The Prelude.

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
I find Wordsworth hard to swallow. It's all this "Oh!"ing and leaping through fields it all seems queasily quaint and makes you think of big blousey shirts billowing in the wind and golden locked children.

I did like the bit about the mountain feeding into his infant savage fantasies though.

I feel like there's a lot of great ideas in Wordsworth but it would be hard to push through all the breathless excitement about vales.
 

version

Well-known member
The name "Wordsworth" immediately puts him on the back foot. Sounds like a poet from a Disney film or something.
 

luka

Well-known member
You two don't even fucking read! Jack buys the odd biography from WH Smith and reads the first 12 pages before getting distracted. Version read gravitys rainbow in 2014 and never picked up another book. It put him off reading for life. He just goes on Reddit now.
 

luka

Well-known member
Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up
Fostered alike by beauty and by fear:
Much favoured in my birth-place, and no less
In that beloved Vale to which erelong
We were transplanted—there were we let loose
For sports of wider range. Ere I had told
Ten birth-days, when among the mountain slopes
Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had snapped
The last autumnal crocus, 'twas my joy
With store of springes o'er my shoulder hung
To range the open heights where woodcocks run
Along the smooth green turf. Through half the night,
Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied
That anxious visitation;—moon and stars
Were shining o'er my head. I was alone,
And seemed to be a trouble to the peace
That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befel
In these night wanderings, that a strong desire
O'erpowered my better reason, and the bird
Which was the captive of another's toil
Became my prey; and when the deed was done
I heard among the solitary hills
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds
Of undistinguishable motion, steps
Almost as silent as the turf they trod.
 

luka

Well-known member
Nor less when spring had warmed the cultured Vale,
Moved we as plunderers where the mother-bird
Had in high places built her lodge; though mean
Our object and inglorious, yet the end
Was not ignoble. Oh! when I have hung
Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass
And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock
But ill sustained, and almost (so it seemed)
Suspended by the blast that blew amain,
Shouldering the naked crag, oh, at that time
While on the perilous ridge I hung alone,
With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind
Blow through my ear! the sky seemed not a sky
Of earth—and with what motion moved the clouds!
 

luka

Well-known member
Prynne likes the word ridge and so do I. Point at which the Earth falls away to void and we look out over all that rolling land.
 

luka

Well-known member
From Middle English rigge, rygge, (also rig, ryg, rug), from Old English hryċġ (“back, spine, ridge, elevated surface”), from Proto-Germanic *hrugjaz (“back”), from Proto-Indo-European *(s)kreuk-, *(s)ker- (“to turn, bend”). Cognate with Scots rig (“back, spine, ridge”), North Frisian reg (“back”), West Frisian rêch (“back”), Dutch rug (“back, ridge”), German Rücken (“back, ridge”), Swedish rygg (“back, spine, ridge”), Icelandic hryggur(“spine”). Cognate to Albanian kërrus (“to bend one's back”) and kurriz (“back
 

luka

Well-known member
Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows
Like harmony in music; there is a dark
Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles
Discordant elements, makes them cling together
In one society. How strange that all
The terrors, pains, and early miseries,
Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused
Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part,
And that a needful part, in making up
The calm existence that is mine when I
Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!
Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to employ;
Whether her fearless visitings, or those
That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light
Opening the peaceful clouds; or she may use
Severer interventions, ministry
More palpable, as best might suit her aim.
 

sus

Moderator
What do ya reckon he means when he says

...it is shaken off,
That burthen of my own unnatural self,
The heavy weight of many a weary day
Not mine /
 

sus

Moderator
You must be pulling my leg with this blackheath "field 'n vale" business, cuz it looks like a city with a park
 

luka

Well-known member
I breathe again!

This recovery of life and a consciousness buried and suffocated in city life, in routine, habit and the social duties we are enmeshed in. The sludge of days cleared. The nerves extend outward again, trusting and eroticised. Not in retreat, closed in and clenched to defend against the assault of urban life. The depredations of dirt and smoke and ash and abrasive noise, from moral and aesthetic degradation. Able to abandon the face, exit the face and it's grimaces, it's rictus smile, it's wagging eyebrows, it's assumption of levity and solemnity, it's constant, frantic signalling, free from the face at last., that burden of my own unnatural self.

This is how I read it.
 

luka

Well-known member
Blackheath was a rallying point for Wat Tyler's Peasants' Revolt of 1381,[17] and for Jack Cade's Kentish rebellion in 1450 (both recalled by road names on the west side of the heath). After camping at Blackheath, Cornish rebels were defeated at the foot of the west slope in the Battle of Deptford Bridge (sometimes called the Battle of Blackheath) on 17 June 1497.

In 1400, Henry IV of England met here with Byzantine Emperor Manuel II Palaiologos who toured western royalty to seek support to oppose Bayezid I (Bajazet), Ottoman Sultan. In 1415, the lord mayor and aldermen of London, in their robes of state, attended by 400 of the principal citizens, clothed in scarlet, came hither in procession to meet Henry V of England on a triumphant return from the Battle of Agincourt.[6]

Blackheath was, along with Hounslow Heath, a common assembly point for army forces, such as in 1673 when the Blackheath Army was assembled under Marshal Schomberg to serve in the Third Anglo-Dutch War. In 1709–10, army tents were set up on Blackheath to house a large part of the 15,000 or so German refugees from the Palatinate and other regions who fled to England, most of whom subsequently settled in America or Ireland.[18]

With Watling Street carrying stagecoaches across the heath, en route to north Kent and the Channel ports, it was also a notorious haunt of highwaymen during the 17th and 18th centuries. As reported in Edward Walford's Old and New London (1878), "In past times it was planted with gibbets, on which the bleaching bones of men who had dared to ask for some extension of liberty, or who doubted the infallibility of kings, were left year after year to dangle in the wi
 

sus

Moderator
"Wait. Stay a while. There is more to be explored here.
Acceptance at this point creates a lull. Wait here.
The mind billows and pools
Finds a level resting place
Expands
Into the space given it."

Wow!! Wow!!
 

luka

Well-known member
aw! You're the best Gus! But you see what I mean about the opening of The Prelude describing the same sort of stuff?
 
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