness. The corruption of innocence and our salvation. Our preservation: the world will not eat us alive—apparently. The fear of what is to come. Of the unknown. The gray despair of aging. These are some of the images of Blake's Experience.
The Clod and the Pebble
'Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair.'
So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
'Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite.' (23)
Ah, sunflower
Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go! (36)
London
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse. (40)
The lyrical voice of this fine poet stands out for its apparent simplicity. Blake knew his surroundings too well. He was aware of the social and political situation of his time as well as the spiritual concerns of human beings. And he transferred them to his pages to make them immortal. His sensitive and evocative poetry can conquer the most anxious soul and give it an ideal place to rest for a while.
Jul 30, 14
* Also on my blog.
Read
August 8, 2021So I have read this book a few times over just this past week alone, chipping away and picking up different parts at different times. Something that has been bothering me is how I am going to synthesize and consolidate my thoughts on a work such as this – and I think I finally have the answer. No pressure to rate something a certain number of stars. Simple it may be, but it took me so long to figure out. So my goal is to just scribble something down and continually come back to my notes as I continue to revisit the work. One doesn’t ever stop reading a work like this, and that goes with lots of poetry. Imagine reading The Sick Rose and then never touching it again for as long as you are alive. Cool. You read 8 short lines in under 30 seconds and achieved… what, exactly?
I can’t really put into words what these poems are doing to me, and I don’t necessarily think that I have to. Maybe future readings, further synthesis, and more complex thought, buttressed by some more opinions (academic or not) may change my mind and allow me to act with enough conviction to rate some works of poetry definitively. For now, I am going to enjoy the ride. So with that, here are my basic “notes” to myself.
Emotionally poignant poems in this work:
- The Shepherd (Innocence)
- The Little Black Boy (Innocence)
- The Chimney Sweeper (Innocence)
- The Little Boy Lost (Innocence)
- The Little Boy Found (Innocence)
- The Divine Image (Innocence)
- On Another’s Sorrow (Innocence)
- The Little Girl Lost (Experience)
- The Little Girl Found (Experience)
- The Chimney Sweeper (Experience)
- London (Experience)
- The Human Abstract (Experience)
- A Divine Image (Experience)
Need to try to pick up on the vague connections apparent between the loose links of the two sections.
I can’t really put into words what these poems are doing to me, and I don’t necessarily think that I have to. Maybe future readings, further synthesis, and more complex thought, buttressed by some more opinions (academic or not) may change my mind and allow me to act with enough conviction to rate some works of poetry definitively. For now, I am going to enjoy the ride. So with that, here are my basic “notes” to myself.
Emotionally poignant poems in this work:
- The Shepherd (Innocence)
- The Little Black Boy (Innocence)
- The Chimney Sweeper (Innocence)
- The Little Boy Lost (Innocence)
- The Little Boy Found (Innocence)
- The Divine Image (Innocence)
- On Another’s Sorrow (Innocence)
- The Little Girl Lost (Experience)
- The Little Girl Found (Experience)
- The Chimney Sweeper (Experience)
- London (Experience)
- The Human Abstract (Experience)
- A Divine Image (Experience)
Need to try to pick up on the vague connections apparent between the loose links of the two sections.
February 19, 2021
William Blake’s remarkably written and illustrated poems have endured the test of time and continue to amaze and delight me, even though I have read them dozens of times over the years.
My favorite poems from the Songs of Innocence are, sadly, about innocence abused. It seems such a contrast to me to read Nurse’s Song, in which the children beg for more time to play and frolic in the open air and the “laughing is heard on the hill”, and the Chimney Sweeper, which opens with the death of a mother and selling of a child to work in the soot and suffocation of the chimney sweep. That the sweeper is able to maintain his innocence and trust in the face of such a fate is a remarkable testament to the faith of the yet unspoiled child.
Of course, there are religious implications in each of the poems, which are intended and profound. The symbol of the lamb, as standing for both the children and their saviour, runs through several of the poems, including the most famous, The Lamb, which begins, familiarly, “Little lamb who made thee?”
These poems would be quite impressive had Blake written only of innocence, but he wrote a second set of poems, Songs of Experience, which contrast diametrically with the innocence poems. In fact, many of them bear the same name, as in the poems titled Holy Thursday. The poem from Songs of Innocence portrays the children, lined up in twos, entering the cathedral with angelic faces and voices, close to heaven. It’s counterpart in Songs of Experience speaks of the poverty and hunger suffered by so many children of the time.
Parallels exist between many of the poems, contrasting innocence and experience. As The Lamb is the most famous of the Innocence poems, The Tiger is the most famous of the Experience poems. The poems represent the natural world and God’s creation of both the predator and the prey. Blake’s exploration of the two aspects of God and the complexity of His creation.
Cannot close without including my favorite of all the poems:
A POISON TREE
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunnèd it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,—
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
My favorite poems from the Songs of Innocence are, sadly, about innocence abused. It seems such a contrast to me to read Nurse’s Song, in which the children beg for more time to play and frolic in the open air and the “laughing is heard on the hill”, and the Chimney Sweeper, which opens with the death of a mother and selling of a child to work in the soot and suffocation of the chimney sweep. That the sweeper is able to maintain his innocence and trust in the face of such a fate is a remarkable testament to the faith of the yet unspoiled child.
Of course, there are religious implications in each of the poems, which are intended and profound. The symbol of the lamb, as standing for both the children and their saviour, runs through several of the poems, including the most famous, The Lamb, which begins, familiarly, “Little lamb who made thee?”
These poems would be quite impressive had Blake written only of innocence, but he wrote a second set of poems, Songs of Experience, which contrast diametrically with the innocence poems. In fact, many of them bear the same name, as in the poems titled Holy Thursday. The poem from Songs of Innocence portrays the children, lined up in twos, entering the cathedral with angelic faces and voices, close to heaven. It’s counterpart in Songs of Experience speaks of the poverty and hunger suffered by so many children of the time.
Parallels exist between many of the poems, contrasting innocence and experience. As The Lamb is the most famous of the Innocence poems, The Tiger is the most famous of the Experience poems. The poems represent the natural world and God’s creation of both the predator and the prey. Blake’s exploration of the two aspects of God and the complexity of His creation.
Cannot close without including my favorite of all the poems:
A POISON TREE
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunnèd it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,—
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
February 24, 2017
I adore William Blake's poetry and this illustrated collection is fantastic. Unlike other British poets from centuries back (like John Donne for example), his text is usually far easier to read even without a thesaurus and always delightful and full of imagery. a Must!
