The character John Horace Burleson is a failed writer, whose ambitions did not match his abilities.
Introduction and Text of “John Horace Burleson”
In Edgar Lee Masters’ “John Horace Burleson” from his American classic Spoon River Anthology, the speaker remains rather vague about important details of his life. The speaker had the unfortunate luck to win a prize for a school essay, and that bad luck tainted his view of his talent.
Even though Burleson was later lucky enough to publish a novel, he yearned to write a great epic about the war. As many mediocre and moderately talented artists do, Burleson overrated his abilities and then ends up blaming his marriage and his job for his failure to become known as the great writer he fancies he is.
John Horace Burleson
I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank— Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of the war. Meanwhile friend of the great, and lover of letters, And host to Matthew Arnold and to Emerson. An after dinner speaker, writing essays For local clubs. At last brought here— My boyhood home, you know— Not even a little tablet in Chicago To keep my name alive. How great it is to write the single line: “Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll!”
Commentary on “John Horace Burleson”
The character speaking this epitaph is John Horace Burleson, a failed writer, whose ambitions did not equal his abilities. Comically, one might think of him as “Writing while pathetic.”
First Movement: Winning Can Be Bad
I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five.
John Horace Burleson begins his epitaph by announcing that while a boy in school in the town of Spoon River, he enjoyed the pride of having won an essay contest. The speaker’s writing ability later landed him a publishing deal, and he came out with a novel before he had attained the age of twenty-five.
These Spoon River speakers customarily begin with some past memory that has made a deep impression on them. Burleson’s memory puts him at the beginning of what should have been a career in writing.
Second Movement: A Fly in the Ointment
I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank— Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of the war.
The speaker then begins to open up about what will turn out to be a fly in his ointment, that is, an eventuality that leads him astray. He moved to the city, which is Chicago, of course, as Spoon River is a fictional town in Illinois. Burleson then asserts that he moved to the city to bolster his writing career. He hoped to acquire subject matter for writing. He claims he wanted to, “enrich [his] art.”
Then the speaker reveals that he took the daughter of a banker for his wife. Later Burleson himself even became the bank’s president. As a man with the heavy responsibilities of husband and bank president, he does not have the time and wherewithal to do much writing.
However, the would-be writer could dream! And that’s what he did. Instead of writing, he just continually kept waiting until he could get sufficient time for the “leisure” that would afford him space to write his great American novel.
Burleson claims he had in mind to pen “an epic novel of the war,” which gives one pause. Perhaps he was chasing after the wrong goal. With his experience of winning a childhood essay contest, publishing a nondescript novel, and serving as a bank president, what experience did he have for writing about war, much less an epic about said subject?
Third Movement: Art Friendly
Meanwhile friend of the great, and lover of letters, And host to Matthew Arnold and to Emerson.
As his life progresses, Burleson remains a friend of the arts and the great writers of the day because he fancied himself a great “lover of letters.” He claims to have entertained Matthew Arnold, the poet who composed the great and challenging poem “Dover Beach.”
Burleson also claims to have hosted Ralph Waldo Emerson, who composed many important, classic American essays and poems. The speaker merely name drops as he does not even make clear anything about the event during which he served as “host” to these great writers. Both Arnold and Emerson did lecture in Chicago—Emerson in 1867 and Arnold in 1884, nearly twenty years apart.
The visiting lectures of these writers reveal that Burleson could have, in fact, hosted each of them, but his failure to elaborate implies that he might be making up his claims and not actually had the privilege of meeting and greeting these great writers. Burleson offers no indication that he absorbed any influence or even acquired any lasting impressions of the writers.
Fourth Movement: Talentless and Driveless
An after dinner speaker, writing essays For local clubs.
Nevertheless, Burleson’s life continues and he does find himself capable of giving after-dinner speeches from time to time. He also composes essays for “local clubs.” Again, the speaker remains mum about the subject matter involved in his speeches.
Burleson also offers no clue about what he wrote about for the clubs. The purpose of this omission is to likely throw suspicion on Burleson’s true talent as a writer. He claims to have had great ambitions but he makes it clear that he did not possess the talent and drive to accomplish his worthy goals.
Fifth Movement: Garnering no Notice
At last brought here— My boyhood home, you know— Not even a little tablet in Chicago To keep my name alive.
And now Burleson’s death has brought him back to Spoon River, which is his “boyhood home.” And his next revelation is both telling and pathetic. Burleson’s life has made little impression on Chicago.
He has not even become well-known enough the merit a mention in the local newspapers. His name will die because no one has cared to even take note of his life and death. Thus it is, no doubt, likely that he is the only one who is taking note of his passing. And what happened to his wife? Did he spawn any offspring?
All the reader can glean from the little biographical information he offers is that Burleson yearned to write a great novel, met two of the biggest names in the field of the day but did not produce enough creatively to garner any notice.
Sixth Movement: How Great to Write . . .
How great it is to write the single line: “Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll!”
Burleson’s final lines put the proper cap on his complaint. He singles out a line from Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto 4, Section 179, “Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll!“
Regarding this line, Burleson remarks how “great it is to write” such a line. Thus again the speaker is leaving his listeners scratching their heads wondering just what Burleson’s goal was.
Although he claimed he had the great desire to pen an epic war novel, he had won an essay contest, and had, in fact, published a novel, yet he selects a line from a poem to exalt as a model. Instead of writing, Burleson’s talents must have resided elsewhere, and he obviously did not know it; thus his claimed, chosen goal continued to elude him.
Ephemeral Fame
Many of the Spoon River soliloquists have been guilty of not truly being aware of their own intentions. Burleson’s true goal was likely just to achieve fame, not to actually become a great writer. And the great poet Emily Dickinson has succinctly summed up the ephemeral character of “fame”:
Fame is a bee. It has a song – It has a sting – Ah, too, it has a wing.
Burleson’s bee of fame stung him and fled on its wing, leaving him little to sing about but his own sense of loss.
Winter coming on I stand at the door Counting blessings here between you and glass Our garden holds summer dreams evermore
Flower beds relinquish their quilts once more Shadows stretch out slowly across the grass Winter coming on I stand at the door
The sycamore throws down its poems of yore, Leaves drift down slow as autumn’s hours pass Our garden holds summer dreams evermore
The grass holds still what frost cannot restore Keeps its memory green beneath the mass Winter coming on I stand at the door
Hive for worms carpet for feet spreads before Birds a tablecloth where shadows amass Our garden holds summer dreams evermore
I read the leaves summer spreads and adore Watching the sweet seasons come and go as Winter coming on I stand at the door Our garden holds summer dreams evermore
As a grieving father, Ralph Waldo Emerson composed his most famous poem “Threnody,” offering it as a tribute to his son Waldo, who succumbed to scarlet fever at the tender age of five.
Introduction and Text of “Threnody”
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Threnody” remains his most widely anthologized and studied poem. The elegy is long—289 lines, running nearly 1750 words; it displays in 10 stanzas with several interspersed rimed couples with varying rime schemes.
The poet, in this poem, has fashioned a speaker to eulogize his young son in a deeply moving and beautifully wise tribute. The Greek term “thanatos” conflated with the Greek term for song “oide” is employed, creating the English word “threnody.” Thus, the term yields the meaning,”song for the dead.”
Threnody
The south-wind brings Life, sunshine, and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire, But over the dead he has no power, The lost, the lost he cannot restore, And, looking over the hills, I mourn The darling who shall not return.
I see my empty house, I see my trees repair their boughs, And he, the wondrous child, Whose silver warble wild Outvalued every pulsing sound Within the air’s cerulean round, The hyacinthine boy, for whom Morn well might break, and April bloom, The gracious boy, who did adorn The world whereinto he was born, And by his countenance repay The favor of the loving Day, Has disappeared from the Day’s eye; Far and wide she cannot find him, My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him. Returned this day the south-wind searches And finds young pines and budding birches, But finds not the budding man; Nature who lost him, cannot remake him; Fate let him fall, Fate can’t retake him; Nature, Fate, men, him seek in vain.
And whither now, my truant wise and sweet, Oh, whither tend thy feet? I had the right, few days ago, Thy steps to watch, thy place to know; How have I forfeited the right? Hast thou forgot me in a new delight? I hearken for thy household cheer, O eloquent child! Whose voice, an equal messenger, Conveyed thy meaning mild. What though the pains and joys Whereof it spoke were toys Fitting his age and ken; Yet fairest dames and bearded men, Who heard the sweet request So gentle, wise, and grave, Bended with joy to his behest, And let the world’s affairs go by, Awhile to share his cordial game, Or mend his wicker wagon frame, Still plotting how their hungry ear That winsome voice again might hear, For his lips could well pronounce Words that were persuasions.
Gentlest guardians marked serene His early hope, his liberal mien, Took counsel from his guiding eyes To make this wisdom earthly wise. Ah! vainly do these eyes recall The school-march, each day’s festival, When every morn my bosom glowed To watch the convoy on the road; The babe in willow wagon closed, With rolling eyes and face composed, With children forward and behind, Like Cupids studiously inclined, And he, the Chieftain, paced beside, The centre of the troop allied, With sunny face of sweet repose, To guard the babe from fancied foes, The little Captain innocent Took the eye with him as he went, Each village senior paused to scan And speak the lovely caravan.
From the window I look out To mark thy beautiful parade Stately marching in cap and coat To some tune by fairies played; A music heard by thee alone To works as noble led thee on. Now love and pride, alas, in vain, Up and down their glances strain. The painted sled stands where it stood, The kennel by the corded wood, The gathered sticks to stanch the wall Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall, The ominous hole he dug in the sand, And childhood’s castles built or planned. His daily haunts I well discern, The poultry yard, the shed, the barn, And every inch of garden ground Paced by the blessed feet around, From the road-side to the brook; Whereinto he loved to look. Step the meek birds where erst they ranged, The wintry garden lies unchanged, The brook into the stream runs on, But the deep-eyed Boy is gone.
On that shaded day, Dark with more clouds than tempests are, When thou didst yield thy innocent breath In bird-like heavings unto death, Night came, and Nature had not thee, I said, we are mates in misery. The morrow dawned with needless glow, Each snow-bird chirped, each fowl must crow, Each tramper started, but the feet Of the most beautiful and sweet Of human youth had left the hill And garden, they were bound and still, There’s not a sparrow or a wren, There’s not a blade of autumn grain, Which the four seasons do not tend, And tides of life and increase lend, And every chick of every bird, And weed and rock-moss is preferred. O ostriches’ forgetfulness! O loss of larger in the less! Was there no star that could be sent, No watcher in the firmament, No angel from the countless host, That loiters round the crystal coast, Could stoop to heal that only child, Nature’s sweet marvel undefiled, And keep the blossom of the earth, Which all her harvests were not worth? Not mine, I never called thee mine, But nature’s heir, if I repine, And, seeing rashly torn and moved, Not what I made, but what I loved. Grow early old with grief that then Must to the wastes of nature go, ‘Tis because a general hope Was quenched, and all must doubt and grope For flattering planets seemed to say, This child should ills of ages stay, By wondrous tongue and guided pen Bring the flown muses back to men. Perchance, not he, but nature ailed, The world, and not the infant failed, It was not ripe yet, to sustain A genius of so fine a strain, Who gazed upon the sun and moon As if he came unto his own, And pregnant with his grander thought, Brought the old order into doubt. Awhile his beauty their beauty tried, They could not feed him, and he died, And wandered backward as in scorn To wait an Ζon to be born. Ill day which made this beauty waste; Plight broken, this high face defaced! Some went and came about the dead, And some in books of solace read, Some to their friends the tidings say, Some went to write, some went to pray, One tarried here, there hurried one, But their heart abode with none.
Covetous death bereaved us all To aggrandize one funeral. The eager Fate which carried thee Took the largest part of me. For this losing is true dying, This is lordly man’s down-lying, This is slow but sure reclining, Star by star his world resigning.
O child of Paradise! Boy who made dear his father’s home In whose deep eyes Men read the welfare of the times to come; I am too much bereft; The world dishonored thou hast left; O truths and natures costly lie; O trusted, broken prophecy! O richest fortune sourly crossed; Born for the future, to the future lost!
The deep Heart answered, Weepest thou? Worthier cause for passion wild, If I had not taken the child. And deemest thou as those who pore With aged eyes short way before? Think’st Beauty vanished from the coast Of matter, and thy darling lost? Taught he not thee, the man of eld, Whose eyes within his eyes beheld Heaven’s numerous hierarchy span The mystic gulf from God to man? To be alone wilt thou begin, When worlds of lovers hem thee in? To-morrow, when the masks shall fall That dizen nature’s carnival, The pure shall see, by their own will, Which overflowing love shall fill, ‘Tis not within the force of Fate The fate-conjoined to separate. But thou, my votary, weepest thou? I gave thee sight, where is it now? I taught thy heart beyond the reach Of ritual, Bible, or of speech; Wrote in thy mind’s transparent table As far as the incommunicable; Taught thee each private sign to raise Lit by the supersolar blaze. Past utterance and past belief, And past the blasphemy of grief, The mysteries of nature’s heart, And though no muse can these impart, Throb thine with nature’s throbbing breast, And all is clear from east to west.
I came to thee as to a friend, Dearest, to thee I did not send Tutors, but a joyful eye, Innocence that matched the sky, Lovely locks a form of wonder, Laughter rich as woodland thunder; That thou might’st entertain apart The richest flowering of all art; And, as the great all-loving Day Through smallest chambers takes its way, That thou might’st break thy daily bread With Prophet, Saviour, and head; That thou might’st cherish for thine own The riches of sweet Mary’s Son, Boy-Rabbi, Israel’s Paragon: And thoughtest thou such guest Would in thy hall take up his rest? Would rushing life forget its laws, Fate’s glowing revolution pause? High omens ask diviner guess, Not to be conned to tediousness. And know, my higher gifts unbind The zone that girds the incarnate mind, When the scanty shores are full With Thought’s perilous whirling pool, When frail Nature can no more, Then the spirit strikes the hour, My servant Death with solving rite Pours finite into infinite. Wilt thou freeze love’s tidal flow, Whose streams through nature circling go? Nail the star struggling to its track On the half-climbed Zodiack? Light is light which radiates, Blood is blood which circulates, Life is life which generates, And many-seeming life is one, Wilt thou transfix and make it none, Its onward stream too starkly pent In figure, bone, and lineament?
Wilt thou uncalled interrogate Talker! the unreplying fate? Nor see the Genius of the whole Ascendant in the private soul, Beckon it when to go and come, Self-announced its hour of doom. Fair the soul’s recess and shrine, Magic-built, to last a season, Masterpiece of love benign! Fairer than expansive reason Whose omen ’tis, and sign. Wilt thou not ope this heart to know What rainbows teach and sunsets show, Verdict which accumulates From lengthened scroll of human fates, Voice of earth to earth returned, Prayers of heart that inly burned; Saying, what is excellent, As God lives, is permanent Hearts are dust, hearts’ loves remain, Heart’s love will meet thee again. Revere the Maker; fetch thine eye Up to His style, and manners of the sky. Not of adamant and gold Built He heaven stark and cold, No, but a nest of bending reeds, Flowering grass and scented weeds, Or like a traveller’s fleeting tent, Or bow above the tempest pent, Built of tears and sacred flames, And virtue reaching to its aims; Built of furtherance and pursuing, Not of spent deeds, but of doing. Silent rushes the swift Lord Through ruined systems still restored, Broad-sowing, bleak and void to bless, Plants with worlds the wilderness, Waters with tears of ancient sorrow Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow; House and tenant go to ground, Lost in God, in Godhead found.
