In The World of John Keats' "La Belle Dame sans Merci"

One of my favourite poems by John Keats, one not written in his usual style either, has to be La Belle Dame sans Merci ('The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy'). It is a piece which is all fey, all faerie... And yet there is a hint of the very real death Keats was facing at the time he wrote this.

I've always wondered who the beautiful lady without mercy represented to Keats; and I've often thought that the knight-at-arms must be a representation of Keats himself, one who is so 'in thrall' upon encountering the lady in the meads (meadows) that he follows her further and further into dark and bewitching realms until he is lost to reality altogether.

Always an inspiration to read, savour and simply take you back to times Romantic (in the classical sense), here is Keats' La Belle Dame sans Merci for your reading pleasure: 


La Belle Dame sans Merci

By John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
       Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
       And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
       So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
       And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
       With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
       Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
       Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
       And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
       And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
       And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
       And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
       A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
       And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
       ‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her elfin grot,
       And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
       With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,
       And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dreamt
       On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
       Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
       Thee hath in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
       With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
       On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
       Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
       And no birds sing.

In The World of John Keats' "La Belle Dame sans Merci"

Do You Do What You Are?

The Muses Urania and Calliope by Simon Vouet
Image taken from Wikimedia Commons

First off, apologies for my short hiatus from my blog!:) It's not blog fatigue, I assure you, that's prompted my virtual absence. The world outside this one simply called more fervently than usual these past few months; I had to take a break until things quietened down a bit.

So, what had me running over to post my thoughts today? A small movie called 'Along Came A Spider':)

A suspense/mystery film based on the James Patterson novel of the same name, 'Along Came A Spider' is a movie that I've watched umpteen times through the years. Can't quite tell you why it tickles my movie-watcher's taste buds....

Maybe it's the superb Morgan Freeman (who plays profiler Alex Cross). Who could resist staying glued to the sight of Freeman as he walks or talks or stares thoughtfully into space?:)

Or maybe it's the classic game of cat and mouse that ensues once all and sundry attempt to trace the whereabouts of Megan Rose, the kidnapped daughter of a senator in the movie.

Or maybe 'Along Came A Spider' is simply a movie that's skilfully crafted, in all senses of the word.

This time though, it wasn't actors/plot/craft that made their usual impression on me. No, it was a piece of dialogue that stood out.

I hadn't noticed this bit of dialogue in my previous viewings. I must have heard it a thousand times by now, but I probably wasn't really listening, if you know what I mean.

Alex Cross and Special Agent Jezzie Flannigan are having a casual conversation in the middle of the kidnapping investigation. And here's the bit that made me perk up:

Alex: You do what you are Jezzie.
Jezzie: You mean you are what you do.
Alex: No, I mean, you do what you are. You're born with a gift. If not that, then you get good at something along the way. And what you're good at, you don't take for granted. You don't betray it.
Jezzie: What if you do, betray your gift?
Alex: Then you betray yourself. That's a sad thing.

'You do what you are'. Hmmmm, I'd never really thought about it that way before. 'You are what you do' is the more common understanding, isn't it? Seems to make so much sense too. But it often felt like a false statement to me! I just could never put my finger on why it rang false. What Alex Cross said put everything into perspective.

You do what you are! There is an intrinsic, real, utterly you 'you' that finds its way into a career/life path! If you flip this somewhat: there is a career out there that is made for who you are, if you have the conviction to find it and stay true to it!

You know, I wish I'd gotten my head around this concept way, way back when. I'm sure I would have had a lot more conviction in pursuing my passions if I had been encouraged to not only find out who 'I' was, but also find out what 'I' was gifted to do, and actually stay loyal to my 'gifts'.

I guess the point of confusion though lies in finding out who you really are to begin with. How do you do that? Through life experiences? The help of those you meet along the way? The devotion to a path of faith?

Life's full of variables, isn't it?

Despite the mix of everything external that can bombard and mold our inner selves however, it becomes clearer and clearer to me that each of us have individual natures. Personalities that are uniquely ours. Personalities that come with their own foibles and eccentricities, but also their own truths.

And the older I get, the more I believe that our passions are a reflection of these truths.

Passion may not be an exhaustive indicator of who we are, for sure, let alone a consistent one. But when we do know we're passionate about something - know in our bones that it's a big part of our very nature, a huge contributor to our joy in life - Alex Cross's bit of dialogue becomes pretty relevant, doesn't it?

It openly advocates us giving our inner passions a vote in deciding what any of us want to do for a living.

