First of all they turned him aside from becoming
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a great Nature-poet, though he was well fitted to be one. It is not that he loves Nature’s slow and solemn pageant2 less, but that he loves man’s quick and varied3 drama more. His landscapes are like scenery for the stage. They accompany the unfolding of the plot and change with it, but they do not influence it. His observation is as keen, as accurate as Wordsworth’s or Tennyson’s, but it is less steady, less patient, less familiar. It is the observation of one who passes through the country but does not stay to grow intimate with it. The forms of nature do not print themselves on his mind; they flash vividly4 before him, and come and go. Usually it is some intense human feeling that makes the details of the landscape stand out so sharply. In Pippa Passes, it is in the ecstasy5 of love that Ottima and Sebald notice
“The garden’s silence: even the single bee
Persisting in his toil6, suddenly stopped,
And where he hid you only could surmise7
By some campanula chalice8 set a-swing.”
It is the sense of guilty passion that makes the lightning-flashes, burning through the pine-forest, seem like dagger-strokes,—
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“As if God’s messenger through the closed wood screen
Plunged9 and re-plunged his weapon at a venture,
Feeling for guilty thee and me.”
In Home Thoughts from Abroad, it is the exile’s deep homesickness that brings the quick, delicate vision before his eyes:
“Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware10,
That the lowest boughs12 and the brush-wood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard13 bough11
In England—now!”
But Browning’s touches of nature are not always as happy as this. Often he crowds the details too closely, and fails to blend them with the ground of the picture, so that the tonality is destroyed and the effect is distracting. The foreground is too vivid: the aerial perspective vanishes. There is an impressionism that obscures the reality. As Amiel says: “Under pretense14 that we want to study it more in detail, we pulverize15 the statue.”
Browning is at his best as a Nature-poet in sky-scapes,
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like the description of daybreak in Pippa Passes, the lunar rainbow in Christmas Eve, and the Northern Lights in Easter Day; and also in a kind of work which might be called symbolic16 landscape, where the imaginative vision of nature is made to represent a human experience. A striking example of this work is the scenery of Childe Roland, reflecting as in a glass the grotesque17 horrors of spiritual desolation. There is a passage in Sordello which makes a fertile landscape, sketched18 in a few swift lines, the symbol of Sordello’s luxuriant nature; and another in Norbert’s speech, in In a Balcony, which uses the calm self-abandonment of the world in the tranquil19 evening light as the type of the sincerity20 of the heart giving itself up to love. But perhaps as good an illustration as we can find of Browning’s quality as a Nature-poet, is a little bit of mystery called Meeting at Night.
“The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon, large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery21 ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove22 with pushing prow23,
And quench24 its speed in the slushy sand.
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Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane25, the quick sharp scratch
And the blue spirt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!”
This is the landscape of the drama.
A second result of Browning’s preoccupation with dramatic psychology26 is the close concentration and “alleged obscurity” of his style. Here again I evade27 the critical question whether the obscurity is real, or whether it is only a natural and admirable profundity28 to which an indolent reviewer has given a bad name. That is a question which Posterity29 must answer. But for us the fact remains30 that some of his poetry is hard to read; it demands close attention and strenuous31 effort; and when we find a piece of it that goes very easily, like The Pied Piper of Hamelin, How They brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, Hervé Riel, or the stirring Cavalier Tunes32, we are conscious of missing the sense of strain which we have learned to associate with the reading of Browning.
One reason for this is the predominance of
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curiosity over harmony in his disposition34. He tries to express the inexpressible, to write the unwritable. As Dr. Johnson said of Cowley, he has the habit “of pursuing his thoughts to the last ramifications35, by which he loses the grandeur36 of generality.” Another reason is the fluency37, the fertility, the haste of his genius, and his reluctance38, or inability, to put the brakes on his own productiveness.
It seems probable that if Browning had been able to write more slowly and carefully he might have written with more lucidity39. There was a time when he made a point of turning off a poem a day. It is doubtful whether the story of The Ring and the Book gains in clearness by being told by eleven different persons, all of them inclined to volubility.
Yet Browning’s poetry is not verbose40. It is singularly condensed in the matter of language. He seems to have made his most arduous41 effort in this direction. After Paracelsus had been published and pronounced “unintelligible,” he was inclined to think that there might be some fault of too great terseness42 in the style. But a letter from Miss Caroline Fox was shown to him, in which that lady, (then
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very young,) took the opposite view and asked “doth he know that Wordsworth will devote a fortnight or more to the discovery of the single word that is the one fit for his sonnet43.” Browning appears to have been impressed by this criticism; but he set himself to work upon it, not so much by way of selecting words as by way of compressing them. He put Sordello into a world where many of the parts of speech are lacking and all are crowded. He learned to pack the largest, possible amount of meaning into the smallest possible space, as a hasty traveller packs his portmanteau. Many small articles are crushed and crumpled44 out of shape. He adopted a system of elisions for the sake of brevity, and loved, as C. S. Calverley said,
“to dock the smaller parts of speech
As we curtail45 th’ already curtailed46 cur.”
At the same time he seldom could resist the temptation to put in another thought, another simile47, another illustration, although the poem might be already quite full. He called out, like the conductor of a street-car, “Move up in front: room for one more!” He had little tautology48 of expression, but
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much of conception. A good critic says “Browning condenses by the phrase, elaborates by the volume.”[15]
One consequence of this system of writing is that a great deal of Browning’s poetry lends itself admirably to translation,—into English. The number of prose paraphrases49 of his poems is great, and so constantly increasing that it seems as if there must be a real demand for them. But Coleridge, speaking of the qualities of a true poetic50 style, remarked: “Whatever lines can be translated into other words of the same language without diminution51 of their significance, either in sense, or in association, or in any other feeling, are so far vicious in their diction.”
Another very notable thing in Browning’s poetry is his fertility and fluency of rhyme. He is probably the most rapid, ingenious, and unwearying rhymer among the English poets. There is a story that once, in company with Tennyson, he was challenged to produce a rhyme for “rhinoceros,” and almost instantly accomplished52 the task with a verse in
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which the unwieldy quadruped kept time and tune33 with the phrase “he can toss Eros.”[16] There are other tours de force almost as extraordinary in his serious poems. Who but Browning would have thought of rhyming “syntax” with “tin-tacks,” or “spare-rib” with “Carib,” (Flight of Duchess) or “Fra Angelico’s” with “bellicose,” or “Ghirlandajo” with “heigh-ho,” (Old Pictures in Florence) or “expansive explosive” with “O Danaides, O Sieve53!” (Master Hugues). Rhyme, with most poets, acts as a restraint, a brake upon speech. But with Browning it is the other way. His rhymes are like wild, frolicsome54 horses, leaping over the fences and carrying him into the widest digressions. Many a couplet, many a stanza55 would not have been written but for the impulse of a daring, suggestive rhyme.
Join to this love of somewhat reckless rhyming, his deep and powerful sense of humour, and you have the secret of his fondness for the grotesque. His poetry abounds56 in strange contrasts, sudden changes of mood, incongruous comparisons, and odd presentations of well-known subjects. Sometimes
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the whole poem is written in this manner. The Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister57, Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis, and Caliban upon Setebos, are poetic gargoyles58. Sometimes he begins seriously enough, as in the poem on Keats, and closes with a bit of fantastic irony59:
“Hobbs hints blue,—straight he turtle eats:
Nobbs prints blue,—claret crowns his cup:
Nokes outdares Stokes in azure60 feats—
Both gorge61. Who fished the murex up?
What porridge had John Keats?”