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Threnody” with 289 lines is long, especially by a lyric standard; it reveals the grief of a father who has lost a son but who also possesses the extraordinary mental ability to express an intelligent and heartfelt tribute.
Emerson’s study of Eastern philosophical and religious concepts helped to prepare the poet for meeting the challenges faced by the loss of a loved lone. The understanding that the soul is immortal, although the physical body is not, offers a deep level consolation in times of loss and grief.
First Stanza: The Experience of Natural Pleasantries Only for the Living
The south-wind brings Life, sunshine, and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire, But over the dead he has no power, The lost, the lost he cannot restore, And, looking over the hills, I mourn The darling who shall not return.
The speaker, who is in mourning, reveals that as the wind from the south is bringing life qualities to the living, it will yet have no effect on the dead. The speaker’s dire assertions are referring to his own young son, who has passed on and will not be able to sense the pleasant breezes of that south wind. As those breezes go on bringing life and wishes, they cannot influence the realm of a soul that has left its physical encasement (body).
Second Stanza: The Value of a Human Life
I see my empty house, I see my trees repair their boughs, And he, the wondrous child, Whose silver warble wild Outvalued every pulsing sound Within the air’s cerulean round, The hyacinthine boy, for whom Morn well might break, and April bloom, The gracious boy, who did adorn The world whereinto he was born, And by his countenance repay The favor of the loving Day, Has disappeared from the Day’s eye; Far and wide she cannot find him, My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him. Returned this day the south-wind searches And finds young pines and budding birches, But finds not the budding man; Nature who lost him, cannot remake him; Fate let him fall, Fate can’t retake him; Nature, Fate, men, him seek in vain.
Without his child filling its space, his home now seems empty. The world has turned into a place of sadness for this mourning father. The son, gone from his vision and from the sun rays, is terribly missed.
The speaker reveals the pride he took in the son, who was filled with grace and contributed much value to the world by his mere existence. His son was a wondrous being to his father, a joyous miracle that brought meaning and value to the father and to the world as well.
Third Stanza: Loved by Everyone
nd whither now, my truant wise and sweet, Oh, whither tend thy feet? I had the right, few days ago, Thy steps to watch, thy place to know; How have I forfeited the right? Hast thou forgot me in a new delight? I hearken for thy household cheer, O eloquent child! Whose voice, an equal messenger, Conveyed thy meaning mild. What though the pains and joys Whereof it spoke were toys Fitting his age and ken; Yet fairest dames and bearded men, Who heard the sweet request So gentle, wise, and grave, Bended with joy to his behest, And let the world’s affairs go by, Awhile to share his cordial game, Or mend his wicker wagon frame, Still plotting how their hungry ear That winsome voice again might hear, For his lips could well pronounce Words that were persuasions.
The melancholy father is making it clear that his son garnered admiration and love from everyone who met him. The boy found favor with both “fairest dames” as well as “bearded men” whom the lad approached with any question.
Even important business people would stop to enjoy exchanging words with this exceptional, little boy; others would even stop to help mend the lad’s toys. The speaker is pleased that that others loved the boy because of his pleasant qualities.
Fourth Stanza: The Pleasure of Admiration
Gentlest guardians marked serene His early hope, his liberal mien, Took counsel from his guiding eyes To make this wisdom earthly wise. Ah! vainly do these eyes recall The school-march, each day’s festival, When every morn my bosom glowed To watch the convoy on the road; The babe in willow wagon closed, With rolling eyes and face composed, With children forward and behind, Like Cupids studiously inclined, And he, the Chieftain, paced beside, The centre of the troop allied, With sunny face of sweet repose, To guard the babe from fancied foes, The little Captain innocent Took the eye with him as he went, Each village senior paused to scan And speak the lovely caravan.
The speaker recalls that he felt great joy as he observed the boy heading off to school. The children seemed to be like “little cupids” eager to learn. As a father, he felt great pride and took pleasure on seeing that his belovèd child was well liked by the other children, who admired the lad, and they would even follow his example.
Fifth Stanza: Recalling Special Scenes
From the window I look out To mark thy beautiful parade Stately marching in cap and coat To some tune by fairies played; A music heard by thee alone To works as noble led thee on. Now love and pride, alas, in vain, Up and down their glances strain. The painted sled stands where it stood, The kennel by the corded wood, The gathered sticks to stanch the wall Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall, The ominous hole he dug in the sand, And childhood’s castles built or planned. His daily haunts I well discern, The poultry yard, the shed, the barn, And every inch of garden ground Paced by the blessed feet around, From the road-side to the brook; Whereinto he loved to look. Step the meek birds where erst they ranged, The wintry garden lies unchanged, The brook into the stream runs on, But the deep-eyed Boy is gone.
The speaker recalls watching his son as he played in the yard. In his coat and hat, the lad appeared to be hearing tunes played “by fairies.” He seemed to be the only one who could detect such rarified sounds.
Although the speaker can still see the same scenes as when the boy was in them, the emptiness without his boy to fill them brings pain to the speaker’s heart. The speaker recounts that the boy loved watching the flowing brook—but now “the deep-eyed Boy is gone.”
Sixth Stanza: The Suffering Crowded Heart
On that shaded day, Dark with more clouds than tempests are, When thou didst yield thy innocent breath In bird-like heavings unto death, Night came, and Nature had not thee, I said, we are mates in misery. The morrow dawned with needless glow, Each snow-bird chirped, each fowl must crow, Each tramper started, but the feet Of the most beautiful and sweet Of human youth had left the hill And garden,they were bound and still, There’s not a sparrow or a wren, There’s not a blade of autumn grain, Which the four seasons do not tend, And tides of life and increase lend, And every chick of every bird, And weed and rock-moss is preferred. O ostriches’ forgetfulness! O loss of larger in the less! Was there no star that could be sent, No watcher in the firmament, No angel from the countless host, That loiters round the crystal coast, Could stoop to heal that only child, Nature’s sweet marvel undefiled, And keep the blossom of the earth, Which all her harvests were not worth? Not mine, I never called thee mine, But nature’s heir, if I repine, And, seeing rashly torn and moved, Not what I made, but what I loved. Grow early old with grief that then Must to the wastes of nature go, ‘Tis because a general hope Was quenched, and all must doubt and grope For flattering planets seemed to say, This child should ills of ages stay, By wondrous tongue and guided pen Bring the flown muses back to men. Perchance, not he, but nature ailed, The world, and not the infant failed, It was not ripe yet, to sustain A genius of so fine a strain, Who gazed upon the sun and moon As if he came unto his own, And pregnant with his grander thought, Brought the old order into doubt. Awhile his beauty their beauty tried, They could not feed him, and he died, And wandered backward as in scorn To wait an Ζon to be born. Ill day which made this beauty waste; Plight broken, this high face defaced! Some went and came about the dead, And some in books of solace read, Some to their friends the tidings say, Some went to write, some went to pray, One tarried here, there hurried one, But their heart abode with none. Covetous death bereaved us all To aggrandize one funeral. The eager Fate which carried thee Took the largest part of me. For this losing is true dying, This is lordly man’s down-lying, This is slow but sure reclining, Star by star his world resigning.
The heavy-hearted speaker then reiterates that nature and the world somehow continue on even without the existence of the boy, who had gladdened the heart of his father. This phenomenon comes to mind of all bereaved human beings: the world somehow continues on, even though the belovèd deceased does not.
There seems to be a contradiction that the suffering mind is unable to comprehend, because of the pain that blinkers the thinking process. The heart crowded with suffering battles the mind, as it seeks relief from the pain and anguish of suffering.
The speaker is draining his heart’s blood of the vain wishes he had experienced that some healing force would appear to relieve the boy of the disease that finally made off with his precious life and then dashed the speaker’s world.
