Poets From England

"Mary Poppins arrives with the wind, and intervenes in the lives of ordinary humans, making magic, but never admitting that it has taken place. She understands the language of animals and birds, and between her visits to mortals returns to some secret source. Although the Poppins books have much in common with other works of children's literature — all the way back to the early 19th century and ETA Hoffmann's inspiration of making toys come alive — Travers was adamant that she didn't write specifically for children, and that there was no such thing as children's books. Poppins, she said, "had come up of the same well of nothingness as the poetry, myths and legends that had absorbed me all my writing life." This was something else that connected Travers to Disney, who maintained that his films were not directed at children, but at the innocence within us all."

"The true fairytales … come straight out of myth; they are, as it were, minuscule reaffirmation of myths, or perhaps the myth made accessible to the local folky mind. One might say that fairytales are the myths falling into time and locality … is the same stuff, all the essentials are there, it is small, but perfect. Not minimized, not to be made digestible for children."

"These men — Yeats, James Stephens, and the rest — had aristocratic minds. For them, the world was not fragmented. An idea did not suddenly grow … all alone and separate. For them, all things had long family trees. They saw nothing shameful or silly in myths and fairy stories, nor did they shovel them out of sight and some cupboard marked "Only For Children." They were always willing to concede that there was more things in heaven and earth than philosophy dreamed of. They allowed for the unknown. And, as you can imagine, I took great heart from this. It was Æ who showed me how to look and learn from one's own writing. "Popkins" he said once — he always called her just plain Popkins, whether deliberately mistaking the name or not I never knew. His humor was always subtle — "Popkins had she lived in another age, in the old times to which she certainly belongs, she would undoubtedly have had long golden tresses, a wreath of flowers in one hand, and perhaps a spear in the other. Her eyes would have been like the sea, her nose comely, and on her feet winged sandals. But, this age being the Kali Yuga, as the Indus call it — in our terms, the Iron Age — she comes in habiliments suited to it.""

"You know C. S. Lewis, whom I greatly admire, said there’s no such thing as creative writing. I’ve always agreed with that and always refuse to teach it when given the opportunity. He said there is, in fact, only one Creator and we mix. That’s our function, to mix the elements He has given us. See how wonderfully anonymous that leaves us? You can’t say, “I did this; this gross matrix of flesh and blood and sinews and nerves did this.” What nonsense! I’m given these things to make a pattern out of. Something gave it to me. I’ve always loved the idea of the craftsman, the anonymous man. For instance, I’ve always wanted my books to be called the work of Anon, because Anon is my favorite literary character. If you look through an anthology of poems that go from the far past into the present time, you’ll see that all the poems signed “Anon” have a very specific flavor that is one flavor all the way through the centuries. I think, perhaps arrogantly, of myself as “Anon.” I would like to think that Mary Poppins and the other books could be called back to make that change. But I suppose it’s too late for that."

"When I write it’s more a process of listening. I don’t pretend that there is some spirit standing beside me that tells me things. More and more I’ve become convinced that the great treasure to possess is the unknown. I’m going to write, I hope, a lot about that. It’s with my unknowing that I come to the myths. If I came to them knowing, I would have nothing to learn. But I bring my unknowing, which is a tangible thing, a clear space, something that’s been made room for out of the muddle of ordinary psychic stuff, an empty space."

"I read myths and fairy tales and books about them a great deal now, but I very seldom read novels. I find modern novels bore me. I can read Tolstoy and the Russians, but mostly I read comparative mythology and comparative religion. I need matter to carry with me."

"I make a point of writing, if only a little, every day, as a kind of discipline so that it is not a whim but a piece of work."

"Everything comes out of living with an idea. If I knew how to summon up inspiration, would I give my secret away? -->"

"Cities and Thrones and Powers, Stand in Time's eye, Almost as long as flowers, Which daily die: But, as new buds put forth To glad new men, Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth, The Cities rise again."

"Read all Cowley; he is very valuable to a collector of English sound sense."

"Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name."

"Oh happy, (if his happiness he knows) The Countrey Swain! on whom kind Heav'n bestows At home all Riches that wise Nature needs; Whom the just Earth with easie plenty feeds."

"Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all, Both the great vulgar and the small."

"A man in much business must either make himself a knave, or else the world will make him a fool."

"I would not fear nor wish my fate, But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day."

"Thus would I double my life's fading space; For he that runs it well, runs twice his race."

"Acquaintance I would have, but when't depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends."

"This only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high."

"We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blush'd before."

"The monster London laugh at me."

"Let but thy wicked men from out thee go, And all the fools that crowd thee so, Even thou, who dost thy millions boast, A village less than Islington wilt grow, A solitude almost."

"If of their pleasures and desires no end be found; God to their cares and fears will set no bound. What would content you? Who can tell? Ye fear so much to lose what you have got As if ye liked it well. Ye strive for more, as if ye liked it not."

"To virgin minds, which yet their native whiteness hold, Not yet discoloured with the love of gold (That jaundice of the soul, Which makes it look so gilded and so foul)"

"God the first garden made, and the first city Cain."

"The fairest garden in her looks, And in her mind the wisest books."

"I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and the study of nature, And there (with no design beyond my wall) whole and entire to lie, In no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty."

"To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city; to be a philosopher, from the world; or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man's, into the world, as it is God's."

"His time is forever, everywhere his place."

"Awake, awake, my Lyre! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire: Though so exalted she And I so lowly be Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony."

"Thus each extream to equal danger tends, Plenty as well as Want can separate Friends;"

"An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair, And fell adown his shoulders with loose care."

"When Israel was from bondage led, Led by the Almighty's hand From out of foreign land, The great sea beheld and fled."

"Such was Gods Poem, this Worlds new Essay; So wild and rude in its first draught it lay; Th' ungovern'd parts no Correspondence knew, An artless war from thwarting Motions grew; Till they to Number and fixt Rules were brought By the eternal Minds Poetique Thought. Water and Air he for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Flame arose, To th' active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturns string a touch more soft and grave. The motions Strait, and Round, and Swift, and Slow, And Short, and Long, were mixt and woven so, Did in such artful Figures smoothly fall, As made this decent measur'd Dance of All."

"Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal now does always last."

"He saw the beauties of his shape and face, His female sweetness, and his manly grace"

"Unable to corrupt, seek to destroy; And where their Poysons miss, the Sword employ."

"Here Lucifer the mighty Captive reigns; Proud, 'midst his Woes, and Tyrant in his Chains."

"Well did he know how Palms by oppression speed, Victorious, and the Victors sacred Meed! The Burden lifts them higher. Well did he know, How a tame stream does wild and dangerous grow By unjust force; he now with wanton play, Kisses the smiling Banks, and glides But his known Channel stopt, begins to roare, And swell with rage, and buffet the dull shore. His mutinous waters hurry to the War, And Troops of Waves come rolling from afar. Then scorns he such weak stops to his free source, And overruns the neighboring fields with violent course."

"Lo, this great work, a Temple to thy praise, On polisht Pillars of strong Verse I raise! A Temple, where if Thou vouchsafe to dwell, It Solomons, and Herods shall excel. Too long the Muses-Land have Heathen bin; Their Gods too long were Dev'ils, and Vertues Sin; But Thou, Eternal Word, hast call'd forth Me Th' Apostle, to convert that World to Thee;"

"Ev'en Thou my breast with such blest rage inspire, As mov'd the tuneful strings of Davids Lyre"

"I sing the Man who Judahs Scepter bore In that right hand which held the Crook before; Who from best Poet, best of Kings did grow; The two chief gifts Heav'n could on Man bestow."

"A mighty pain to love it is, And 't is a pain that pain to miss; But of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain."

"Fill all the glasses there, for why Should every creature drink but I? Why, man of morals, tell me why?"

"The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair."

"Words that weep and tears that speak."

"His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right."

"Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets Militant below!"

"Thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now, Whilst Angels sing to thee their airs divine, And joy in an applause so great as thine. Equal society with them to hold, Thou need'st not make new aongs, but say the old."

"Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given The two most sacred names of Earth and Heaven."

"Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, Have ye not seen us walking every day? Was there a tree about which did not know The love betwixt us two?"