"If learning's yours,--gifts God doth least esteem,-- / Beyond all gifts was his transcendent view"

[larryhammer]

Oh dear. Oh deary dear. I knew transcendentalist A. Bronson Alcott, now best known as being thinly veiled as the father in Little Women, was not considered a very good writer. I think, however, I've only ever encountered one thoroughly mediocre poem -- or rather, had. Now, thanks to Project Gutenberg for releasing his Sonnets and Canzonets (1882), I can report he was a terrible poet. Not so bad it's hilarious, let alone bad enough to be hard to read aloud -- just plain bad.

I have not delved into the introductory essay yet, but I have high hopes of a barely coherent defense of writing sonnets in this modern age of the late 19th century.

---L.

Subject quote from an incoherent Bronson Alcott sonnet.

Comments

[thistleingrey.livejournal.com]

It's compelling in short bursts, for me: e.g. is this a meaning of "austere" with which I'm unfamiliar, or has he used it oddly?

The April rains are past, the frosts austere,—
The flowers are hungering for the genial sun,

OTOH, that's not exactly reading verse in the spirit in which most poets hope that their work may be enjoyed.

[larryhammer]

Exactly, that last.

---L.

[larryhammer]

Not only is it an unexpected use of austere, but the zeugma is technically correct in yoking two adjectives but feels non-parallel -- past looks like it ought to be an adverb and austere a verb.

---L.

[steepholm.livejournal.com]

I'm also not clear whether the austere frosts are past, like the rains, or whether they're what the rains have given way to.

[larryhammer]

Or what the rains have gotten past, if you assume his pointing is as wobbly as his syntax.

---L.

[puddleshark.livejournal.com]

The incoherence of that subject quote is a thing of splendour.

Thank you! I was in the mood to be cheered by really bad sonnets.

[larryhammer]

It is a thing of something, anyway. Some sort of thing. Or something.

---L.

[(Anonymous)]

Okay, but then you find stuff like this: ’T was not permitted thee the Fates to please, And with survivors share our happier day; For smitten early wast thou by disease, Whilst with thy sisters thou didst smile and play. Which, as poetry is awful, but... I don't have the heart to make fun of it, even 100 years later. --Matt

[larryhammer]

Missed that one. No, with the weight of Beth March behind it, mockery -- not really appropriate.

---L.