William Blake

William Blake

1757–1827 · lived 69 years GB GB

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker whose visionary works explored profound spiritual and philosophical themes. He is renowned for his prophetic books, which combine his unique mythology with his distinct artistic style, often characterized by intense symbolism and imaginative power. Blake's work defied easy categorization, blending elements of Romanticism with his own highly personal brand of mysticism. His poetry, such as "Songs of Innocence and of Experience," continues to captivate readers with its exploration of dualities like innocence and corruption, joy and sorrow, and the spiritual and the material.

n. 1757-11-28, Londres · m. 1827-08-12, Charing Cross

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Why Was Cupid a Boy

Why Was Cupid a Boy
Why was Cupid a boy,
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
For aught that I can see.
For he shoots with his bow,
And the girl shoots with her eye,
And they both are merry and glad,
And laugh when we do cry.
And to make Cupid a boy
Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan;
For a boy can't interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.
And then he's so pierc'd with cares,
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.
'Twas the Greeks' love of war
Turn'd Love into a boy,
And woman into a statue of stone--
And away fled every joy.
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Bio

Identification and basic context

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker. He is widely regarded as a visionary artist and a key figure in the Romantic movement, though his work often defied conventional categorization and is characterized by its unique spiritual and philosophical depth. Blake's primary language of expression was English. His imaginative and often mystical worldview set him apart from many of his contemporaries. He is best known for his illuminated books, which combine his poetry with his own intricate illustrations.

Childhood and education

Born in London, Blake came from a modest background. His father was a hosier. He received little formal schooling, attending only a dame school. However, he was a voracious reader and possessed a remarkable natural talent for drawing and poetry from a young age. His parents recognized his artistic abilities and apprenticed him to an engraver at the age of ten. This apprenticeship provided him with crucial technical skills and exposed him to various artistic styles and historical prints, which would later inform his own work. His early education was thus largely practical and self-directed, fueled by an innate creative drive.

Literary trajectory

Blake began his literary career by writing poetry, including early works that would later be revised and published in collections like "Poetical Sketches" (1783). His true innovation came with the development of his "illuminated printing" technique, where he combined his poetry and illustrations into single plates, printed and colored by hand. This led to the creation of his prophetic books, beginning with "Songs of Innocence" (1789) and "Songs of Experience" (1794), which explore complex theological and philosophical ideas through allegorical poetry and vivid imagery. His literary trajectory was marked by a consistent development of his personal mythology and a relentless pursuit of spiritual and artistic expression, often in defiance of contemporary literary and artistic conventions.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Blake's most famous works include "Songs of Innocence and of Experience," "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell," "Jerusalem," and "Milton." His dominant themes often revolve around the dualities of human existence: innocence and experience, good and evil, heaven and hell, reason and imagination, freedom and oppression. He developed a complex personal mythology populated by symbolic figures like Urizen (reason), Los (imagination), and Enitharmon (spirituality). His style is characterized by its visionary intensity, rich symbolism, and often paradoxical pronouncements. Blake employed a variety of forms, from lyrical songs to epic prophecies, often utilizing rhythmic structures and vivid, dreamlike imagery. His language can be both deceptively simple and profoundly complex, challenging conventional interpretations of morality and spirituality.

Cultural and historical context

Blake lived during a period of significant social and political upheaval in Britain, including the American and French Revolutions, which deeply influenced his thinking on liberty, tyranny, and social justice. He was part of a generation of artists and writers associated with Romanticism, which emphasized emotion, individualism, and the sublime in nature, though Blake's vision was often more overtly spiritual and prophetic. He was deeply critical of the established church, state, and industrialization, viewing them as forces that stifled human imagination and spiritual freedom. His radical religious and political views often led to his isolation from mainstream artistic and literary circles.

Personal life

Blake's personal life was marked by his deep devotion to his wife, Catherine Boucher, whom he taught to read and write and who became his artistic collaborator. They lived a relatively simple life, often facing financial hardship. Blake's intense inner world and visionary experiences sometimes led others to perceive him as eccentric or even insane, though he maintained a consistent creative output. His spiritual beliefs were central to his life and work, forming the basis of his unique cosmology.