Seventh Stanza: Sorrowful Lamentation
O child of Paradise! Boy who made dear his father’s home In whose deep eyes Men read the welfare of the times to come; I am too much bereft; The world dishonored thou hast left; O truths and natures costly lie; O trusted, broken prophecy! O richest fortune sourly crossed; Born for the future, to the future lost!
The speaker laments his grief but admits that he is sorrowing “too much”; yet, he thinks that the world is simply a poorer place without his son enriching it. This lad, who was given birth and thus was possessed by the future, is now gone, resulting in the very future itself being lost.
His obvious exaggeration may be expected of a mourning parent. The loss of a young child seems go against nature and against the world, and it drops a heavy burden on the suffering father, who must continue to live and continue to grapple with his loss.
Eighth Stanza: Ancient Philosophical Balm
The deep Heart answered, Weepest thou? Worthier cause for passion wild, If I had not taken the child. And deemest thou as those who pore With aged eyes short way before? Think’st Beauty vanished from the coast Of matter, and thy darling lost? Taught he not thee, the man of eld, Whose eyes within his eyes beheld Heaven’s numerous hierarchy span The mystic gulf from God to man? To be alone wilt thou begin, When worlds of lovers hem thee in? To-morrow, when the masks shall fall That dizen nature’s carnival, The pure shall see, by their own will, Which overflowing love shall fill, ‘Tis not within the force of Fate The fate-conjoined to separate. But thou, my votary, weepest thou? I gave thee sight, where is it now? I taught thy heart beyond the reach Of ritual, Bible, or of speech; Wrote in thy mind’s transparent table As far as the incommunicable; Taught thee each private sign to raise Lit by the supersolar blaze. Past utterance and past belief, And past the blasphemy of grief, The mysteries of nature’s heart, And though no muse can these impart, Throb thine with nature’s throbbing breast, And all is clear from east to west.
The speaker’s intense grieving now reaches to the awareness of God. Because the speaker has studied ancient philosophical thought, he has become aware that the soul’s ever living essence never “dies.” He is aware that his son’s soul is still “living” on the spiritual plane of being.
And while that awareness may mitigate the grief by a small measure, it cannot remove the misery experienced following departure of that particular soul from that particular physical encasement (body).
The speaker knows that sometime in future his own soul will also transcend “The mystic gulf” between himself and God. Eventually, he will be able to realize completely that his belovèd son has simply experienced that transition before he did.
Ninth Stanza: God’s Love for His Created Beings
I came to thee as to a friend, Dearest, to thee I did not send Tutors, but a joyful eye, Innocence that matched the sky, Lovely locks a form of wonder, Laughter rich as woodland thunder; That thou might’st entertain apart The richest flowering of all art; And, as the great all-loving Day Through smallest chambers takes its way, That thou might’st break thy daily bread With Prophet, Saviour, and head; That thou might’st cherish for thine own The riches of sweet Mary’s Son, Boy-Rabbi, Israel’s Paragon: And thoughtest thou such guest Would in thy hall take up his rest? Would rushing life forget its laws, Fate’s glowing revolution pause? High omens ask diviner guess, Not to be conned to tediousness. And know, my higher gifts unbind The zone that girds the incarnate mind, When the scanty shores are full With Thought’s perilous whirling pool, When frail Nature can no more, Then the spirit strikes the hour, My servant Death with solving rite Pours finite into infinite. Wilt thou freeze love’s tidal flow, Whose streams through nature circling go? Nail the star struggling to its track On the half-climbed Zodiack? Light is light which radiates, Blood is blood which circulates, Life is life which generates, And many-seeming life is one, Wilt thou transfix and make it none, Its onward stream too starkly pent In figure, bone, and lineament?
Essentially, the Divine Reality (God) had simply appeared to the father through the son for the purpose of teaching the father certain lessons that his karma had deemed that he must learn. This speaker is aware that the finite level of being is irrevocably tied to the Infinite through unbreakable, spiritual bonds.
The Divine Creator’s love for humankind seems to be tested in many ways, but none is greater than the loss a loved one—especially the loss of a belovèd child by a parent. By allowing the Creator to speak in his threnody, this speaker asserts a healing force that will offer a tribute to his son now existing on the astral level of being.
Tenth Stanza: The Soul’s Eternity
Wilt thou uncalled interrogate Talker! the unreplying fate? Nor see the Genius of the whole Ascendant in the private soul, Beckon it when to go and come, Self-announced its hour of doom. Fair the soul’s recess and shrine, Magic-built, to last a season, Masterpiece of love benign! Fairer than expansive reason Whose omen ’tis, and sign. Wilt thou not ope this heart to know What rainbows teach and sunsets show, Verdict which accumulates From lengthened scroll of human fates, Voice of earth to earth returned, Prayers of heart that inly burned; Saying, what is excellent, As God lives, is permanent Hearts are dust, hearts’ loves remain, Heart’s love will meet thee again. Revere the Maker; fetch thine eye Up to His style, and manners of the sky. Not of adamant and gold Built He heaven stark and cold, No, but a nest of bending reeds, Flowering grass and scented weeds, Or like a traveller’s fleeting tent, Or bow above the tempest pent, Built of tears and sacred flames, And virtue reaching to its aims; Built of furtherance and pursuing, Not of spent deeds, but of doing. Silent rushes the swift Lord Through ruined systems still restored, Broad-sowing, bleak and void to bless, Plants with worlds the wilderness, Waters with tears of ancient sorrow Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow; House and tenant go to ground, Lost in God, in Godhead found.
In the concluding stanza, the speaker reveals eternal verities: “Hearts are dust, hearts’ loves remain”; that which is “Lost in God” is then found in the “Godhead.” Being aware that the soul of a loved one continues on and is living promises the grieving bereaved that they will meet again at some divinely determined future time.
Eastern Philosophical Tenets
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s tribute to his son presents a helpful approach to certain tenets of Eastern philosophical thought. Students of that philosophy can be reassured that the concepts of karma and reincarnation operate well despite an individual’s knowledge or understanding of those concepts, or professed beliefs.
Undoubtedly, those concepts gave considerable comfort to the bereaved Emerson, whose loss of his five-year-old son could have been even more painful and overwhelming without knowledge of those concepts.
The daughter pulls her mother down below The monstrous carp rises from the deep She gasps ‘neath the water’s oppressive flow
An old man watches speechless in the snow Of fog—the hooks drip blood—her fear runs steep The daughter pulls her mother down below
Carp eyeballs slip like coins his sockets glow Two windows show her soul lies buried deep She gasps ‘neath the water’s oppressive flow
Dollar bills leap like clowns in grotesque show Hammers, sickles, swastikas all do creep The daughter pulls her mother down below
“¡Sí, se puede!”—the nightmare won’t let go The mirror quakes in gold she cannot keep She gasps ‘neath the water’s oppressive flow
Dawn comes, that face she dreads—mirror does throw Her mind back to the hook’s promise to reap The daughter pulls her mother down below She gasps ‘neath the water’s oppressive flow
Bidding the “proud world” adieu, the speaker in Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Good-bye” uses his announcement to criticize certain aspects of worldliness that he has come to disdain.
Introduction and Text of “Good-Bye”
In Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Good-bye,” the speaker chides false pride and flattery of the world, as he announces his retirement from life’s vicissitudes; he plans to withdraw to his sylvan home as a hermit and contemplate the ways of God.
Good-Bye
Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home: Thou art not my friend, and I’m not thine. Long through thy weary crowds I roam; A river-ark on the ocean brine, Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam; But now, proud world! I’m going home.
Good-bye to Flattery’s fawning face; To Grandeur with his wise grimace; To upstart Wealth’s averted eye; To supple Office, low and high; To crowded halls, to court and street; To frozen hearts and hasting feet; To those who go, and those who come; Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home.
I am going to my own hearth-stone, Bosomed in yon green hills alone, — A secret nook in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; Where arches green, the livelong day, Echo the blackbird’s roundelay, And vulgar feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?