Not all the votes. Just a single vote. A small, marginalised but hopeful voice in our decision-making processes. Quite a fair, reasonable idea, isn't it?:)

Ack, but who said life's fair? Or reasonable! In the grand scheme of things, giving your passion a legitimate voice seems almost revolutionary! That I - and no doubt many others - could feel this way about our dreams says a lot. I reckon most of us have so many obligations, you see, that our voice of passion gets drowned out very quickly; obligations beyond our control that are strong enough to push us off the platform of our passion along the way. At the risk of sounding cliched, I must say that holding on to your dreams can be a difficult thing to do if it risks your ability to put food on the table every day.

But, you know, life's often far too short. And security can never really be guaranteed, can it? Not in any meaningful way.

If one sees security as something inconsistent/unpredictable in its own right... Well, somehow passion isn't such a disadvantageous commodity to cultivate anymore! To allow your passion some leeway to push and prod you, infiltrate whatever you're doing (secure or not) and make it all the better for such infiltration... this is surely one of the more enjoyable secrets to 'success' in our far too unpredictable world, don't you think?:)

When I mix working and writing, studying and working, writing and studying - basically any two things that are secure or passionate in their own right, often to the point of mutually exclusivity, things can get complicated. You don't sleep much. You become an insomniac writer, in effect. You sacrifice nights out to ensure you're able to pay the bills and indulge in your writing life at the same time. You sacrifice time that could be spent with friends and family, watching a movie or simply sleeping, all to keep up with warring worlds of reality and imagination, trying your best not to tear in half along the way.

It all seems very messy at the best of times. And the rewards for leading the 'double life' of an insomniac writer can seem a long time in coming.

Sometimes, you wonder if it's worth it at all.

But the more I think about it, if one strategises hard enough, prays hard enough - and yes, crosses one's fingers often enough:) - maybe security and passion can co-exist somehow without jeopardising each other's existence.

What say you? Is that possible? Especially for those dreaming of making it in the world of the creative arts without sacrificing a comfortable life for ourselves and our families?

I sincerely hope, pray and cross my fingers that it is:)

On that note, here's to chasing dreams, staying true to oneself, and maybe - just maybe - being given the opportunity to successfully do what you are, wherever you might be in this mixed-up, unpredictable world of ours, without sacrificing life's precious, memory-making moments along the way:)

Do You Do What You Are?

Why Writing Is A Marathon Game, Not A Sprint

When I was a kid, I remember hearing a parable about the Japanese bamboo. Yes, Japanese bamboo:)

Bear with me.

Basically, the story went like this: A woman decided to grow some Japanese bamboo in her garden. She planted the seeds, and started watering the ground. Nothing happened in the first year. Or the second. Ditto the third. By the fourth year she was resigned to failure but stubbornly hopeful. By the fifth year, she was way beyond frustrated, and entering into the giving-up phase dreaded by gardeners everywhere *shudder*.

But - for no reason other than that aforementioned stubborness - she finally thought: 'what the heck, I've been watering those darn seeds this long, why not finish the fifth year on a hopeful note?'

And thus was born the parable to crown all parables. For - at the end of that fifth year - the Japanese bamboo began to grow!

That is an understatement.

It actually shot up towards the sky, in a miniature 'Jack and the Beanstalk'-beanstalk kind of way; that bamboo grew a whopping 80 feet in 6 weeks!

Now, our determined heroine's neighbours were very impressed by this tall bamboo lording it over its shorter relatives on the street with such casual arrogance. They vociferously complimented our heroine on growing such a plant of 80 feet in a mere 6 weeks (secretly, of course, they were hoping she'd give them some tips on how she'd accomplished this miraculous feat).

Our astute heroine corrected their assumptions at once. That Japanese bamboo grew 80 feet, she said kindly, not in 6 weeks but in 5 years and 6 weeks.

Get it?

Lol yeah, it's another of those 'persevere and you shall prevail' stories:)

What can I say? I'm really a big believer in determination winning the day. The tortoise and the hare, anyone? No matter how much talent someone has, someone with less talent who works harder than their talented counterpart will someday - not only draw even with him - but probably surpass him.

Heck, talent itself is probably tied very closely to how much practice a person puts into their field of interest in the first place. Practise makes perfect, after all. Hmmm, I'm full of cliched sayings today, eh? They're true though:)

Writers who see their job as a marathon game instead of a quick sprint will ultimately sustain writing as a bona fide paying career in the long-term.

Not so the sprinters of our writerly world - at some point, they're gonna lose the fight. They won't have the stamina, nor stomach, for a long engagement with that blank sheet of paper - not when the rewards for their hard work don't seem sufficient.