Recognition and reception

During his lifetime, Blake was largely unrecognized for his poetic genius and was primarily known as a talented engraver. His visionary works were often misunderstood or dismissed by critics and the public. It was only in the 20th century, with the rise of modernist and postmodernist thought, that his work began to be re-evaluated and appreciated for its originality, depth, and prophetic power. Today, he is considered one of Britain's greatest poets and artists, with his work studied extensively in literature and art history.

Influences and legacy

Blake was influenced by the Bible, Milton, Shakespeare, and various mystical traditions. His radical ideas and unique artistic vision, in turn, influenced numerous artists, writers, and thinkers, including the Pre-Raphaelites, the Symbolists, and later figures in literature and art who embraced his emphasis on imagination and spiritual truth. His critique of industrial society and his celebration of individual vision continue to resonate. His inclusion in the literary and artistic canon is now firmly established, and his works are widely translated and studied internationally.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Blake's work is rich with layers of symbolic meaning, inviting diverse interpretations. Critics often analyze his complex mythology, his critique of established religious and political institutions, and his exploration of the human psyche. Debates frequently arise concerning the precise nature of his spiritual beliefs and the extent to which his visions should be understood literally or metaphorically. His exploration of the "contraries" of life remains a central theme for critical inquiry.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Blake claimed to have seen visions from childhood, including seeing angels in a tree. He developed a unique method of printing his books, which he called "illuminated printing," involving etching both text and image onto copper plates. He was a vocal critic of the rationalism and materialism of his age. His personal notebooks contain numerous aphorisms and observations that reveal his independent and often provocative thinking.

Death and memory

William Blake died in relative obscurity in 1827. His memory was kept alive by a small circle of admirers, but his widespread recognition as a major artistic and literary figure only emerged much later. Posthumous publications and exhibitions have cemented his legacy as a unique and profoundly influential visionary artist and poet.

Poems

93

The Human Abstract

The Human Abstract
Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.
And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase:
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the grounds with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Catterpiller and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.
The Gods of the earth and sea
Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree;
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain.
513

The Land of Dreams

The Land of Dreams
Awake, awake, my little boy!
Thou wast thy mother's only joy;
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy father does thee keep.
'O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O father! I saw my mother there,
Among the lilies by waters fair.
'Among the lambs, cloth?d in white,
She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;
O! when shall I again return?'
Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams;
But tho' calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.
'Father, O father! what do we here
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the morning star.'
459

The Grey Monk

The Grey Monk
'I die, I die!' the Mother said,
'My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?'
The Monk sat down on the stony bed.
The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,
His hands and feet were wounded wide,
His body bent, his arms and knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
'When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The bane of all that on Earth I lov'd.
My Brother starv'd between two walls,
His Children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the rack and griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
Thy father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy Brother has arm'd himself in steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
But vain the Sword and vain the Bow,
They never can work War's overthrow.
The Hermit's prayer and the Widow's tear
Alone can free the World from fear.
For a Tear is an intellectual thing,
And a Sigh is the sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the Martyr's woe
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.
The hand of Vengeance found the bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head
And became a Tyrant in his stead.'
495

The French Revolution (excerpt)

