Romantic and Realistic Poets

This week we're studying, among other things, the literary movements of Romanticism and Realism. Surprisingly, I had a really strong reaction against Romanticism. When you really, really look into the theological basis for Romanticism, it's actually quite disturbing. Nature is viewed as God, and the experience and search for the meanings of the Universe is all. There is, in some cases, a disdain or disregard for matter and the real, instead of the ideal romantic sentimentality. This movement did follow the rigid and excessive reason of the Enlightenment, but it went completely too far in the opposite direction. Realism, on the other hand, I really enjoy. In poetry, in this period, the poets were attempting to incarnate emotions using concrete images.

Barrett Browning, in Aurora Leigh, argues that:
Without the spiritual, observe, the natural's impossible, - no form, no motion:
without sensuous, spiritual is unappreciable-NO BEAUTY OR POWER

Anyway, I guess I've come to the conclusion that I'm really NOT a Romantic, in the sense of -isms. I mean, I am occasionally sentimental and dream about a perfect world consisting of meadows of heather and wildflowers on top of a rugged cliff overlooking the unpredictable ebb and flow of the ocean walking with my lover, or sitting in a window on a rainy day with a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate, reading poetry or getting lost in a romantic adventure, and other such things. But I find the most beauty in what I see, now: the human soul under the lordship of Christ, God's stamp on each of His creations, lone flowers in the midst of a multitude of bulbs, a laugh, the sweet sounds of an oboe or violin, etc.

I recently fell in love with this Emily Dickinson poem, and I thought I'd post it here:

He fumbles ar your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on--
He stuns you by degrees--
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers--further heard--
Then nearer--Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten--
Your Brain--to bubble cool--
Deals--One--imperial--Thunderbolt
That scalps your naked Soul--

When Winds take Forests in their Paws--
The Universe--is still--

And...
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth the nibbles at the soul.

And, of course, there's the brilliant Tennyson:

I falter where I firmly trod,
and falling with my weight of cares upon the great world's altar stairs
that slope thro' darkness up to God.
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, and gather dust and chaff, and call to what I feel is Lord of all, and faintly trust the larger hope.

A warmth within the breast would melt the freezing reason's colder part, and like a man in wrath the heart stood up and answered--I have felt.
No, like a child in doubt and fear: but that blind clamour made wise;
then was I as a child that cries, but, crying, knows his father near.
(Both passages from In Memoriam)

For always roaming with a hungry heart much have I seen and known.
-from Ulysses