February 9, 2017
Well, one lousy review can't do Blake's poems any justice, not unless you're flush with time and the soul of a poet, yourself. :)
I can say, however, that the title kinda gives the whole gig away. :) The first section is rife with allusions to Jesus and the second is full of wry and rather sarcastic religious revolutionary insights that I *clearly* appreciate much more than the innocent ones. :)
Yes, love should be shown! No, life should not be this dreary and repressed thing. :)
I particularly love how Blake uses limited PoV narrations, from a little child or an old bard. The mirroring of both characters and themes really does a big number on both types of poetry. I only wish I was reading it with the engravings. :)
Such classics! Well worth the Experience. Everyone should Experience it. :)
I can say, however, that the title kinda gives the whole gig away. :) The first section is rife with allusions to Jesus and the second is full of wry and rather sarcastic religious revolutionary insights that I *clearly* appreciate much more than the innocent ones. :)
Yes, love should be shown! No, life should not be this dreary and repressed thing. :)
I particularly love how Blake uses limited PoV narrations, from a little child or an old bard. The mirroring of both characters and themes really does a big number on both types of poetry. I only wish I was reading it with the engravings. :)
Such classics! Well worth the Experience. Everyone should Experience it. :)
Read
March 27, 2023"The Tyger," "The Garden of Love," "A Poison Tree," and "To Tirzah" were especially good.
August 26, 2024
The Tyger is the poem I always return to when I have to justify the use of imperfect rhymes (and bad spelling).
Added on 27/11/22
Here are the lyrics to an old song inspired by the Tyger’s trochaic meter:
The Garden
In a garden you and I
Played beneath the maker’s eye
We were children without care
Our innocence was everywhere
This surrounding scenery
Was the place for you and me
Not a single field in sight
Just four rivers flowing wild
"You may eat of any tree
Save the one that there you see
For then surely will you know
The true sense of good and evil
For then surely will you know
The true sense of good and evil
The bitter bitter taste of death
The sadness of all human flesh
And what it feels like to be god"
Every kind of bird and beast
Came from north, west, south and east
To be recognised and named
And dwell among us without shame
In a garden all in bloom
The eternal bride and groom
Lived in tune and harmony
Amid the stars and the honeybee
I picked the fruit right off the tree
Because the serpent told me to
And when I bit into the fruit
I just knew that I was free
And now surely do I know
The true sense of good and evil
The bitter bitter taste of death
The sadness of my human flesh
And what it feels like to be god
Added on 27/11/22
Here are the lyrics to an old song inspired by the Tyger’s trochaic meter:
The Garden
In a garden you and I
Played beneath the maker’s eye
We were children without care
Our innocence was everywhere
This surrounding scenery
Was the place for you and me
Not a single field in sight
Just four rivers flowing wild
"You may eat of any tree
Save the one that there you see
For then surely will you know
The true sense of good and evil
For then surely will you know
The true sense of good and evil
The bitter bitter taste of death
The sadness of all human flesh
And what it feels like to be god"
Every kind of bird and beast
Came from north, west, south and east
To be recognised and named
And dwell among us without shame
In a garden all in bloom
The eternal bride and groom
Lived in tune and harmony
Amid the stars and the honeybee
I picked the fruit right off the tree
Because the serpent told me to
And when I bit into the fruit
I just knew that I was free
And now surely do I know
The true sense of good and evil
The bitter bitter taste of death
The sadness of my human flesh
And what it feels like to be god
June 26, 2024
This was reportedly the only book (actually two) with which William Blake had a very modest commercial success during his life time (1757-1827). And I can understand that: compared to his later work, these early poems still come across as very appealing and transparent. Songs of Innocence (1789) offers what the title suggests: children's verses and songs, very pastoral, with many sheep, children and angels. There are some shadowy sides (such as in the Chimney Sweeper), but it always ends well, the stories radiate confidence and security, especially in God. But that pleasing simplicity is deceptive, as evidenced by Songs of Experience (1794), published 5 years later. This is very different in tone, much more somber and even grim, “it is eternal winter there”. Clearly, Blake has constructed this as a negative reflection of the first book. Of course, an evergreen in this tome is the Tyger poem, which is perhaps best known for its rhythmic alliterations, but which actually ingeniously confronts us with the question of evil in the world: why does the God, who appears as the caring father in the first book, tolerates such horrible animals to exist? Here, Blake clearly shows that he has much more to offer than nursery rhymes.
November 18, 2013
My first brush with Blake was through the impeccable poem London more than a decade back. Since then, I'd got to read more poems of his, all carefully chosen by the academicians, quickly putting him in my list of favorite poets. Then before I reached my twenties, I read this little collection, and liked it immensely.
Songs of Innocence was what I was looking for, with its naïve outlook on life, the idyllic pictures of innocence I was unwilling to leave behind on my trek to youth. I was enamored (and still am) by the introductory piece:
To me, this was that drop of amnesiac honey that helped me get over the agony of the house-shifting we'd done that summer more than a decade ago, from a lush green safe township in the corner of the city to a closer-to-the-city, concrete-laden, greenery-starved, space-crunched area. It wasn't all that bad either, as I discovered later, but none of the former beauty of greeting the morning sun flanked by luxurious trees amidst the warbling of a dozen different birds remained. Suddenly, I was waking up to a harsh sun with no shady trees, and hardly any birds. Gone were the little gardens that every small home had. Now we had a larger home, with barely any space for even potted plants, let alone a garden.
So yeah, poets like Wordsworth and Blake with their lyrical beauty and pastoral happy images and bleak city images were very much resonant with me.
Now so many years later, while retaining my nostalgia for that magical place that had been my h(e)aven for many years, I am better capable of judging this collection from a newer perspective - one that has been shaped by reading many more poems since then, and has also gotten over the shift from innocence to experience, and values both equally.
The first section of the collection, Songs of Innocence, now seems to me too simplistic with little exquisite craftsmanship that Wordsworth or Coleridge or even Browning still retains for me. They sound more like little elementary rhyming structures instead of that breath-taking exhilaration I want when I expect nostalgia to sweep over me.
Only occasionally do I see those powerful streaks of thought, as in the little piece The Divine Image:
Songs of Experience, however, fared better. There were glimmers of the pain that comes with experience, but also a sense of enlightenment that you wouldn't exchange for anything in the world, not even that former unblemished and profound innocence. But those bright powerful streaks ended soon, like a comet - blink-and-miss. I liked only 4 poems out of them all, but they are among those I often like to read frequently for their common-sense and quaint charm, such as 'Tyger', with its gripping structure and short lines,
Or The Clod and the Pebble:
or A Poison Tree, which was a simple but beautiful piece.