Sometimes the poem opens grotesquely62, like Christmas Eve, and rises swiftly to a wonderful height of pure beauty and solemnity, dropping back into a grotesque at the end. But all this play of fancy must not be confused with the spirit of mockery or of levity63. It is often characteristic of the most serious and earnest natures; it arises in fact from the restlessness of mind in the contemplation of evil, or from the perception of life’s difficulties and perplexities. Shakespeare was profoundly right in introducing the element of the grotesque into Hamlet, his most thoughtful tragedy. Browning is never
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really anything else but a serious thinker, passionately64 curious to solve the riddle65 of existence. Like his own Sordello he
“Gave to familiar things a face grotesque,
Only, pursuing through the mad burlesque66,
A grave regard.”
We may sum up, then, what we have to say of Browning’s method and manner by recognizing that they belong together and have a mutual67 fitness and inevitableness. We may wish that he had attained68 to more lucidity and harmony of expression, but we should probably have had some difficulty in telling him precisely69 how to do it, and he would have been likely to reply with good humour as he did to Tennyson, “The people must take me as they find me.” If he had been less ardent70 in looking for subjects for his poetry, he might have given more care to the form of his poems. If he had cut fewer blocks, he might have finished more statues. The immortality71 of much of his work may be discounted by its want of perfect art,—the only true preservative72 of man’s handiwork. But the immortality
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of his genius is secure. He may not be ranked finally among the great masters of the art of poetry. But he certainly will endure as a mine for poets. They may stamp the coins more clearly and fashion the ornaments73 more delicately. But the gold is his. He was the prospector,—the first dramatic psychologist of modern life. The very imperfections of his work, in all its splendid richness and bewildering complexity74, bear witness to his favourite doctrine75 that life itself is more interesting than art, and more glorious, because it is not yet perfect.
点击收听单词发音
1 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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2 pageant | |
n.壮观的游行;露天历史剧 | |
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3 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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4 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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5 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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6 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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7 surmise | |
v./n.猜想,推测 | |
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8 chalice | |
n.圣餐杯;金杯毒酒 | |
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9 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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10 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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11 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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12 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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13 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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14 pretense | |
n.矫饰,做作,借口 | |
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15 pulverize | |
v.研磨成粉;摧毁 | |
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16 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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17 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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18 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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19 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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20 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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21 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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22 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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23 prow | |
n.(飞机)机头,船头 | |
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24 quench | |
vt.熄灭,扑灭;压制 | |
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25 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
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26 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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27 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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28 profundity | |
n.渊博;深奥,深刻 | |
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29 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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30 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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31 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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32 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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33 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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34 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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35 ramifications | |
n.结果,后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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36 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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37 fluency | |
n.流畅,雄辩,善辩 | |
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38 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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39 lucidity | |
n.明朗,清晰,透明 | |
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40 verbose | |
adj.用字多的;冗长的;累赘的 | |
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41 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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42 terseness | |
简洁,精练 | |
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43 sonnet | |
n.十四行诗 | |
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44 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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45 curtail | |
vt.截短,缩短;削减 | |
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46 curtailed | |
v.截断,缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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48 tautology | |
n.无谓的重复;恒真命题 | |
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49 paraphrases | |
n.释义,意译( paraphrase的名词复数 )v.释义,意译( paraphrase的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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51 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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52 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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53 sieve | |
n.筛,滤器,漏勺 | |
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54 frolicsome | |
adj.嬉戏的,闹着玩的 | |
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55 stanza | |
n.(诗)节,段 | |
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56 abounds | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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57 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
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58 gargoyles | |
n.怪兽状滴水嘴( gargoyle的名词复数 ) | |
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59 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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60 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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61 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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62 grotesquely | |
adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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63 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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64 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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65 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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66 burlesque | |
v.嘲弄,戏仿;n.嘲弄,取笑,滑稽模仿 | |
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67 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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68 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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69 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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70 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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71 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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72 preservative | |
n.防腐剂;防腐料;保护料;预防药 | |
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73 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
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75 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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