Antiquities

Well, today was an adventure of the grandest sort! I went out to eat with one of my dearest friends and her mother, imbibed in so much sweet stuff I almost exploded, got a package in the mail for my birthday, and was given an antique book of Lowell's Poems. All in all, I was pretty well satisfied today. Some days I feel better equipped for coping with life than others. After yesterday's maudlin attitude, I definitely needed to feel upbeat. I think the lack of sleep and the copious amounts of sugar added greatly to the spasticity of my mood (I think I made that word up. Oh well, I definitely think it should be added to my Funk and Wagnalls! Actually, I can't say "my" since I don't technically own one. I would like one someday though. *sends hint out to the cosmos* Maybe next year for my birthday when it doesn't land on a holiday, and people have fewer things on their plates. *sigh*

James Russell Lowell. Consequently, if I had been a boy, my name would have been Russell. Okay, maybe that much sugar was not a good idea. You should see me when I have espresso! Poetry, think poetry!

I honestly knew nothing about James Russell Lowell before today. I am finding out many fascinating odds and ends. For example, he was the godfather of Virginia Woolf. He was good friends with Longfellow and Emerson. He had a rather illustrious political career later in his life serving in both the Spanish and English courts. He was a strong supporter of Lincoln, which definitely bumps him up in my book since Lincoln is my favorite president. He was abolitionist though he was much less involved in that belief later in life. In fact, he oscillated considerably on that belief. His first wife was a strong supporter of the anti-slavery movement and pushed him to be more actively involved. He struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts many times. Three out of his four children died in infancy, and he almost didn't recover. I liked the quote from Walt Whitman in regard to Lowell. He said, "Lowell was not a grower--he was a builder. He built poems: he didn't put in the seed, and water the seed, and send down his sun—letting the rest take care of itself: he measured his poems—kept them within formula." Lowell wrote a goodly amount of sonnets, which is nice for me since I rather enjoy sonnets in general--their structure and ebb and flow. Here is Sonnet XIV.

I would not have this perfect love of ours
Grow from  a single root, a single stem,
Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flowers
That idly hide Life's iron diadem:
It should grow always like that Eastern tree
Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly;
That love for one, from which there doth not spring
Wide love for all, is but a worthless thing.
Not in another world, as poets prate,
Dwell we apart, above the tide of things,
High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings;
But our pure love doth ever elevate
Into a holy bond of brotherhood
All earthly things, making them pure and good.