But London by far remains my favorite, and I quote it here in full:
----------------------------------------------
Overall, I'm rather disappointed. Not only has a childhood favorite collection become a 3-star average affair now, but Blake, as a whole, has come a few steps down the tier. When I started over this book today, I'd expected to be blown over with brilliant images of innocence and experience, but the time has passed rather dully, but thankfully, briefly. The only saving grace is that I still love my old favorite pieces still, especially 'London'. Blake has become a little bleak for me now, but I still cherish the times he gave me, those little shiny lyrics that once upon a time brightened my moods with fond memories of a home I would never return to, of a garden that was no longer mine, of an innocence I was beginning to shed in favor of experience.
Songs of Innocence was what I was looking for, with its naïve outlook on life, the idyllic pictures of innocence I was unwilling to leave behind on my trek to youth. I was enamored (and still am) by the introductory piece:
To me, this was that drop of amnesiac honey that helped me get over the agony of the house-shifting we'd done that summer more than a decade ago, from a lush green safe township in the corner of the city to a closer-to-the-city, concrete-laden, greenery-starved, space-crunched area. It wasn't all that bad either, as I discovered later, but none of the former beauty of greeting the morning sun flanked by luxurious trees amidst the warbling of a dozen different birds remained. Suddenly, I was waking up to a harsh sun with no shady trees, and hardly any birds. Gone were the little gardens that every small home had. Now we had a larger home, with barely any space for even potted plants, let alone a garden.
So yeah, poets like Wordsworth and Blake with their lyrical beauty and pastoral happy images and bleak city images were very much resonant with me.
Now so many years later, while retaining my nostalgia for that magical place that had been my h(e)aven for many years, I am better capable of judging this collection from a newer perspective - one that has been shaped by reading many more poems since then, and has also gotten over the shift from innocence to experience, and values both equally.
The first section of the collection, Songs of Innocence, now seems to me too simplistic with little exquisite craftsmanship that Wordsworth or Coleridge or even Browning still retains for me. They sound more like little elementary rhyming structures instead of that breath-taking exhilaration I want when I expect nostalgia to sweep over me.
Only occasionally do I see those powerful streaks of thought, as in the little piece The Divine Image:
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
Songs of Experience, however, fared better. There were glimmers of the pain that comes with experience, but also a sense of enlightenment that you wouldn't exchange for anything in the world, not even that former unblemished and profound innocence. But those bright powerful streaks ended soon, like a comet - blink-and-miss. I liked only 4 poems out of them all, but they are among those I often like to read frequently for their common-sense and quaint charm, such as 'Tyger', with its gripping structure and short lines,
Or The Clod and the Pebble:
Love seeketh not itself to please,
nor for itself hath any care,
but for another gives its ease
and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.
or A Poison Tree, which was a simple but beautiful piece.
But London by far remains my favorite, and I quote it here in full:
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born Infant's tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
----------------------------------------------
Overall, I'm rather disappointed. Not only has a childhood favorite collection become a 3-star average affair now, but Blake, as a whole, has come a few steps down the tier. When I started over this book today, I'd expected to be blown over with brilliant images of innocence and experience, but the time has passed rather dully, but thankfully, briefly. The only saving grace is that I still love my old favorite pieces still, especially 'London'. Blake has become a little bleak for me now, but I still cherish the times he gave me, those little shiny lyrics that once upon a time brightened my moods with fond memories of a home I would never return to, of a garden that was no longer mine, of an innocence I was beginning to shed in favor of experience.
December 29, 2021
#lerosclássicos2021
A MOSCA
Mosca, o jogo
Do teu verão
Varreu estouvada
A minha mão.
Não sou eu
Qual mosca assim?
Ou não és tu
Igual a mim?
Vou dançar,
Beber, cantar,
‘Té cega mão
Me desasar.
Se é Pensar vida,
Sopro & ser forte;
E se é falta
De pensar morte,
Com prazer
Mosca eu vou ser,
Esteja eu vivo
Ou se morrer
Com gravuras da próprio William Blake, no meio das quais escreveu os seus poemas, “Canções de Inocência e de Experiência” é o livro de poesia mais bonito que possuo e fez-me questionar a minha falta de paciência para com os poetas do Romantismo. Tradução sublime de Jorge Vaz de Carvalho.
O JARDIM DO AMOR
Eu fui ao Jardim do Amor,
E vi o que nunca observara:
Capela foi posta no meio,
Lá no verde onde eu brincara.
E os portões da Capela fechados,
E “Não hás de” escrito sobre a porta;
Pois voltei ao Jardim do Amor
Que já tanta flor fresca comporta;
E o vi repleto de campas,
E lápides em vez de flores;
E Padres de preto, em rondas por perto,
E sarça a prender meu sonho e prazer.
A MOSCA
Mosca, o jogo
Do teu verão
Varreu estouvada
A minha mão.
Não sou eu
Qual mosca assim?
Ou não és tu
Igual a mim?
Vou dançar,
Beber, cantar,
‘Té cega mão
Me desasar.
Se é Pensar vida,
Sopro & ser forte;
E se é falta
De pensar morte,
Com prazer
Mosca eu vou ser,
Esteja eu vivo
Ou se morrer
Com gravuras da próprio William Blake, no meio das quais escreveu os seus poemas, “Canções de Inocência e de Experiência” é o livro de poesia mais bonito que possuo e fez-me questionar a minha falta de paciência para com os poetas do Romantismo. Tradução sublime de Jorge Vaz de Carvalho.
O JARDIM DO AMOR
Eu fui ao Jardim do Amor,
E vi o que nunca observara:
Capela foi posta no meio,
Lá no verde onde eu brincara.
E os portões da Capela fechados,
E “Não hás de” escrito sobre a porta;
Pois voltei ao Jardim do Amor
Que já tanta flor fresca comporta;
E o vi repleto de campas,
E lápides em vez de flores;
E Padres de preto, em rondas por perto,
E sarça a prender meu sonho e prazer.
August 5, 2016
That moment when your favorite Tv Show makes you read Romantic poetry of the 18th century.