But, you see, some rewards are just a long time in coming. Once they arrive, they more than make up for the investment of time and effort put into reaping those rewards.

My surfing days of late have brought me into contact with lots of information about writing, talent and determination. Much like the 'bamboo tree' parable, what I've read so far fits in perfectly with the concept that investment in practising your craft makes all the difference between realising talent/potential and causing it to stagnate.

For those who'd like to read more on the value of putting in the time to build talent, you might enjoy the following blog posts: Dean Wesley Smith's 'Talent is a Myth', Amlokiblogs' post on the need for 10,000 hours of deliberate practice for one to achieve success, and the many valuable points raised in David Gaughran's post 'Word-of-Mouth In Action', including the need for writers to keep producing work in order to have a lengthy career in the publishing world.

Before I tuck in for the night, I'd like to make one thing clear: I do believe that there is such a thing as talent and that it is an important ingredient for success. But I also believe that someone who's apparently not talented in a certain craft can stimulate or build talent by exercising their interest and drive to acquire the skills needed to exercise that craft.

At the end, more important than talent is the determination to push through whatever challenges are thrown in the way of your dreams and - quite simply - working your butt off to achieve 'em. Hmmmm, now, if only I can follow my own advice...:)

What do you think? Does talent trump hard work? Or vice versa? And would knowing the answer to these questions help any writer (or artist, really) to achieve success in their chosen profession?

Why Writing Is A Marathon Game, Not A Sprint

More Rhyme Whisperer Goodness - 'As the Moon and the Sun'

My current immersion in literature of many genres and times - and the state of mind produced by this exposure to a more artistic environment than usual- has made me think of a time not too long ago, one that produced some of my better pieces of poetry.

'As the Moon and the Sun' has become one of the most popular of my poems. It was written about seven years ago. At the time, it was just another poem; one I enjoyed writing, but just another poem.

I've since realised how valuable this poem is to me, how much importance I've always placed on the uniqueness of the individual. And the fact that inspiration can find us more easily if we just accept ourselves for who we really are.

Whenever I feel a bit lost or overwhelmed by people or circumstances, or whenever something good happens because I decide to take a risk and trust my own judgment instead of giving in to those niggling doubts and fears of failure that can assault our senses on the best of days, this is the poem that always comes to mind.

It reminds me that it's important to give oneself space and time to appreciate one's own mind and ways - and that it's smart to seek inspiration and live life to the fullest as an individual as much as someone who's part of any kind of community.

It doesn't diss the value of being with another, I think, but perhaps it's a reminder that the individual should not be neglected in the pursuit of societal goals or ideals.

For those who need that boost of indivualism right now (with perhaps a touch of the romantic thrown in to sweeten the pot), I hope 'As the Moon and the Sun' strikes a chord with you too:

‘As the Moon and the Sun’

Don’t give me too many prizes,
Or I might forget I knew your kiss,
Just touch me as you did this morning,
And forgive me as you were forgiv’d.

Don’t shower me with such coy shyness,
Life’s own nature is too short,
Just speak, and speak out very loudly,
My mind can’t love what’s never thought.

And comfort me each time I falter,
As I comfort you for your own sake,
But, forget the seeking of my glory,
Forget the path that I should take.

The only road that you should travel,
Is the one that’s meant for you,
Do not mistake our living union,
For a union of one heart; ‘tis two.

Fly the way the wind is blowing,
But steer it as you ride its’ wave,
And if our fingers meet upon it,
Do not hold so tight they break.

We might be one when we’re together,
But we are two when we’re apart,
And God’s plan to so unite us,
Can never work with half-played hearts.

Remember, thread and needle’s working,
Would never create a single stitch,
Unless they learned the rhyme and reason,
Of differing in their union’s reach.

So spread your wings and fly forever,
And as you fly, so too will I,
And we shall still turn to one another,
Under Heaven’s one brilliant sky.

For each sky holds in its’ blue grasp,
And even in its’ grey,
A sun of closed eyes at night,
And a moon that sleeps by day.

Each giving light for its own reason,
Each meant for purpose divine,
But neither getting in the glimmering path,
Of the other’s celestial design.

So let us not forget this truth,
We are two although we are one;
And the better one we shall become,
If we lived as the moon and the sun.

(Note: For those who'd like to read more of my poems, do check out my poetry ebooks. 'As the Moon and the Sun' is included in two of them: 'As the Moon and the Sun', and the longer anthology, 'Just Imagine'.)