Commentary on “Good-Bye”
Announcing his retirement from worldly pursuits, the speaker engages in criticism of the various vicissitudes of the “proud world,” which he finds troubling and ultimately tiresome.
First Stanza: Leaving behind a Dreary World of Vanity and Pride
Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home: Thou art not my friend, and I’m not thine. Long through thy weary crowds I roam; A river-ark on the ocean brine, Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam; But now, proud world! I’m going home.
The speaker in Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Good-Bye” says farewell to a world of busy life, and he frames his retirement as “going home.”
This world is not a place for meditative comfort; it is not even his friend, and thus he is demonstrating that he is not a friend of the world. He has spent time for many years among these worldly crowds and finds that they make him feel weary.
The speaker likens himself to a small boat that has been tossed by the sea, as the sea tosses about its “foam.” And now he has decided to leave all that madness behind; he will no longer take part in what he deems to be a form of madness.
Thus, he has become determined to wave a simple good-bye to the “proud world.” And he is content that he will now be “going home.”
Second Stanza: Catalogue of Grievances
Good-bye to Flattery’s fawning face; To Grandeur with his wise grimace; To upstart Wealth’s averted eye; To supple Office, low and high; To crowded halls, to court and street; To frozen hearts and hasting feet; To those who go, and those who come; Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home.
In the second stanza, the speaker offers a list featuring many of his grievances with the world: he despises the flattery, labeling it “Flattery’s fawning face.” He disdains the “Grandeur with his wise grimace” and has no use for “upstart Wealth’s averted eye.”
The speaker is also content to be bidding farewell to “supple Office, low and high,” as he find obnoxious the halls of crowds where he has experienced bouts of business in both the street and the court.
He disdains the people with “frozen hearts” scurrying here and there. Therefore, he remains quite content as bids, “Good-bye, proud world!” and adds “I’m going home.”
Third Stanza: Choosing His Own Society
I am going to my own hearth-stone, Bosomed in yon green hills alone, — A secret nook in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; Where arches green, the livelong day, Echo the blackbird’s roundelay, And vulgar feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
The speaker employs the two last stanzas to specify and describe the opposite atmosphere, the location to which he is thankfully returning, the place where he makes his home.
He proclaims that he is withdrawing himself out of the busy, cumbersome crowds and will retire to his silvan home in the “green hills.” He will enjoy his own fireplace in his rustic setting that is far from the hustle and bustle of worldly life.
Fortunately, the speaker is already in possession of a sylvan nook that serves as his retreat. He can then easily withdraw from the laboring and toiling world that he has come to disdain. He goes on to dramatize his home as a secluded place, made pleasant by groves where “fairies” dance and frolic.
The joyful speaker then reveals his home to be a place that sounds somewhat other-worldly.
He thinks of it as paradise that seems not even to be a part of the world from which he is retiring. In this home is where nature is perpetually alive and flowing; it is where birds continually sing their merry tunes. “Vulgar feet” have not desecrated this holy ground.
He deems his home to be a place that is so splendid and unspoiled that it may be considered to remain as “sacred to thought and God.”
Fourth Stanza: A Place Where Divinity Infuses Nature
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?
In the final stanza, the speaker employs an even more spiritual tone, as he again remonstrates and adds his contempt for the overweening pride that was “Greece and Rome.” He levels his derision at “the lore and pride of man.” He offers his condemnation of both the “sophist schools and the learned clan.”
The speaker has revealed that he is no friend to the secular machinations of humankind’s proclivities. Instead, he finds the stars of evening to be holy.
He then closes by proposing a question in rhetorical fashion: what profits the human soul that has wallowed in superficialities, when God is discovered in simple, natural things?
He thus is concluding that the human soul finds God in natural surroundings and rest rather then being consumed in the fires of worldly activities.
They transcend flesh, your bones without a fire Pink’s deep blush stains beneath your skin’s decay Time’s grace will starve your marrow of desire
Fat-necked and dumb, you swagger and conspire Your spine bent twisted from the truth’s right stay They transcend flesh, your bones without a fire
Greed clicks your knuckles, limbs squinch up in ire Hips balloon and sway in worldly dismay Time’s grace will starve your marrow of desire
Your lies float like feathers whispering mire You seek black sand where you can stand and bray They transcend flesh, your bones without a fire
Your belly boasts its burden to the pyre Your brain sulks as old hungers try to play Time’s grace will starve your marrow of desire
You try to laugh but just grow thick and tire Your dreary ear turns heaven’s chimes away They transcend flesh, your bones without a fire Time’s grace will starve your marrow of desire
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s short poem “Days” has been the target of much critical attention, which focuses on the ambiguity in the employment of the term “hypocritic.”
Introduction and Text of “Days”
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Days” displays eleven lines, an American Innovative Near-Sonnet. Near-Sonnets, also known as “curtal sonnet,” as coined by Father Gerard Manley Hopkins, allow for more intensity than the traditional sonnet, as they continue to reveal the beauty of the traditional form.
Emerson’s “Days” has garnered its share of ink from critics and scholars, who opine about the use of the term “hypocritic” in the first line “Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days.”
Some argue that the term be thought of as “deceivers” while others assert that hypocritic interprets as”actors.” The extended literary device in the poem is personification; therefore, both “actors” and “deceivers” work meaningfully.
Days
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
Commentary on “Days”
Emerson’s short poem features a personification of “Days,” the common label for the time period of 24 hours. His speaker wishes to castigate himself and others for wasting their time on foolishness, when they could be employing their efforts in worthy causes.
First Movement: The Days Move On
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.
The speaker is observing that the march of days looks like a long line of women, colorfully labeled “barefoot dervishes.” These colorful ladies are “marching single” endlessly as they bring various items and events to the humans, experiencing their allotment of time.
The speaker asserts that what the “Daughters of Time” fetch each individual depends upon the human mind that becomes a receiving container. For some, the daughters bring precious stones but to others they bring only bundles of sticks.
Second Movement: Various Gifts
To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
Time brings to each individual heart and mind only that which it needs or perhaps anticipates. The “sky,” meanwhile, holds all that exists, as each day fetches those various “gifts” to mankind.
Third Movement: Confusion of Guilt
I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples
The speaker confesses that he too had merely been watching the passage of times/days, while not employing his allotment of time/days for the best purposes. He has permitted his garden to become entwined in vines and branches. He has become negligent of his “morning wishes.” He has also merely settled for taking a few pieces of fruit and “herbs.”
Fourth Movement: The Disdainful Day
and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
Because of the speaker’s complacent observance, the day has become a bit vexed because the speaker has not attempted to procure as much out of his valuable allotment of time/days as he should have done. The day as a “daughter of time” had thus become dismayed by the heedless human being who should have known better and thus behaved more enthusiastically.
The Use of Ambiguity
The resonating value of poetic language sometimes permits words to work with many layers of meaning. The word “hypocritic” resonates with two meanings: deceivers and actors.
The words are not opposites, and they are not mutually exclusive. Actors are essentially “deceivers” because they perform in rôles that represent persons or beings other than who the actors are. In Emerson’s “Days,” the impact of the poem depends greatly upon the experience of each reader.
A human mind has conceived of the personification of time as “daughters,” and, therefore, it is human perception that perceives the meaning of “deceiver” vs “actor.”
The poem’s speaker, offering his personal view after watching these “Daughters of Time,” has decided that these daughters are “hypocritic Days.” He thus demonstrates that he has discovered something valuable and profound from the “daughters”—these personified days.
Even though his learning experience may have lasted his entire lifetime, he is revealing that he now comprehends that each day is offering each individual human being what he needs or wants, all after “his own will.”
The speaker then reveals his understanding so that his fellow beings may benefit from his learning. He understands that those “days” serve as actors, and so he has placed them in a specific rôle as personified days, that is, “daughters.” They also behave as “barefoot dervishes,” while they march in that limitless parade.