February 3, 2020
Innumerable Dimensions of Poetry
I admit that I am much more at ease writing reviews on novels or short stories than on poetry because I am afraid that I might slip into the intricacies of close text analysis before I have said knife, and that would definitely reek too much of school. Reading Blake’s Songs of Innocence and of Experience, however, made it clear to me once more how much I would be losing by passing on reading and discussing poetry altogether, and one of the things I resolved to do for 2020 is to read more classic poetry. The Songs are good to begin with because despite the brevity of the poems, and of the whole work as such, the concept makes it so vast that even if I wanted to, I would not be able to bore you with a close analysis of any text they contain. They have to be taken with the illustrations Blake produced, and, as my edition told me, this is not so easy because in the course of the years, Blake produced several versions of most of these illustrations, each one differing from the others in little details. Apart from that, it is up to the reader to discover the cross references between the individual poems, and while some of them may be quite obvious – The Lamb in Innocence, for instance, has its counterpart in Experience’s The Tyger –, others may be purely subjective and not even intended by the author. I have read these poems several times now and come to the conclusion that they can be regarded as an early example of hypertext, whose links are not exclusively provided by the author but also made by the reader, or as a magic puzzle the parts of which may seem simple enough, although they offer various ways of being combined, thus resulting in manifold pictures.
Nevertheless, even when I say that the single parts may be simple – and the apparent naivety of most of the poems in Innocence may mislead the reader into thinking this –, this is not really true in that the scepticism and bitterness shining through most of the poems of Experience has found its way into the seemingly idyllic poems of Innocence as well. Let’s take the ending of The Little Black Boy, for example, a poem that implies that the little black boy, due to all his suffering in life is closer to God. The poem says,
This may seem to say that once we have shuffled off our mortal coils, we are all alike when faced with God, no matter what colour our skin was. The poem goes on, though:
Does this imply that in his state of innocence, the little black boy assumes that being like the white boy is what is needed for him to be loved by the white boy? Is this a sign of how the little black boy tries to reconcile the teachings of Christianity – the entire poem uses Christian imagery – with his experience of being a maltreated outcast and of how, in fact, it is Christianity that makes him put up with his misery by promising him a better existence after death? Blake’s poetry, so simple and naïve on the surface, is full of these dark undercurrents, and one of the targets of the poet’s criticism is the church, as when we witness a clergyman overhear another boy utter unorthodox thoughts and then carry him away to be burned at the stake - ”And all admir’d the Priestly Care.”
Some passages may seem strangely forbidding and off-putting, such as the beginning of one of my favourite poems, The Human Abstract:
but they do stand in line with the twisted reasoning of some Christian endeavours to prove the existence of God in the face of human suffering, and they can also serve as a bitter comment on a poem like Holy Thursday in Innocence, where a pageant of destitute children singing praise to their benefactors is described in glowing, and naïve, terms. The counterpart, by the same title, in Experience starts
I have a feeling that this voices the true associations of the poet. Well, I could go on writing about the cross references between these ambiguous poems until the cows come home – in Blake’s case, probably the lambs not yet devoured by the tygers – but it will be far more interesting for you to set out on this never-ending quest of discovery and wonder yourselves.
I admit that I am much more at ease writing reviews on novels or short stories than on poetry because I am afraid that I might slip into the intricacies of close text analysis before I have said knife, and that would definitely reek too much of school. Reading Blake’s Songs of Innocence and of Experience, however, made it clear to me once more how much I would be losing by passing on reading and discussing poetry altogether, and one of the things I resolved to do for 2020 is to read more classic poetry. The Songs are good to begin with because despite the brevity of the poems, and of the whole work as such, the concept makes it so vast that even if I wanted to, I would not be able to bore you with a close analysis of any text they contain. They have to be taken with the illustrations Blake produced, and, as my edition told me, this is not so easy because in the course of the years, Blake produced several versions of most of these illustrations, each one differing from the others in little details. Apart from that, it is up to the reader to discover the cross references between the individual poems, and while some of them may be quite obvious – The Lamb in Innocence, for instance, has its counterpart in Experience’s The Tyger –, others may be purely subjective and not even intended by the author. I have read these poems several times now and come to the conclusion that they can be regarded as an early example of hypertext, whose links are not exclusively provided by the author but also made by the reader, or as a magic puzzle the parts of which may seem simple enough, although they offer various ways of being combined, thus resulting in manifold pictures.
Nevertheless, even when I say that the single parts may be simple – and the apparent naivety of most of the poems in Innocence may mislead the reader into thinking this –, this is not really true in that the scepticism and bitterness shining through most of the poems of Experience has found its way into the seemingly idyllic poems of Innocence as well. Let’s take the ending of The Little Black Boy, for example, a poem that implies that the little black boy, due to all his suffering in life is closer to God. The poem says,
”And thus I say to little English boy,
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy:
Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear,
To lean in joy upon our fathers knee.”
This may seem to say that once we have shuffled off our mortal coils, we are all alike when faced with God, no matter what colour our skin was. The poem goes on, though:
”And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him and he will then love me.”
Does this imply that in his state of innocence, the little black boy assumes that being like the white boy is what is needed for him to be loved by the white boy? Is this a sign of how the little black boy tries to reconcile the teachings of Christianity – the entire poem uses Christian imagery – with his experience of being a maltreated outcast and of how, in fact, it is Christianity that makes him put up with his misery by promising him a better existence after death? Blake’s poetry, so simple and naïve on the surface, is full of these dark undercurrents, and one of the targets of the poet’s criticism is the church, as when we witness a clergyman overhear another boy utter unorthodox thoughts and then carry him away to be burned at the stake - ”And all admir’d the Priestly Care.”
Some passages may seem strangely forbidding and off-putting, such as the beginning of one of my favourite poems, The Human Abstract:
”Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor:
And Mercy no more could be,
If all were as happy as we;”
but they do stand in line with the twisted reasoning of some Christian endeavours to prove the existence of God in the face of human suffering, and they can also serve as a bitter comment on a poem like Holy Thursday in Innocence, where a pageant of destitute children singing praise to their benefactors is described in glowing, and naïve, terms. The counterpart, by the same title, in Experience starts
”Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery
Fed with cold and usurous hand?”
I have a feeling that this voices the true associations of the poet. Well, I could go on writing about the cross references between these ambiguous poems until the cows come home – in Blake’s case, probably the lambs not yet devoured by the tygers – but it will be far more interesting for you to set out on this never-ending quest of discovery and wonder yourselves.
February 14, 2021
I thought I didn’t like rhyming poetry. It turns out it just has to be good! What makes this work, for me, is that the sing-song rhythm is cut by unusual twists. The poems are heavy on religious imagery, yet they can be read metaphorically.
