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Anonymous
Thoughts on "Ode to a Grecian Urn" by Keats? 2017-02-09 08:24:03 Post No. 9083773
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Thoughts on "Ode to a Grecian Urn" by Keats? 2017-02-09 08:24:03 Post No. 9083773
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Thoughts on "Ode to a Grecian Urn" by Keats?
Anonymous
2017-02-09 08:24:03
Post No. 9083773
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For reference this is how the poem goes:
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens
loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not
grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and forever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
>>
Keats must've had no fucking hobbies if he wrote this waste of paper to describe brown and black porcelain
>>
He says it all in the last few lines
The Urn and its images shall remain when civilisations, including his, are gone
It is good to contrast this poem to Shelleys Ozymandias
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I tried to memorize it one time because it's beautiful to recite, and found the second stanza impossible to remember.
>Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
>Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
>Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss
Three wonderful lines, yet I could never stick em to my brainlet
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>>9083852
Look at the pleb and laugh, everyone.
>>
>>9083773
desu I've read this twice over and still have no idea what it's about
I just can't read poetry. It's always complicated "thee thee thou" shit like that one, or shit like
>I ate plums
>they were delicious
>>
>>9083970
>implying plums aren't delicious
stay pleb
>>
>>9083970
Poetry is to be read slowly, don't fall for the emotional slam poetry recital bullshit.
>>
>>9083773
anyone else think he looks like liv tyler in this picture of him??
>>
>>9084077
not even close, stop smoking crack anon
>>
File: livtyler.jpg (1MB, 2400x2931px) Image search:
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>>9084109
cmon he does a bit
this pics better for seeing it
its the eyes and lower face structure
>>
Gawd damn.
The ode is on the urn, which is a symbol of death transformed into the most beautiful and enduring parts of humanity, universals regardless of individual detail. Everything is preserved perfectly on the urn and never succumbs to age, death, and disappointment ( as soon as the pictured bride gets ravaged or kissed, the disappointments set in and the hunt is over, when the music is real you might not like it, but as an abstract possibility it is immortal and perfect). Though they have died and their entire culture vanished, humanity carries on the sane beautiful hopes and dreams in something that can never die - the ideal possibilities of the living captured on the timeless surface of the urn.
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I always got the impression that the last two lines "beauty is truth, truth , beauty" was ironic, and that Keats was mocking the Urn's lifelessness.
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>>9084255
Noes this is a romantic poet not a hipster arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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>>9084210
thank you. that was beautiful
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>>9083979
Underated, desu
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>>9083773
The poem is amazing and to all the plebs itt f. scott fitzgerald said he was lucky to have had read it over 100 times.
Shame on the rest of you for helping OP with his homework
>>
>A poem that is just listing a bunch of shit
Is Keats responsible for killing poetry?
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