In their rôles as actors, the daughter-days appear to play no part in hypocrisy, but then the human mind can reason that if the human being were to choose the valuable as easily as the valueless, then why did those days not influence one to move in the proper direction? Clearly, such a thought indicates that some deception might be part of the equation.
Therefore, the human mind can easily interpret the meaning of “hypocritic” to suggest that those “days” are behaving as both actor and deceiver. The human mind can perceive the actions of the “daughters of Time” and be able to decide their true identify as well as purpose of those “dervishes” who continue to march in that long parade.
As time flows by, the human mind that has become a keen observer becomes aware of itself as holding both ideas of acting and deceiving. It is obviously the human mind that has conceived of and named each action. It is, also, the human mind that has decided that it possesses the ability to share experiences, even as those deceiving “actors” continue to move on, one day at time.
The ExplicatorandESQDebate
In the November 1945 volume 4 issue 2 of The Explicator, the prestigious publication, dedicated only to short explications, the editors elucidated their reasons for interpreting the term “hypocritic” in the first line of Emerson’s “Days” as meaning “deceivers.”
Five months later, Joseph Jones, in the April 1946 issue of The Explicator, suggested that the term should be interpreted as “actors.” One year later in the April 1947 issue, Edward G. Fletcher brought the argument back to “deceivers. After almost two decades, James E. White had moved back to “actors” as he argued his ideas in the 1963 issue of the now defunct Emerson Society Quarterly.
Part of my article here Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Days” appeared in the Fall 1986 issue of The Explicator. I argued that the meaning of the term is ambiguous and can be interpreted to support both meanings —”actors” and deceivers.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson, born in Boston, overcame early poverty, later becoming a major figure in the Transcendental Movement. His essays, such as “Self-Reliance,” shaped American individualism; his lectures and activism left a lasting legacy bridging romanticism and pragmatism.
Early Life and Education
Ralph Waldo Emerson was born on May 25, 1803, in Boston, Massachusetts, into a lineage of New England clergymen. His father, William Emerson, a Unitarian minister, instilled early intellectual rigor until his death in 1811 [1]. This loss plunged the family into poverty, compelling young Emerson to cultivate resilience, a trait later evident in his philosophical writings.
Emerson’s childhood unfolded amid modest circumstances, yet his mother, Ruth Haskins Emerson, prioritized education. His formative years shaped a mind attuned to introspection and perseverance, qualities foundational to his later transcendentalist ideals.
He attended Boston Latin School, excelling in classical studies despite financial strain. At fourteen, he entered Harvard College in 1817, supporting himself through tutoring. Graduating in 1821, he ranked thirtieth in a class of fifty-nine [2], reflecting steady but unremarkable academic progress.
Following Harvard, Emerson briefly taught school, finding the rôle uninspiring. In 1825, he enrolled at Harvard Divinity School, preparing for the ministry. This trajectory mirrored familial expectations, yet foreshadowed his eventual divergence from traditional religious orthodoxy.
Health issues, including temporary blindness, delayed his studies, yet he persevered [3]. Ordained in 1829, he assumed the junior pastorate at Boston’s Second Church, beginning his initial embrace of a religious vocation. This rôle sparked an early commitment to spiritual leadership, though his intellectual evolution soon prompted a broader philosophical exploration beyond ecclesiastical confines.
Marriage, Ministry, and Transcendentalism
In September 1829, Ralph Waldo Emerson married Ellen Louisa Tucker, a union that featured a significant turning point in his life. Ellen’s death from tuberculosis in 1831 devastated him, prompting a shift from orthodox Christianity to personal revelation [4]. This period of intense grief and questioning laid the groundwork for Emerson’s future philosophical explorations.
The loss of Ellen profoundly affected Emerson, leading him to reevaluate his religious beliefs and practices. By 1832, he found himself increasingly uncomfortable with the traditional rituals of the church, particularly the administration of the Lord’s Supper. This discomfort ultimately led to his resignation from his ministerial post.
Emerson’s decision to resign signaled a break from his former religious vocation. He began to explore new intellectual and spiritual horizons, seeking answers to the existential questions that had arisen during his period of mourning. This journey of self-discovery would eventually lead him to the transcendentalist philosophy.
In 1833, Emerson embarked on a transformative journey to Europe. During this trip, he met influential thinkers such as Thomas Carlyle, whose ideas significantly impacted Emerson’s evolving philosophical outlook. These encounters played a crucial role in shaping the transcendentalist movement that would soon emerge.
Upon his return from Europe, Emerson settled in Concord, Massachusetts, in 1834 [5]. This decision to make Concord his home would prove important, as the town would become a central hub for transcendentalist thought and activity in the years to come.
In 1835, Emerson married Lydia Jackson, whom he affectionately renamed “Lidian”. This union provided him with companionship and support as he transitioned from cleric to secular thinker [6]. Emerson began lecturing publicly, refining and disseminating his philosophical ideas to a wider audience.
His first major work, Nature, published in 1836, articulated transcendentalist principles, rejecting received tradition and promoting intuitive truth, establishing him as a visionary [7]. This seminal text emphasized the interconnectedness of humanity and the natural world, positing that nature was an extension of the human mind and spirit.
The publication of Nature heralded the official birth of transcendentalism as a philosophical movement. Its ideas resonated with many intellectuals of the time, inspiring them to join Emerson in Concord and form what became known as the Transcendental Club. This group of thinkers and writers would go on to shape American literature and philosophy for generations to come.
Emerson’s transition from orthodox minister to transcendentalist leader was not without its challenges. His departure from traditional religious practices and embrace of more individualistic spiritual ideas drew criticism from some quarters. However, it also attracted a growing number of followers who were inspired by his vision of personal enlightenment and spiritual freedom.
The years following the publication of Nature saw Emerson continue to develop and refine his philosophical ideas. He delivered numerous lectures and essays, each building upon and expanding the core principles of transcendentalism. His work emphasized the importance of self-reliance, intuition, and the inherent goodness of both humanity and nature.
Emerson’s influence extended beyond philosophy into the realm of literature and social reform. His ideas inspired a generation of writers, including Henry David Thoreau and Walt Whitman, who would go on to create some of the most enduring works of American literature. Additionally, transcendentalist principles played a role in shaping various social reform movements of the 19th century, including abolitionism and women’s rights.
The period from Emerson’s first marriage to the publication of Nature represents a profound transformation in his personal life, professional career, and philosophical outlook. Through personal tragedy, spiritual questioning, and intellectual exploration, Emerson emerged as the leading voice of transcendentalism, a movement that would leave an indelible mark on American thought and culture.
His journey from orthodox minister to visionary thinker exemplifies the power of individual reflection and the pursuit of intuitive truth, core principles that would define both his life and his enduring legacy.
Literary Peak and Intellectual Influence
On August 31, 1837, Ralph Waldo Emerson delivered his seminal address, The American Scholar, at Harvard University. This speech, later hailed as America’s “intellectual Declaration of Independence” by Oliver Wendell Holmes, signaled a pivotal moment in the nation’s cultural and intellectual history.
Emerson’s oration was a clarion call for original thought [8] and a distinctly American approach to scholarship, challenging the prevailing norms of European intellectual influence.
The address, delivered to the Phi Beta Kappa Society, emphasized the importance of self-reliance and independent thinking for American scholars. Emerson urged his audience to break free from the shackles of European intellectual traditions and forge a new path uniquely suited to the American experience.
He posited that the true scholar should be “Man Thinking” rather than a mere receptacle of others’ ideas, advocating for a more active and engaged approach to intellectual pursuits.
Emerson’s speech resonated deeply with his audience, articulating a vision of American intellectual life that was both ambitious and distinctly national in character. He argued that the American scholar had a responsibility to contribute to the formation of a new cultural identity, one that reflected the values and experiences of the young nation. This call for intellectual independence [9] aligned with the broader spirit of American individualism and self-reliance that was emerging in the early 19th century.