From Songs of Innocence, I took that there are powers of nature that we forget about when we grow up, forces that comfort and help us. And from Songs of Experience, Blake gives us new ways to look at the world around us that we have begun to take for granted. So it’s like age looking at youth and youth looking at age. And it can be profound.
From “The Human Abstract”
Pity would be no more
if we did not make somebody Poor
I enjoyed viewing Blake’s original companion drawings, found online here: https://www.bl.uk/works/songs-of-inno...#
There are many comparisons, and lots of irony throughout the poems. The cover art shows Adam and Eve figures buried under oppressive-looking waves, but with a bird soaring above them.
And he begins the opening Introduction with weeping for joy. “I piped with merry cheer” … while the piper’s child companion “wept to hear.”
I enjoyed almost all of these, but here are two favorites:
“THE FLY”
Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
“My Pretty ROSE TREE”
A flower was offerd to me;
Such a flower as May never bore.
But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree:
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree;
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turnd away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.
From Songs of Innocence, I took that there are powers of nature that we forget about when we grow up, forces that comfort and help us. And from Songs of Experience, Blake gives us new ways to look at the world around us that we have begun to take for granted. So it’s like age looking at youth and youth looking at age. And it can be profound.
From “The Human Abstract”
Pity would be no more
if we did not make somebody Poor
I enjoyed viewing Blake’s original companion drawings, found online here: https://www.bl.uk/works/songs-of-inno...#
There are many comparisons, and lots of irony throughout the poems. The cover art shows Adam and Eve figures buried under oppressive-looking waves, but with a bird soaring above them.
And he begins the opening Introduction with weeping for joy. “I piped with merry cheer” … while the piper’s child companion “wept to hear.”
I enjoyed almost all of these, but here are two favorites:
“THE FLY”
Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
“My Pretty ROSE TREE”
A flower was offerd to me;
Such a flower as May never bore.
But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree:
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree;
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turnd away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.
October 24, 2021
A POISON TREE
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears.
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles.
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears.
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles.
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.
Read
August 26, 2024William Blake é uma figura incontornável cuja obra consegue manter uma certa atualidade e, acima de tudo, a mesma originalidade com que foi concebida — este último, aquele que é talvez o maior elogio que se pode fazer a um artista. Isso é verdade em particular para estas Canções de Inocência e de Experiência/Songs of Innocence and of Experience, cujo foco intemporal reside na transição da infância para a idade adulta, e que me interessam sobretudo pelo retrato censório de um mundo dominado pela igreja e pela ortodoxia institucional, para cuja relação dialética competem estes dois livros — originalmente publicados de forma independente — e respetivas iluminuras.
E, se Blake se revela aqui o místico (o poeta tinha, literalmente, sonhos e visões celestiais) e revolucionário romântico porque vem até hoje a ser conhecido, também é aqui que revela uma essência mais sensível e apurada para as questões sociais especialmente votadas às crianças e aos mais desprotegidos, denunciando a qualidade opressiva da igreja — postura que, num homem profundamente religioso se torna louvável —, a repressão da inocência (das crianças) pela tirania (dos homens), e a natureza paradoxal da humanidade (o que inclui o medo do próprio autor pelo racionalismo e a ciência que, segundo ele, levariam à perda da fé; ou a sua defesa de valores de liberdade sexual que divergem flagrantemente dos princípios religiosos que seguia). Por tudo isto (e cada um destes temas, da sexualidade , à espiritualidade, ao materialismo, etc está encapsulado nos versos destas Canções), esta obra é conhecida e reconhecida. Para mim, que a li agora pela primeira vez fora do contexto académico, estas revestiram-se de uma singeleza maior (o estudo da métrica não é o melhor amigo da fruição estética da poesia), de uma fluidez e de uma música mais unas com o espírito de artesão e a imagética surrealista que, enquanto artista plural, Blake advogava.
THE DIVINE IMAGE
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, His child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart;
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine:
And Peace the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
[Metropolitan Museum, Nova Iorque]
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress.
The human dress is forgèd iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
[Wikimedia]
E, se Blake se revela aqui o místico (o poeta tinha, literalmente, sonhos e visões celestiais) e revolucionário romântico porque vem até hoje a ser conhecido, também é aqui que revela uma essência mais sensível e apurada para as questões sociais especialmente votadas às crianças e aos mais desprotegidos, denunciando a qualidade opressiva da igreja — postura que, num homem profundamente religioso se torna louvável —, a repressão da inocência (das crianças) pela tirania (dos homens), e a natureza paradoxal da humanidade (o que inclui o medo do próprio autor pelo racionalismo e a ciência que, segundo ele, levariam à perda da fé; ou a sua defesa de valores de liberdade sexual que divergem flagrantemente dos princípios religiosos que seguia). Por tudo isto (e cada um destes temas, da sexualidade , à espiritualidade, ao materialismo, etc está encapsulado nos versos destas Canções), esta obra é conhecida e reconhecida. Para mim, que a li agora pela primeira vez fora do contexto académico, estas revestiram-se de uma singeleza maior (o estudo da métrica não é o melhor amigo da fruição estética da poesia), de uma fluidez e de uma música mais unas com o espírito de artesão e a imagética surrealista que, enquanto artista plural, Blake advogava.
THE DIVINE IMAGE
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, His child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart;
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine:
And Peace the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
[Metropolitan Museum, Nova Iorque]
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress.
The human dress is forgèd iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
[Wikimedia]
June 17, 2018
Okay. Four stars.
I've read the Songs along with a wonderful commentary by Alan Tomlinson, who juxtaposes contrary poems from Innocence and Experience and explains them in relation to one another. More on his book in a review later.
Here's what I think of the Songs:
First, a confession. I've read them out loud like an idiot, savoring the crunchy taste of consonants and breathing through the vowels, dancing with some of the poems (the pretty ones) and enjoying the high and low of raising and lowering my pitch for the sake of expression—and for fun really.
I think I just wanted to bring the poems into life. Give them more weight and feeling. Why? Because Blake wrote them with the passionate and imaginative voice of Romanticism. He etched and engraved the poems with paintings. He sung them out loud to be set to music in defiance of the stern rationalism of Enlightenment—and the church. The effort he put into his work was just amazing. Nothing passive about him. My advice: be an idiot like me and read them out loud. And if you can, bring someone to do it with you. But for heaven's sake, don't read them passively in silence.
I think this was the whole point of Romanticism, to bring feeling and sensation back to life. To reawaken the senses that have been blocked by too much emphasis on reason, on the head.
All the painting, the engraving, the etching and the writing—all testify how much Blake was moved by his work, how much feeling he put into it.
Here's a favorite specimen of mine:
I've read the Songs along with a wonderful commentary by Alan Tomlinson, who juxtaposes contrary poems from Innocence and Experience and explains them in relation to one another. More on his book in a review later.
Here's what I think of the Songs:
First, a confession. I've read them out loud like an idiot, savoring the crunchy taste of consonants and breathing through the vowels, dancing with some of the poems (the pretty ones) and enjoying the high and low of raising and lowering my pitch for the sake of expression—and for fun really.
I think I just wanted to bring the poems into life. Give them more weight and feeling. Why? Because Blake wrote them with the passionate and imaginative voice of Romanticism. He etched and engraved the poems with paintings. He sung them out loud to be set to music in defiance of the stern rationalism of Enlightenment—and the church. The effort he put into his work was just amazing. Nothing passive about him. My advice: be an idiot like me and read them out loud. And if you can, bring someone to do it with you. But for heaven's sake, don't read them passively in silence.
I think this was the whole point of Romanticism, to bring feeling and sensation back to life. To reawaken the senses that have been blocked by too much emphasis on reason, on the head.
All the painting, the engraving, the etching and the writing—all testify how much Blake was moved by his work, how much feeling he put into it.
Here's a favorite specimen of mine:
TO TIRZAH
Whate'er is born of mortal birth
Must be consumèd with the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
The sexes sprung from shame and pride,
Blowed in the morn, in evening died;
But mercy changed death into sleep;
The sexes rose to work and weep.
Thou, mother of my mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,
Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,
And me to mortal life betray.
The death of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
January 10, 2018
William Blake was an English painter and printmaker, as well as a poet and social critic. In 1789 he printed a small number of his illustrated books of poetry which were colored with paint by hand. The pages of Blake's lovely "Songs of Innocence and Experience" can be seen on the British Library's website: https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/wi...
The Songs of Innocence depict the world in a pure, childlike innocence. The Songs of Experience look at the world from the view of an adult who can see the darker side of life. Some of the poems are critical of the institution of the church, the government, and society's lack of concern for the unfortunate. It's especially interesting to read his paired poems that look at the same theme, one poem through the eyes of innocence and the other through the eyes of experience.
While I enjoyed some of Blake's poems, I was even more attracted to his artistic work which complemented it so well. As a combined visual and literary experience "Songs of Innocence and Experience" is a special gem.
The Songs of Innocence depict the world in a pure, childlike innocence. The Songs of Experience look at the world from the view of an adult who can see the darker side of life. Some of the poems are critical of the institution of the church, the government, and society's lack of concern for the unfortunate. It's especially interesting to read his paired poems that look at the same theme, one poem through the eyes of innocence and the other through the eyes of experience.
While I enjoyed some of Blake's poems, I was even more attracted to his artistic work which complemented it so well. As a combined visual and literary experience "Songs of Innocence and Experience" is a special gem.
January 10, 2020
A Man Before His Time
9 January 2020
I’m glad I got this version of the book as opposed to the other ones which just give you the texts of Blake’s poems because I discovered that there is actually a lot more to his work than just the poems. Don’t get me wrong, the poems are great, and there are certainly a number of them there that I remember reading back in high school (such as The Tyger – I wonder if that is connected to a nightclub in London?). However, I discovered that Blake was also an artist and practised woodcuts, so these poems weren’t just written, they were individually carved out of wooden blocks, and include a number of pictures as well (such as a tiger at the bottom of The Tyger).
The problem with this book is that it is pretty intense, and each of the poems definitely deserves a commentary all of their own. The sad thing is that these poems didn’t become popular until after Blake’s death (adding to the myth that poets only become famous after they die – a comment that my English teacher profoundly rejected, and proceeded to list the names of a number of poets that I have never heard of).
Blake was certainly well ahead of his time, which is probably why his poems took so long to catch on. These poems are definitely critical of the society in which he lived, namely England on the verge of the industrial revolution. Actually, talking about revolutions, the first book, Songs of Innocence was written in 1789, which seemed to coincide with the beginning of the French revolution, while Songs of Experience was written in 1794 when the full scale of the revolution became obvious.
As I mentioned, there is a lot of commentary on society, and particular scorn towards the religious sects at the time. For instance, Holy Thursday attacks the fact that on this day St Paul’s Cathedral would have a procession of poor children pass through its doors, something that seemed to be completely at odds with what the church is supposed to be doing – that is the alleviation of poverty. Yet in another sense, it seems that it is only at this time that the church seems to take any notice of the poverty that was prominent across London. More so, the whole idea of parading children just seems somewhat repugnant.
As suggested, there is an awful lot in this book, and in his poems. In fact, I did find that his poems are a lot more accessible than other poems that I have read, namely because they seemed to have been written by people that wanted to show off their writing skills (though, no doubt, we do know that Mary Shelley is much, much more famous than her husband). Yet Blake seemed to understand the rising working class, and somehow be connected with them.
One poem did stand out in my mind, and that is the Chimney Sweep. In a way it seems to bring together this criticism of industrialisation, and the church. Here we have a young child, a chimney sweep, who is covered in soot, yet in a way believes that if he were to work hard then heaven would be open to him. Yeah, this is one of the things that really gets me about the church, particularly when you slave your guts out, and the leadership seems to simply be living off the hard work of their congregations. Yet it is also this whole ‘pie in the sky when you die’ sort of rubbish, the type of rubbish that suggests that you have to put up with crap, and nobody is going to do anything about it because that is your lot in this world – but don’t lose heart because heaven awaits.
Don’t get me wrong though, not every pastor is like that, and I have known quite a few – some good, some bad. Yet, this whole suffer now because rewards await, while not strictly heresy, seems to be something that they tend to do so that they don’t actually have to perform any real hard work themselves. Don’t get me wrong, being a pastor isn’t an easy job, but unfortunately, there are a lot out there that do live of the toil of others, and simply ignore the problems that they face because, well, we live in a fallen world, so suck it up.
9 January 2020
I’m glad I got this version of the book as opposed to the other ones which just give you the texts of Blake’s poems because I discovered that there is actually a lot more to his work than just the poems. Don’t get me wrong, the poems are great, and there are certainly a number of them there that I remember reading back in high school (such as The Tyger – I wonder if that is connected to a nightclub in London?). However, I discovered that Blake was also an artist and practised woodcuts, so these poems weren’t just written, they were individually carved out of wooden blocks, and include a number of pictures as well (such as a tiger at the bottom of The Tyger).
