Elizabeth

by Chris Leahy

Greetings, Elizabeth.

It has been far too many years since I have come in contact with you, and I apologize for that. It has been brought to my attention that you are falling in with the new movement, Romanticism. Needless to say, I find this concerning.

Perhaps many people today refer to me as a “stuck-up, old-fashioned English man.” One who is not “in the know” anymore, or has no idea “how to be groovy.” Such vernacular is perturbing. Do stop being such an irrational little girl. The Romantics disregard three things, and you seem to have forgotten them. They disregard the critical power of man, his cold and logical rationality, and our place in society.

In order to prove my point, take the example of Wordsworth. Perhaps you have read his work; he is a famous Romantic poet. In his work “I wandered lonely as a cloud,” he discusses daffodils and their effect upon him. He refers to the daffodils as “tossing their heads in sprightly dance” (44) and showing him “wealth.” The daffodils give him a level of happiness as they “flash upon that inward eye.” He experiences, to use the words of the Romantics, “transcendence,” and now feels of a level of happiness given by the “Power of Nature.” He certainly loves his plants.

Indeed, it is just fine to enjoy the beauty of Nature; I myself am mesmerized by the immaculate rose bushes growing as I write this letter. But those daffodils waving in the fields could be just as easily mauled over by a plow as I could cut back our roses. The point is that nature is beautiful, and everyone enjoys it. But to assume that the “Power of Nature” cannot be controlled is ludicrous. The Power of Man will always control nature. We are the strong civilization existing here on Earth, and we always will be. To assume otherwise is illogical.

Being illogical means you are lacking rationality, and Romanticism is sometimes irrational. Take the example of Wordsworth’s “Tinern Abbey.” He discusses his love with nature as he leans by a tree, overlooking the green landscape. He describes the “green, pastoral landscape, were to me more dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!” The passion in his voice is unmistakable, for he loves Nature. He also hopes his sister will in turn love Nature as much as he does, or at least “thy memory be as a dwelling-place for all sweet sounds and harmonies.” He hopes this memory will make her happy, which is perfectly reasonable, for it contains logic. But in other lines of the poem, he discusses how “Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.” Logic here, however, falters.

Is it logical to say that Nature has never betrayed those who love her? What of those children that have been swept away by hurricanes? What of those sailors who love the sea, and yet drown in later years? What of families who cower in fear as the earth shakes? It is fallacious to say that Nature never betrays its lovers, for many of its lovers are dead today. For all its love of Nature, Romanticism seems to overlook the logic and the lives of people. The Movement is variably irrational.

Not only does it disregard rationality and the existence of people, it seems to frown upon society and material gain. Might I remind you that “getting and spending” does not result in us “lay[ing] waste [to] our powers,” as Wordsworth says in one of his poems, “The World Is too Much with Us, Late and Soon.” He ignores what material gain results in. Money results in paid education, a roof over your head, and three meals a day. You do not lay waste to your power by obtaining money, but gain it. With money, you have the power to become someone in this world. You cannot be someone without education, somewhere to live, and something to eat. Instead of material gain, Wordsworth wants to be the lowest person in society.

Wordsworth discusses how he’d rather be a pagan if he can appreciate Nature. He says, “Great God! I’d rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn.” Nature is important to him, its beauty especially. He is willing to exist at the lowest class of society if it allows him to appreciate the aesthetics of Nature. “The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, the winds that will be howling at all hours” are what he cares about more than anything. He wants to be able to love Nature.

And so my mind wandered, wandered hopelessly as I attempted to comprehend why you ran away. Why you have never returned any of my letters, any of your mother’s. Why your grades dropped as fast as you dropped out of school, and lived with the Romantics. But with reading this poetry, I understood why. It was love.

It was love you had never experienced, love I had never given you that you craved. Your heart was never cherished and loved, for I was never there. I was the bureaucrat, the man pursuing his career. I was the distanced father, the one who sent you a birthday card (if I remembered), and paid for your education. I, and you, needed something more related to “amor,” to love, to the fuzzy human feeling that builds magnetically, pulsing energy through the body and into the hands of a loving individual. But I didn’t realize cards and money—material gain—do not make a connection between two people strong.

And neither does logic. Of course Wordsworth may have been wrong, and I may have been right. Nature does betray people. But it doesn’t matter. It’s the concept, the idea, the belief that if you love Nature, Nature will love you. From your point of view, that’s what matters, appreciating the aesthetics of Nature.

I always knew you loved Nature, but I never thought that I clipping the roses back would result in you running away. I never thought using the Power of Man to cut back Nature angered you.

As of now, I look at the roses, growing wildly with their petals, green vines, and thorns expanding. I pick up my scissors to clip them back, but I stop. I think of the tears running down your pink, beautiful cheeks, of how upset you would be.

I admit I dislike this new Movement, this overthrow of reason for appreciation. I don’t like Wordsworth, the Romantics, or what any of them stand for. I know you’re angry, because I was never there for you. You only heard from me through cards or when I wrote my signature on those checks. As for your belief in the Romantics, I’m willing to listen. I’m willing to build a relationship, to start where I never began.

Elizabeth, those roses can grow as wildly as you wish. I just want you home.

Sincerely,

Charles

 

 

Chris Leahy[typography font=”Droid Sans Mono” size=”9″ size_format=”px”]An Irish storyteller, Chris is an avid learner and reader. He enjoys literature of varying forms, as long as it carries meaning and a challenge for the intellect. He celebrates his culture in his writing and welcomes any intellectual pursuit, be it small or large.[/typography]

This entry was posted in 2014-edition, Prose. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply