The quirkiness of Keats’ Odal Cycle as involves intimacy,
“I-thou”; when Keats addresses the “you” in the Odes, it is almost always
either an archetype or an imaginative creation. Keats does not directly address
any other human beings. It is left to his readers to decide for ourselves
whether we can accept this approach; whether there is or can be any real
intimacy between Keats and Psyche, or a Grecian Urn, or a nightingale, etc.
Because the Odes are legitimately visionary, i.e. they create, consolidate, and
perpetuate an imaginative vision of human reality both complex enough and
self-contained enough to be seen to constitute a complex, self-contained
vision, the choice, as ever with visionary major high art consonant art, is
whether to accept this vision or not. The magnificence of Keats’ prosody is one
reason to accept Keats’ vision; that the prosody stands for or signifies that
the vision, of intimacy with things and imaginative vistas rather than with
people, is real, wholesome, and genuine. On the other hand, some audiences may
decide that Keats getting overheated about urns and nightingales falls under
the narrative-thematic aegis of the adolescent, and that the prosodic richness
of the Odes only partly compensates for the gravitas that is lost in ecstasy,
euphoria, and the passionate élan of unbridled imaginative sensuousness.
The Cheltenham Elegies replace euphoria with resignation. In
this humanistic context, all the “I-thou” textual energy is aimed
conventionally, at other people, be they living or dead (this, we do not always
know). What is meant to be mind-bending in the Elegies is dramatic intensity
and shifting perspectives, even as the Elegies’ prosody is not as rich as the
Odes’. With Shelley and Adonais, we have a vision of almost complete alienation,
of Shelley investigating the dry-ice “I-he” or “I-it” perspective in
nightmarish vignette after vignette. Shelley’s vision is the most materialistic
of the three, and (potentially) the most difficult to stomach— that death has
absolutely cut off any intimacy he might have achieved with John Keats, that
Keats is absolutely gone to him, and that Keats’ corpse is a fetish for Shelley
of raw, insensate meat and nothing else. Euphoria and resignation are answered
here with searing agony and horror; and, also (as with Keats), a sense of a
kind of textual Mannerism, which exaggerates quirks, extends textual limbs into
contorted positions, bends reality out of shape (all the necrophilia, the
personification of Death), and makes materialism morph, in a manner which may
be seen as either seductive or nauseating, into a kind of hyper-materialistic inferno-world.
Neither Adonais nor the Odes tackle humanity head-on the way the Elegies do.
Whether this counts for the Elegies or against depends on any reader’s given
taste for humanism and human intimacy in its most pure, least torqued
manifestations.
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