Negative Criticism is Good

Stephen King said you can learn a lot from bad writing. John Keats was a great writer, but he wasn’t perfect. I say that because he said it, “Had I been nervous about its[Endymion] being a perfect piece, … it would not have been written.” Endymion was criticized for having an idea end on the first line of a pair of rhyming lines, and then a second idea start on the second line of a rhyming pair.

Following is an example where an Endymion sentence ends on the first rhyming line(“breathing”), and a new sentence is started on the second rhyming line(“wreathing”).

... a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
...

The above happens too often in Endymion, and much less (rarely) in Keats’s later poem, Lamia. Following are 2 good example Lamia rhyming pair lines that are continuous within the punctuation: “;” and “.”.

For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured
Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.

Keats was cool about criticism. He listened, he learned, he improved.

The following may not be perfect, however it is a perfectly wonderful poetic piece from Endymion.

...
Not of these days, but long ago ’twas told
By a cavern wind unto a forest old;
And then the forest told it in a dream
To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam
A poet caught as he was journeying
To Phoebus’ shrine; and in it he did fling
His weary limbs, bathing an hour’s space,
And after, straight in that inspired place
He sang the story up into the air,
Giving it universal freedom. There
...

The Best of the Best Words

There’s a poetic exercise to write a poem inspired by a piece of art. I chose Joseph Severn’s painting of John Keats listening to a nightingale on Hampstead Heath, north London, England.

There’s also a poetic exercise to modify a published poem or start with favorite lines. Another poet had mentioned writing a paper on Ode to a Grecian Urn, by John Keats. From the ode, I selected a choice of its best lines, phrases, and words to fit the painting.

Thou still ... of quietness,
    Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
    Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
    ... the spirit ...
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
    For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
 Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
    Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
    For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
    For ever panting, and for ever young;
When old age shall this generation waste,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty ..."

With re-reading and re-writing, over and over, I wrote the following, a poem in progress.

Song of the Nightingale Painting

Stilled in quietness, a poet's inspirational moment in time,
A poetically divine visual tale, a tale Keats put to rhyme;
An Ode to the Nightingale singing its melody for us to hear,
Forest spirits playing nature's symphony into the poet's ear.
A fair youth in meditation beneath whispering trees,
He hears the still wind, through still painted leaves,
Happy trees in summer's warmth with leaves that cannot shed,
Our seasons change to winter's grey, you stay green instead.
I flow into the silent scene, teasing eternity out of thought,
We mortals observe for a time, immortal time for us bought;
The poet enjoys youth, forever young with lustrous eyes,
For us after time, youth grows pale, specter-thin, and dies;
For future generations you are a thing of beauty, a joy forever,
Here—"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," they are as one together.

For reference, following is the first draft, the starting point.

Stilled in quietness, a poet within a moment of slow time,
A visual tale that's sweetly divine, a tale he put to rhyme.
The nightingale's silent melody, heard sweetly in the poet's ear,
Forest spirits playing nature's symphony, how to us they do endear,
Fair youth caught in composition beneath the listening trees,
You are immortal, always there, never from earth to leave,
Silent form, dost tease eternity out of thought,
When in old age, no further time, can be bought,
Happy trees always in summer's warmth with leaves that cannot shed
We move on through seasons: autumn and winter's cold, instead.
The poet forever sharp and forever young in youth to be enjoyed,
But, we live in times that are good and not, this we cannot avoid,
And you shall remain a thing of beauty, for us a joy forever,
Where "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," they are as one together.

Getting a poem to a completed stage is a process. The more I like the poem, the more reading and writing it gets until every word is my best word, in the best location.

Poems are a Joy Forever

We’ve all read poems that contain lines and phrases that we truly love to read over and over. There is a poem writing exercise where you start with someone’s poem and modify it, and re-write parts. Take your favorite lines of a poem and adapt–T.S. Elliot calls it, steal–those lines into a new poem. As an exercise, I copied favorite phrases and lines from Keats poem, I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill.

I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill,	
The air was cooling, and so very still,
... I was light-hearted,
And many pleasures to my vision started;
...
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
... The blue sky here...
... on luxurious wings ...
... in that moment spoken,	
Made silken ties, that never may be broken.
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature’s light?
...
He was a Poet, sure a lover too,
...
Young men, and maidens at each other gaz’d
With hands held back, and motionless, amaz’d

I re-read and re-read, I wrote and re-wrote, until every word of the new poem was a joy to read. This is only possible with lines of beauty. As Keats wrote, A Thing of beauty is a joy for ever. Keats words in the new poem are, a joy forever to read.

“Good poets make what they steal, into something better, or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of a feeling which is unique, utterly different than that from which it is torn; the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion,” wrote T.S. Elliot.

In T.S. Elliot’s spirit of theft, from Keats lines, I offer the following for you to decide, good poet or bad poet?

He was a Poet, Sure a Lover too

She stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still.
Upon her face he stared and gazed,
Hands held back, motionless, and amazed.
Into his mind, pleasurable visions started, 
With her beside him, he was light-hearted;
His heart soared high in pleasant wanderings, 
Flying through blue skies on poetic wings.
With words of poetry, in each moment spoken, 
They wove silken ties, that were never broken. 
To her, he praised above all other glories,
Her smile moved him to tell wonderful stories; 
For what has made the sage or poet to write? 
But the fair paradise of their love's delight.

The poet must read their lines over and over, and hopefully have an audience reading them over and over. Think of the Rolling Stones song poem, Paint It, Black.

I see a red door
And I want it painted black
No colors anymore
I want them to turn black

I’m sure the Stones still enjoy playing Paint It, Black, in concert and that their audience love to hear it over and over. In the following linked video, the guitarist Kieth Richards smiles as he plays the opening riffs. The crowd is cheering, jumping, and singing along, driving the band on and on, “I see a red door and I want it painted black …”