Near Matches
Ignore Exact
Everything
2
On The Lady of Shalott
(
essay
)
by
nocodeforparanoia
Wed Dec 11 2002 at 12:40:58
On
The Lady of Shalott
by
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The Lady of Shalott
, we use
As
art
, as
artist
, and as
muse
;
Art’s
common fault
is to confuse
The three,
The People’s Poet
choose:
The Lady of Shalott.
For here the three are
tightly bound
,
And
webs
from these to life are found,
Relationships are all around
In the Lady of Shalott.
Artists love the
separation
Given them by their
vocation
,
E’er immune from consternation
Brought on by
life’s brief duration
Quick to end in
Camelot
.
Like the Lady, we are cheerful,
Never lonesome, never fearful.
Contrary minds will hear an
ear-full
From the Lady of Shalott.
There is no
loss
or sense of pain,
When all
emotion sits in chains
In
lofty towers
inside the brain,
But
only fools
would dare to feign
That
all is well
in fair Shalott.
When lonely artist’s
shadows fade
,
When
looking glass
es are unmade,
Then distance is a
two-edged blade
That cuts deep in Shalott.
And here, when love can be observed,
Objective vision’s painful served.
And artists’ minds are oft unnerved
By some
rare beauty
’s charm deserved
And pondered in Shalott.
And when
the curse
is come upon
The artist in her tow’r or throne,
And when the mirror’s cracked and gone,
She’ll take the boat to Camelot.
For though a
piece of art
is cold,
Uncaring as a chain of gold,
The hands that wrought it can’t be told
To no emotion feel or hold-
Confusion in Shalott.
For how can man
contain creation
?
Art springs from sorrow or elation
.
There is no art without sensation
,
Even in Shallot.
For we have not capacity
For true, clear objectivity,
We’ll not accept mortality
Until the ruin of the lie
That we believe- Shalott.
There is no tower,
no safe place
,
Shalott’s a dream that we all chase.
The painful truth
that we must face:
That we all live in Camelot.
written for my Brit Lit II class
re:
Is this poetry or crap?
- see:
node your homework
. that's what this is. not so much poetry as a paper I elected to do in Tennyson's format.
The Lady of Shalott
I am half sick of shadows
Is this poetry or crap?
Richard II
Why are other people's beds more comfortable?
Mariana
Liebestod
Too much beauty
All is Well
The Illusion of Truth
Little Shop of Horrors
A Handful of Dust
No one can be unhappy with a fresh box of crayons
tragic flaw
There Is No Art
collective creation
Node your homework
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Well of Souls
World Trade Center
the curse
Camelot
objectivity
Log in
or
register
to write something here or to contact authors.