Goodnight, and happy reading:)

More Rhyme Whisperer Goodness - 'As the Moon and the Sun'

A path less travelled...

As August 2011 begins, I can't help thinking that this has been a mad half a year - full of ambition and ideas, thoughts of nature and the elements and art and artists, and all as starry and dark as Van Gogh's beautiful painting, 'The Starry Night'.

Why such a mad half a year? Well, I'd finally taken time off to pursue my studies:)

Yes, I've been quite jobless lately, and studying William Blake and Samuel Taylor Coleridge to boot:)

It's been fun so far. But while it's been crazily good not to have to wake up early every day and hurry off to work, I have to say it was really disorienting in the beginning to become a student again.

I'd always suspected that I'd come to rely far too much on the social outlet of work to provide me my sources of inspiration. And darn it, my suspicions were proven true so fast!

Left to my own devices, I found myself feeling quite lost. And pretty unmotivated to get new writing out.

But family and friends were there (thankfully!), as were interesting classes on authors I've neglected to read. Studying them is a humbling, humbling process btw, one which has made me realise just how ignorant a writer I am... and how much room there is for any writer to learn and grow.

And though the quiet day to day can be really uninspiring a context for writing or studying or anything, really, the solitary aspect of being a writer and student has had its benefits.

The reason I wanted to take this time off for myself in the first place was simple: I needed to surround myself with an environment that would stimulate artistic growth and good literary work. My day to day job before this was one that wasn't too hectic, but it was extremely dry and dull for me. It wasn't a 'painful' job, but it wasn't passionate either. It was simply - comfortable.

Only, being too comfortable can be quite hazardous to creativity, can't it?

Every single day, I could feel the pull of being a writer thudding deep inside me. But I was unable to give that imaginative passion free rein.

Even when I did take the time to sit down for hours and write - enjoying myself hugely in the process - I became aware of an urgent, wistful whisper playing at the back of my mind. It was a kind of warning that, if too much time passed, my writerly self would simply vanish without a backward glance beneath the quiet demands of my comfortable job.

The thought scared me. I loved writing too much. I wanted to become a successful writer too intensely to simply give up that dream without a fight. I just wasn't sure if the fight was one I was equipped to win. This doubt ended up diluting much of my desire to make it as a writer - I thought that failure to make a living at the writing trade would be the ultimate defeat. Faced with defeat, I simply gave up trying (a curse of the perfectionist, if you will).

But the desire to write can be a stubborn, obsessive one, and this time I'm glad that obsession has had a positive turn to play for me. Basically, I was faced with the choice of carving a strong career path that didn't involve writing, or taking the chance to chase my dreams and make them happen. I knew that something in my life needed to change drastically if I were to choose the latter path. But enough time had passed that, emotionally, physically etc, I was confident enough to take the plunge.

Doing something drastic is different for everyone, of course, and comes in many guises. For me, the drastic  change to my world manifested in the risk I took to leave behind a secure job so that I could further my studies in literature and reignite my passion for storytelling.

In taking this time off  - a time off that I've worked hard for many years to finance btw, which makes it taste all the sweeter:) - I've found my creativity growing in leaps and bounds. In fact, my initial hopes in this respect were quickly exceeded!

Not only has reading works of nineteenth century Romantics and debating literary theory  stimulated many, many thoughts creative - it's been an added bonus that exposure to works self-published by writers of old (and which subsequently went on to become classics) gradually influenced me towards entering the world of indie/self-publishing.

Now, a multitude of my stories/poetry have been sent out into the world. And they are actually finding an audience! What more could a writer hope for?:) I might not be the next millionaire writer out there - though I really hope that happens! - but knowing my audience exists is a huge motivator for my writer's soul:)

I suppose the question of the day is: How do you know when the right path has been taken, when the right step has been made in any endeavour?

Answer: You don't.

The important thing is, you have to follow your heart, dig in to acquire the skills necessary to make what you do the best it can be, and hope it all works out. If you must, have a back up plan. But make sure it is the back up, and doesn't become the only plan without you realising it/because you fear failure (which was my bugbear for the longest time).

Hmmmm, in the spirit of taking risks and paving paths that are often easily dismissed, I'm reminded of a well-known poem that's always been one of my favourites. I'm sure many of you love it as well. It captures a kind of magic - the magic of the moment if you will - promising that if you follow its shadowy trails, certain paths can change your life forever. I've loved Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken' since, well, forever! And I hope you enjoy it too:) -


The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

by Robert Frost

A path less travelled...