The French Revolution (excerpt)
Thee the ancientest peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the monarch's right hand, red
as wines
From his mountains; an odor of war, like a ripe vineyard, rose from his garments,
And the chamber became as a clouded sky; o'er the council he stretch'd his red limbs,
Cloth'd in flames of crimson; as a ripe vineyard stretches over sheaves of corn,
The fierce Duke hung over the council; around him crowd, weeping in his burning robe,
A bright cloud of infant souls; his words fall like purple autumn on the sheaves:
'Shall this marble built heaven become a clay cottage, this earth an oak stool and
these mowers
From the Atlantic mountains mow down all this great starry harvest of six thousand
years?
And shall Necker, the hind of Geneva, stretch out his crook'd sickle o'er fertile
France
Till our purple and crimson is faded to russet, and the kingdoms of earth bound in
sheaves,
And the ancient forests of chivalry hewn, and the joys of the combat burnt for
fuel;
Till the power and dominion is rent from the pole, sword and sceptre from sun and
moon,
The law and gospel from fire and air, and eternal reason and science
From the deep and the solid, and man lay his faded head down on the rock
Of eternity, where the eternal lion and eagle remain to devour?
This to prevent--urg'd by cries in day, and prophetic dreams hovering in night,
To enrich the lean earth that craves, furrow'd with plows, whose seed is
departing from her--
Thy nobles have gather'd thy starry hosts round this rebellious city,
To rouze up the ancient forests of Europe, with clarions of cloud breathing war,
To hear the horse neigh to the drum and trumpet, and the trumpet and war
shout reply.
Stretch the hand that beckons the eagles of heaven; they cry over Paris, and
wait
Till Fayette point his finger to Versailles; the eagles of heaven must have their
prey!'
He ceas'd, and burn'd silent; red clouds roll round Necker; a weeping is heard
o'er the palace.
Like a dark cloud Necker paus'd, and like thunder on the just man's burial day he
paus'd;
Silent sit the winds, silent the meadows, while the husbandman and woman of
weakness
And bright children look after him into the grave, and water his clay with love,
Then turn towards pensive fields; so Necker paus'd, and his visage was covered
with clouds.
The King lean'd on his mountains, then lifted his head and look'd on his armies,
that shone
Through heaven, tinging morning with beams of blood; then turning to Burgundy,
troubled:
'Burgundy, thou wast born a lion! My soul is o'ergrown with distress.
For the nobles of France, and dark mists roll round me and blot the writing of
God
Written in my bosom. Necker rise! leave the kingdom, thy life is surrounded with
snares.


We have call'd an Assembly, but not to destroy; we have given gifts, not to the
weak;
I hear rushing of muskets, and bright'ning of swords, and visages redd'ning with
war,
Frowning and looking up from brooding villages and every dark'ning city.
Ancient wonders frown over the kingdom, and cries of women and babes are
heard,
And tempests of doubt roll around me, and fierce sorrows, because of the nobles
of France.
Depart! answer not! for the tempest must fall, as in years that are passed away.'
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523

The Fly

The Fly
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
372

The Echoing Green

The Echoing Green
The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the spring;
373

The Crystal Cabinet

The Crystal Cabinet
The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And lock'd me up with a golden key.
This cabinet is form'd of gold
And pearl and crystal shining bright,
And within it opens into a world
And a little lovely moony night.
Another England there I saw
Another London with its Tower,
Another Thames and other hills,
And another pleasant Surrey bower.
Another Maiden like herself,
Translucent, lovely, shining clear,
Threefold each in the other clos'd
O, what a pleasant trembling fear!
O, what a smile! a threefold smile
Fill'd me, that like a flame I burn'd;
I bent to kiss the lovely Maid,
And found a threefold kiss return'd.
I strove to seize the inmost form
With ardor fierce and hands of flame,
But burst the Crystal Cabinet,
And like a weeping Babe became--
A weeping Babe upon the wild,
And weeping Woman pale reclin'd,
And in the outward air again,
I fill'd with woes the passing wind.
.
498

The Clod & The Pebble

The Clod & The Pebble
Love seeketh not Itself to please.
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease.
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.
So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet;
But a Pebble of the brook.
Warbled out these metres meet.
Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight;
Joys in anothers loss of ease.
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.
333

The Chimney-Sweeper

The Chimney-Sweeper
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry 'Weep! weep! weep! weep!'
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said,
'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.'
And so he was quiet, and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight! --
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.
And by came an angel, who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins, and let them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind;
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.
And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:
So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.
703

The Chimney -sweeper

The Chimney -sweeper
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