The problem with this book is that it is pretty intense, and each of the poems definitely deserves a commentary all of their own. The sad thing is that these poems didn’t become popular until after Blake’s death (adding to the myth that poets only become famous after they die – a comment that my English teacher profoundly rejected, and proceeded to list the names of a number of poets that I have never heard of).
Blake was certainly well ahead of his time, which is probably why his poems took so long to catch on. These poems are definitely critical of the society in which he lived, namely England on the verge of the industrial revolution. Actually, talking about revolutions, the first book, Songs of Innocence was written in 1789, which seemed to coincide with the beginning of the French revolution, while Songs of Experience was written in 1794 when the full scale of the revolution became obvious.
As I mentioned, there is a lot of commentary on society, and particular scorn towards the religious sects at the time. For instance, Holy Thursday attacks the fact that on this day St Paul’s Cathedral would have a procession of poor children pass through its doors, something that seemed to be completely at odds with what the church is supposed to be doing – that is the alleviation of poverty. Yet in another sense, it seems that it is only at this time that the church seems to take any notice of the poverty that was prominent across London. More so, the whole idea of parading children just seems somewhat repugnant.
As suggested, there is an awful lot in this book, and in his poems. In fact, I did find that his poems are a lot more accessible than other poems that I have read, namely because they seemed to have been written by people that wanted to show off their writing skills (though, no doubt, we do know that Mary Shelley is much, much more famous than her husband). Yet Blake seemed to understand the rising working class, and somehow be connected with them.
One poem did stand out in my mind, and that is the Chimney Sweep. In a way it seems to bring together this criticism of industrialisation, and the church. Here we have a young child, a chimney sweep, who is covered in soot, yet in a way believes that if he were to work hard then heaven would be open to him. Yeah, this is one of the things that really gets me about the church, particularly when you slave your guts out, and the leadership seems to simply be living off the hard work of their congregations. Yet it is also this whole ‘pie in the sky when you die’ sort of rubbish, the type of rubbish that suggests that you have to put up with crap, and nobody is going to do anything about it because that is your lot in this world – but don’t lose heart because heaven awaits.
Don’t get me wrong though, not every pastor is like that, and I have known quite a few – some good, some bad. Yet, this whole suffer now because rewards await, while not strictly heresy, seems to be something that they tend to do so that they don’t actually have to perform any real hard work themselves. Don’t get me wrong, being a pastor isn’t an easy job, but unfortunately, there are a lot out there that do live of the toil of others, and simply ignore the problems that they face because, well, we live in a fallen world, so suck it up.
May 25, 2014
Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience (1794) juxtapose the innocent, pastoral world of childhood against an adult world of corruption and repression; while such poems as “The Lamb” represent a meek virtue, poems like “The Tyger” exhibit opposing, darker forces. Thus the collection as a whole explores the value and limitations of two different perspectives on the world. Many of the poems fall into pairs, so that the same situation or problem is seen through the lens of innocence first and then experience. Blake does not identify himself wholly with either view; most of the poems are dramatic—that is, in the voice of a speaker other than the poet himself. Blake stands outside innocence and experience, in a distanced position from which he hopes to be able to recognize and correct the fallacies of both. In particular, he pits himself against despotic authority, restrictive morality, sexual repression, and institutionalized religion; his great insight is into the way these separate modes of control work together to squelch what is most holy in human beings.
The Songs of Innocence dramatize the naive hopes and fears that inform the lives of children and trace their transformation as the child grows into adulthood. Some of the poems are written from the perspective of children, while others are about children as seen from an adult perspective. Many of the poems draw attention to the positive aspects of natural human understanding prior to the corruption and distortion of experience. Others take a more critical stance toward innocent purity: for example, while Blake draws touching portraits of the emotional power of rudimentary Christian values, he also exposes—over the heads, as it were, of the innocent—Christianity’s capacity for promoting injustice and cruelty.
The Songs of Experience work via parallels and contrasts to lament the ways in which the harsh experiences of adult life destroy what is good in innocence, while also articulating the weaknesses of the innocent perspective (“The Tyger,” for example, attempts to account for real, negative forces in the universe, which innocence fails to confront). These latter poems treat sexual morality in terms of the repressive effects of jealousy, shame, and secrecy, all of which corrupt the ingenuousness of innocent love. With regard to religion, they are less concerned with the character of individual faith than with the institution of the Church, its role in politics, and its effects on society and the individual mind. Experience thus adds a layer to innocence that darkens its hopeful vision while compensating for some of its blindness.
The style of the Songs of Innocence and Experience is simple and direct, but the language and the rhythms are painstakingly crafted, and the ideas they explore are often deceptively complex. Many of the poems are narrative in style; others, like “The Sick Rose” and “The Divine Image,” make their arguments through symbolism or by means of abstract concepts. Some of Blake’s favorite rhetorical techniques are personification and the reworking of Biblical symbolism and language. Blake frequently employs the familiar meters of ballads, nursery rhymes, and hymns, applying them to his own, often unorthodox conceptions. This combination of the traditional with the unfamiliar is consonant with Blake’s perpetual interest in reconsidering and reframing the assumptions of human thought and social behavior.
The Songs of Innocence dramatize the naive hopes and fears that inform the lives of children and trace their transformation as the child grows into adulthood. Some of the poems are written from the perspective of children, while others are about children as seen from an adult perspective. Many of the poems draw attention to the positive aspects of natural human understanding prior to the corruption and distortion of experience. Others take a more critical stance toward innocent purity: for example, while Blake draws touching portraits of the emotional power of rudimentary Christian values, he also exposes—over the heads, as it were, of the innocent—Christianity’s capacity for promoting injustice and cruelty.
The Songs of Experience work via parallels and contrasts to lament the ways in which the harsh experiences of adult life destroy what is good in innocence, while also articulating the weaknesses of the innocent perspective (“The Tyger,” for example, attempts to account for real, negative forces in the universe, which innocence fails to confront). These latter poems treat sexual morality in terms of the repressive effects of jealousy, shame, and secrecy, all of which corrupt the ingenuousness of innocent love. With regard to religion, they are less concerned with the character of individual faith than with the institution of the Church, its role in politics, and its effects on society and the individual mind. Experience thus adds a layer to innocence that darkens its hopeful vision while compensating for some of its blindness.