In 1841, Emerson further developed and expanded his philosophical ideas with the publication of Essays: First Series. This collection included some of his most influential works, such as “Self-Reliance” and “Compensation.” These essays delved deeper into Emerson’s philosophy of individualism, emphasizing the importance of trusting one’s own instincts and ideas rather than conforming to societal expectations.
The essay “Self-Reliance” in particular became a cornerstone of Emerson’s philosophical legacy. In it, he expounded on the virtues of independent thinking and the dangers of conformity, famously declaring, “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” This work further cemented Emerson’s reputation as a leading intellectual figure of his time and continued to influence American thought for generations to come.
Following the success of his first essay collection, Emerson published Essays: Second Series in 1844. This volume built upon the themes explored in his earlier works, further developing his ideas on individualism, nature, and the human spirit. The continued exploration of these themes demonstrated Emerson’s commitment to developing a comprehensive philosophical framework for American intellectual life.
During this period, Emerson’s home in Concord, Massachusetts, became a hub for transcendentalist thought and activity. The philosopher’s residence served as a gathering place for like-minded thinkers and writers, fostering a vibrant intellectual community. This environment proved particularly influential for Henry David Thoreau, whom Emerson mentored and supported in his literary endeavors.
Emerson’s home also hosted other notable figures of the transcendentalist movement, including Amos Bronson Alcott [10]. These gatherings and discussions helped to shape and refine the transcendentalist philosophy, which emphasized the inherent goodness of individuals and nature, and the importance of self-reliance and intuition over established doctrines and institutions.
Throughout the 1840s, Emerson’s reputation as a public intellectual continued to grow. He embarked on a series of popular lectures covering a wide range of topics, including ethics, history, and aesthetics. These lectures drew large crowds across the country, reflecting the public’s growing appetite for intellectual discourse and Emerson’s skill as an orator.
The success of Emerson’s lecture circuit provided him with financial stability [11], allowing him to focus on his writing and philosophical pursuits. This period of financial security was crucial in enabling Emerson to continue developing and disseminating his ideas, further solidifying his influence on American intellectual life.
Emerson’s lectures and essays during this period contributed significantly to the development of a distinctly American philosophical tradition. His emphasis on self-reliance, individualism, and the relationship between human beings and nature resonated with the American public and helped to shape the nation’s cultural identity. The philosopher’s work during this time laid the foundation for what would become known as American Transcendentalism.
The period from Emerson’s The American Scholar address in 1837 through the 1840s was a time of immense intellectual productivity and influence for the philosopher. His writings and lectures during this era not only established him as a preeminent American thinker but also played a crucial role in shaping the nation’s intellectual landscape.
Emerson’s call for original thought and his philosophy of individualism continue to resonate in American culture to this day, underscoring the enduring impact of his contributions to the nation’s intellectual heritage.
Family, Activism, and Later Works
Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of America’s most influential thinkers, experienced profound personal and intellectual shifts throughout his life, shaped by tragedy, family, and an evolving socio-political landscape.
The death of his son Waldo in 1842 heralded another pivotal moment, plunging Emerson into a deeper contemplation of mortality. This loss found expression in his elegiac poem “Threnody,” a work that struggles with grief and the fragility of human existence.
At the same time, his wife Lidian and their surviving children—Ellen, Edith, and Edward—provided an anchor, tethering him [12] to the tangible joys and responsibilities of family life amid his philosophical musings. These dual forces of sorrow and domestic stability enriched his perspective, infusing his writings with both emotional depth and a grounded realism.
By the 1850s, Emerson’s intellectual journey took a decisive turn toward social activism as he embraced abolitionism with fervor. The moral outrage over slavery, particularly catalyzed by the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, spurred him to denounce the institution in works such as “The Fugitive Slave Law” (1854) [13]. In this address, he condemned the legislation that mandated the return of escaped slaves, calling it a betrayal of American ideals.
His rhetoric sharpened, reflecting a growing belief that transcendentalist principles—self-reliance, individual conscience, and the inherent goodness of humanity—demanded active resistance to systemic injustice. This period noted a shift from the abstract idealism of his earlier essays to a more engaged, pragmatic critique of society.
Emerson’s travels also played a significant rôle in broadening his worldview. His 1847-1848 tour of Britain inspired English Traits (1855), a book that offered a nuanced critique of English culture [14]. Drawing on observations from his lectures and interactions with figures like Thomas Carlyle, Emerson examined the strengths and flaws of British society—its industrial prowess, class rigidity, and intellectual traditions.
The work showcased his ability to blend personal experience with cultural analysis, revealing a mind attuned to both the universal and the particular. While admiring England’s achievements, he remained critical of its materialism and conformity, contrasting these traits with the individualism he championed.
In The Conduct of Life (1860), Emerson further refined his philosophy, adapting transcendentalism to the practical demands of everyday ethics. Published on the cusp of the Civil War, this collection of essays addressed fate, power, and wealth, urging readers to align their inner convictions with outward actions. It reflected his maturation as a thinker, one who recognized life’s complexities without abandoning his core optimism.
As the Civil War erupted, Emerson’s commitment to the Union cause deepened. Through lectures like American Civilization (1862) [15], he articulated a vision of national identity rooted in moral purpose and egalitarian promise. He saw the conflict as a crucible for testing America’s values, advocating for emancipation as both a practical and spiritual necessity [16].
Throughout these years, Emerson’s life and work embodied a dynamic interplay between personal loss, intellectual growth, and civic engagement. The death of Waldo, the influence of his family, his abolitionist turn, and his reflections on culture and ethics all converged to shape a legacy that bridged the personal and the political.
By the early 1860s, as the nation grappled with division, Emerson stood as a voice of conscience, blending transcendental ideals with a resolute call for justice. His writings from this period remain a testament to his ability to navigate life’s trials while inspiring others to do the same.
Decline, Death, and Legacy
After the conclusion of the American Civil War in 1865, Emerson experienced a gradual but noticeable decline in his physical and cognitive health. Most notably, he began to suffer from memory lapses that significantly impaired his ability to deliver public lectures, an activity that had long been central to his intellectual life and public influence. Despite these challenges, Emerson continued to contribute to the literary and philosophical discourse of his time.
His final major work, Society and Solitude (1870), reflects a revisitation of many of the core themes that had permeated his earlier writings, including individualism, nature, self-reliance, and the relationship between solitude and social engagement [17]. This collection of essays demonstrates a contemplative return to foundational ideas, suggesting both a culmination and reaffirmation of his intellectual commitments during the later stages of his career.
Emerson died of pneumonia on April 27, 1882, in his hometown of Concord, Massachusetts; he was interred in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, a site that holds symbolic significance for American literary history. His grave remains a site of pilgrimage for admirers of his work and legacy.
The influence of Emerson’s thought extended well beyond his own lifetime, exerting a profound impact on generations of American writers, thinkers, and educators. Among those deeply shaped by Emersonian philosophy were Walt Whitman and Maria Montessori. Whitman, inspired by Emerson’s call for self-expression and spiritual democracy, found in his work a model for poetic innovation and national identity.
Montessori, a leading figure in hands-on education and respect for the child’s natural development, similarly was influenced by Emersonian ideals that inform his vision of individual learning and experiential inquiry [18].
Scholarly interpretations of Emerson have frequently revolved around the tension between his idealism and his practical engagement with social and intellectual issues. While some critics emphasize the metaphysical abstraction in his transcendentalist vision, others highlight the pragmatic implications of his advocacy for individual agency and moral autonomy.
As a principal architect of American transcendentalism, Emerson’s enduring legacy lies in his unwavering call for self-trust and inner integrity. These values continue to resonate across disciplines such as education, literature, and philosophy, serving as a bridge between the romantic idealism [19] of the early nineteenth century and the emerging pragmatism of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Days” Ralph Waldo Emerson’s short poem “Days” has been the target of much critical attention, which focuses on the ambiguity in the employment of the term “hypocritic.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Good-Bye” Bidding the “proud world” adieu, the speaker in Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Good-Bye” puts forth his announcement as a critique of certain aspects of worldliness that he has come to disdain and now is happy to relinquish in favor of retiring to his paradisiacal home in a sylvan setting.
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Threnody” As a grieving father, Ralph Waldo Emerson composed his most famous poem “Threnody,” offering it as a tribute to his son Waldo, who succumbed to scarlet fever at the tender age of five.
By chance in dreams we meet upon a hill Poetry eludes us, but still we speak Fake-progressive hearts have continued to bleed at will
You would align academically but unwilling, still To fall for the claptrap rendering reason weak By chance in dreams we meet upon a hill
You see your children threatened by the shrill And vile tongues quelling freedom rough and bleak Fake-progressive hearts have continued to bleed at will
You planed over the Pacific stressed by death’s chill Saw fellow soldiers fall no future to seek By chance in dreams we meet upon a hill
You know bureaucrats cannot bend fate or still The promise that tomorrow’s minds may wreak Fake-progressive hearts have continued to bleed at will
Free souls must choose and let life its course fulfill God’s own image in humankind we do seek By chance in dreams we meet upon a hill Fake-progressive hearts have continued to bleed at will
Charles Simic’s “My Shoes” is a festering piece of doggerel, sounding like a postmodern poetry workshop assignment. We will look at the poem using the medium of that oh-so-serious poetry workshop where trivia and nonsense are certain to prevail.
Introduction and Text of “My Shoes”
Charles Simic’s piece “My Shoes” features five unriming stanzas. This nonsensical piece could be the response to a bizarre assignment in a poetry workshop such as the following:
Pick some ordinary object, perhaps one you see daily. Assign to it exclusive characteristics which only the imagination is capable of conjuring. Perform as outlandishly as you can, while staying focused on the object throughout. Choose either formal or free verse or any combination: for example, it may have rime but no regular meter or vise versa, and it may use traditional punctuation or innovative, postmodern style. Concentrate on creating a unified theme above a unifying metaphor.
It is with these instructions in mind that one might imagine the late poetaster Charles Simic concocted his piece of doggerel titled “My Shoes.” The postmodern mindset prevails in this piece. (For an overview of the central tenets of postmodernism, please see “Poetry and Politics under the Influence of Postmodernism.”)
My Shoes
Shoes, secret face of my inner life: Two gaping toothless mouths, Two partly decomposed animal skins Smelling of mice nests.
My brother and sister who died at birth Continuing their existence in you, Guiding my life Toward their incomprehensible innocence.
What use are books to me When in you it is possible to read The Gospel of my life on earth And still beyond, of things to come?
I want to proclaim the religion I have devised for your perfect humility And the strange church I am building With you as the altar.
Ascetic and maternal, you endure: Kin to oxen, to Saints, to condemned men, With your mute patience, forming The only true likeness of myself.
Commentary on “My Shoes”
Because “My Shoes” by the late poetaster Charles Simic reads like the result of a poetry workshop assignment, I have offered up some likely quips from those workshoppers who are forced to endure the drivel as they study and practice the art of poetry.
First Stanza: Choose Your Blues
Shoes, secret face of my inner life: Two gaping toothless mouths, Two partly decomposed animal skins Smelling of mice nests.
The speaker of the piece, a workshop participant, chooses to write about his shoes. He sits staring at them and then begins a conversation with them, addressing them directly, “Shoes, secret face of my inner life.”
The speaker reveals that his inner life is like “[t]wo gaping toothless mouths.” By this revelation, he implies that he recognizes two aspects of his inner self, and they both look dumbstruck.
The speaker continues to describe his shoes, which by chosen metaphor, describe his inner secret life: the shoes are made of “partly decomposed animal skins / Smelling of mice-nests.”
The leather shoes comport with the speaker’s inner self as a consumer of animal flesh, it might be inferred, and the unpleasantness asserted by the stench of “mice-nests” alerts the reader to unwholesomeness to come.
The workshoppers will find this a clever and fresh way of expressing the melancholy and dreary existence of residents of the war-torn 21st century; someone will even suggest that they are now post-postmodern and declare a new literary era for their own verse attempts, but the era’s name will have to remain undeclared for a year or two.
Second Stanza: Dead Sibling Shoes
My brother and sister who died at birth Continuing their existence in you, Guiding my life Toward their incomprehensible innocence.
In the second stanza, the speaker reports that his siblings, a brother and a sister, both “died at birth.” But oddly, those siblings are still living in the speakers/workshopper’s shoes. Absurdly, they are even directing the speaker’s life. And even more absurdly, they are leading his life to “their incomprehensible innocence.”
It is at this point that the workshop will break into pandemonium over the workability of this second stanza. How the devil can he liken his shoes to his dead brother and sister? How on earth can those dead siblings be guiding his life through his shoes, no less? And what is so “incomprehensible” about the “innocence” of infants who die at birth?
However, others will marvel at the creative genius of having shoes likened to dead siblings: shoes are kind of like brother and sister to each other, so then they could be brother and sister to the wearer. Plus shoes are your feet when you go somewhere, and when you go somewhere, that place is “innocent” until you get there.
What a treat it would be to listen in on the discussion this stanza would engender! This speaker is on a dangerous path, no doubt, but will he pull it off? And we have not even considered what the workshop leader would attribute to the conversation. The workshop leader is likely a poetaster himself, who publishes drivel in fledging, unread poetry mags.
The workshop leader may even be an entrepreneur, having started his own little poetry publishing established to offset his own inability to make into the big po-biz mags. But wait, we are getting too far from our workshop—back to the discussion.
Third Stanza: Question
What use are books to me When in you it is possible to read The Gospel of my life on earth And still beyond, of things to come?
The speaker poses a question in the third stanza: why do I need to read books when my shoes will tell me everything I need to know about myself and about everything else that I will experience in the future, even “on earth / And still beyond”?
Defending this kind of question in a poem can be done only by defending the dexterity with which it is expressed. The lines sound fresh, although esoteric; they show a progression from the material to the spiritual, yet they remain stuck in the obtuseness of the content of the question.
The workshoppers will remain obsessed with their initial reactions. Again, some will offer light-weight questions and suggestions, while others will fawn and slobber over the “amazing” creativity of the piece.
Fourth Stanza: The Shoe Religion
I want to proclaim the religion I have devised for your perfect humility And the strange church I am building With you as the altar.
These postmodern workshop participants steeped in religion bashing will have no problem with the fourth stanza. That the speaker will let his shoes be “the altar” in his self-proclaimed/created religion that will be housed in “the strange church [he] is building” will delight and tickle the fancy of all church and religion haters.
Better to worship shoes than a phantom that would control your sense pleasures and lusts with commanding guidelines for behavior. Only one or two of the workshoppers will shake their heads at this one and probably remain quiet after all the praise and gushing has subsided.
Fifth Stanza: The Shoe God
Ascetic and maternal, you endure: Kin to oxen, to Saints, to condemned men, With your mute patience, forming The only true likeness of myself.
After the noted religious conversion of the fourth stanza, the majority of the participants will hail the fifth stanza an unparalleled success. Yes, the shoes have now taken on a god-like patina, permanent because “[a]scetic and maternal.”
It is wise to note that if the shoes had been labeled “paternal,” feminist cries of sexism would have ballooned to the classroom ceiling, despite the fact that this is a man and a man’s shoes.
But the true value of the playful but completely asinine final line is that it satisfies the postmodern nihilistic psyche, while at the same time capping the mindlessness that has prevailed throughout the piece: it turns out that the man’s motherly shoes are “[t]he only true likeness of [him]self.” He is not made in the image of God; he is made in the image of his shoes.
The workshoppers have been had but will probably never know it. And they will go on to write equally dismal drivel, find it difficult to get published, and wonder why. The more adventurous of spirit will likely establish their own publishing platforms, from which they can preach to their choir.