The style of the Songs of Innocence and Experience is simple and direct, but the language and the rhythms are painstakingly crafted, and the ideas they explore are often deceptively complex. Many of the poems are narrative in style; others, like “The Sick Rose” and “The Divine Image,” make their arguments through symbolism or by means of abstract concepts. Some of Blake’s favorite rhetorical techniques are personification and the reworking of Biblical symbolism and language. Blake frequently employs the familiar meters of ballads, nursery rhymes, and hymns, applying them to his own, often unorthodox conceptions. This combination of the traditional with the unfamiliar is consonant with Blake’s perpetual interest in reconsidering and reframing the assumptions of human thought and social behavior.
February 17, 2015
William Blake’s short poems profess a narrative far beyond what actually exists on the page. They communicate with incredible power and economy, smashing to smithereens the false structures of existing beliefs and opinions. His poems are like gravel thrown into a pool, ripples radiating outwards indefinitely, stirring everything they touch.
March 19, 2019
It was a required reading at English poetry seminar in college. Some parts were quite difficult for me to understand but others were very enjoyable.
May 18, 2015
Esteticamente este livrinho é uma preciosidade. Edição bilingue, inclui reproduções dos poemas originais e gravuras alusivas a cada um deles, criações do próprio Blake, que antes de ser poeta já era ilustrador.
A boa conjugação das ilustrações com a simbologia e os jogos sonoros, fazem destes poemas uma obra única, a fazer lembrar os livros infantis que encontrava lá por casa guardados pelos meus pais. O ritmo e as repetições conferem-lhes uma deliciosa musicalidade, aliás, consta que o autor tinha por hábito cantar a sua poesia.
Traduzir estes poemas sem distorcer a mensagem, nem perder a sonoridade será um desafio para qualquer tradutor. As diferenças entre as várias traduções que se encontram, são tão grandes, que após alguma comparação, esta edição da Assírio e Alvim, não sendo fácil de ler, foi contudo, a que me pareceu mais próxima do original.
Divididos entre o olhar da inocência e da experiência, os primeiros apresentam uma linguagem ingénua, simples e repetitiva, com conotações à infância e à descoberta, enquanto nos segundos se distingue uma maturidade sombria e corrosiva.
Não deixam no entanto, de ter uma função critica, W. Blake não deixou passar em branco a oportunidade de expor algumas questões sociais e políticas, numa alusão clara ao trabalho infantil, ao racismo e à miséria.
O Limpa Chaminés
Minha mãe morreu era eu pequenino,
Vendeu-me o meu Pai sem ter língua ou tino,
Para ai eu ai eu poder gritar.
Chaminés a limpar & tisnado a ninar.
O miúdo Tom Dacre, eis que chora a cabeça
Como anho aos caracóis, rapada, eu disse essa:
Chiu Tom deixa lá, co’ a cabeça sem pelo,
Não estraga a fuligem teu alvo cabelo.
E assim sossegou, & essa noite então,
O Tom a dormir teve uma visão,
Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack os limpa-chaminés
Aos mil encerrados em caixões de pez,
Com chave a brilhar eis que um Anjo chegou,
Abriu os caixões & todos libertou.
Já correm p’lo prado pulando e a rir
No rio se lavam a ao Sol vão luzir.
E brancos & nus, dos bornais já isentos,
Às nuvens se elevam, e jogam nos ventos.
Disse o Anjo ao Tom se fosse um bom rapaz,
Tinha Deus por seu pai & alegrias assaz.
E Tom acordou e ergue-se no escuro
Com sacos & escovas p’ra trabalhar duro.
Mesmo fria a manhã, era Tom quente & ufano,
Pois quem cumpre o dever, não tem de temer dano.
À primeira vista parece estranho, depois a cantilena torna-se viciante.
A boa conjugação das ilustrações com a simbologia e os jogos sonoros, fazem destes poemas uma obra única, a fazer lembrar os livros infantis que encontrava lá por casa guardados pelos meus pais. O ritmo e as repetições conferem-lhes uma deliciosa musicalidade, aliás, consta que o autor tinha por hábito cantar a sua poesia.
Traduzir estes poemas sem distorcer a mensagem, nem perder a sonoridade será um desafio para qualquer tradutor. As diferenças entre as várias traduções que se encontram, são tão grandes, que após alguma comparação, esta edição da Assírio e Alvim, não sendo fácil de ler, foi contudo, a que me pareceu mais próxima do original.
Divididos entre o olhar da inocência e da experiência, os primeiros apresentam uma linguagem ingénua, simples e repetitiva, com conotações à infância e à descoberta, enquanto nos segundos se distingue uma maturidade sombria e corrosiva.
Não deixam no entanto, de ter uma função critica, W. Blake não deixou passar em branco a oportunidade de expor algumas questões sociais e políticas, numa alusão clara ao trabalho infantil, ao racismo e à miséria.
O Limpa Chaminés
Minha mãe morreu era eu pequenino,
Vendeu-me o meu Pai sem ter língua ou tino,
Para ai eu ai eu poder gritar.
Chaminés a limpar & tisnado a ninar.
O miúdo Tom Dacre, eis que chora a cabeça
Como anho aos caracóis, rapada, eu disse essa:
Chiu Tom deixa lá, co’ a cabeça sem pelo,
Não estraga a fuligem teu alvo cabelo.
E assim sossegou, & essa noite então,
O Tom a dormir teve uma visão,
Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack os limpa-chaminés
Aos mil encerrados em caixões de pez,
Com chave a brilhar eis que um Anjo chegou,
Abriu os caixões & todos libertou.
Já correm p’lo prado pulando e a rir
No rio se lavam a ao Sol vão luzir.
E brancos & nus, dos bornais já isentos,
Às nuvens se elevam, e jogam nos ventos.
Disse o Anjo ao Tom se fosse um bom rapaz,
Tinha Deus por seu pai & alegrias assaz.
E Tom acordou e ergue-se no escuro
Com sacos & escovas p’ra trabalhar duro.
Mesmo fria a manhã, era Tom quente & ufano,
Pois quem cumpre o dever, não tem de temer dano.
À primeira vista parece estranho, depois a cantilena torna-se viciante.
September 20, 2019
Annnnnnnnnnnddddd I remember why I got a B in poetry. I just don't get some of this stuff. (Well, that and I quit the class halfway through but shhhhhh.)
A few poems I found excellent; a few I found "too cute" in the trite sense; and the majority I just went 'um, well, okay then.'
So two stars it is.
A few poems I found excellent; a few I found "too cute" in the trite sense; and the majority I just went 'um, well, okay then.'
So two stars it is.
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