My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem

With lofty periods when my verses fire him,

And then I’ll stoop from heaven to inspire him.

JOHN KEATS (1795-1821)

John Keats (31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821) was

an English Romantic poet.

He was one of the main figures of the second generation

of Romantic poets along with Lord Byron and Percy

Bysshe Shelley, despite his work only having been in

publication for four years before his death.

His reputation grew after his death, so that by the end of

the 19th century he had become one of the most beloved

of all English poets.

John Keats was born at the Moorfields place of business

on the 31st of October 1795. This date of birth is

established by the register of baptisms at St. Botolph's,

Bishopsgate: the date usually assigned, the 29th of

October, appears to be inaccurate, though Keats himself,

and others of the family, believed in it.

There were three other children of the marriage—or four if

we reckon a son who died in infancy: George, Thomas,

and lastly Fanny, born in March 1803.

John Keats was placed in the Rev. John Clarke's school at

Enfield, then in high repute, and his brothers followed him

thither.

The Enfield schoolhouse was a fine red−brick building of the

early eighteenth century, said to have been erected by a

retired West India merchant; the materials “moulded into

designs decorating the front with garlands of flowers and

pomegranates, together with heads of cherubim over two

niches in the centre of the building.”

In this commodious seat of sound learning, well cared for and

well instructed school course, John Keats remained for some

years. He came under the particular observation of the

headmaster's son, Mr. Charles Cowden Clarke, not very many

years his senior. Keats at school did not show any exceptional

talent, but he was, according to Mr. Cowden Clarke's phrase,

“a very orderly scholar,” and got easily through his tasks. In

the last eighteen months of his schooling he took a new lease

of assiduity: he read a vast deal, and would keep to his book

even during meals.

He was noticeable for beauty of face and expression,

active and energetic, intensely pugnacious, and even

quarrelsome. He was very apt to get into a fight with boys

much bigger than himself. Nor was his younger brother

George exempted: John would fight fiercely with George,

and this (if we may trust George's testimony) was always

owing to John's own unmanageable temper. The two

brothers were none the less greatly attached, both at

school and afterwards.

While still a schoolboy at Enfield, John Keats lost both his

parents. The father died on the 16th of April 1804, aged thirty

six. He had scull fracture after falling from horse. The mother

suffered from rheumatism, and later on from consumption; of

which she died in February 1810.

At the age of fifteen, before the close of 1810, John quitted

his school. He and his brothers were living with their

grandmother. He was apprenticed to Mr. Hammond, a

surgeon of some repute at Edmonton. Keats left Hammond

before the close of his apprenticeship

Surgery and literature had claimed a divided allegiance from

him, with literature finally winning his allegiance fully. When at

Edmonton with Mr. Hammond, he kept up his connection with

the Clarke family, especially with Charles Cowden Clarke. He

was perpetually borrowing books; and at last, about the

beginning of 1812 he asked for Spenser's Faery Queen. His

introduction to that book, was to prove a turning point in Keats'

development as a poet; it was to inspire Keats to write his first

poem, Imitation of Spencer. Keats walked to Enfield at least

once a week, for the purpose of talking over Spenser with

Cowden Clarke.

A fine touch of description or of imagery, or energetic

epithets such as “the sea−shouldering whale,” would light

up his face with ecstasy. His leisure had already been given

to reading and translation, including the completion of his

rendering of the Æneid. A literary craving was now at

fever−heat, and he took to writing verses as well as reading

them. Keats was making, at first through his intimacy with

Cowden Clarke, some good literary acquaintances. John

and Leigh Hunt were the centre of the circle to which Keats

was admitted. John was the publisher, and Leigh the editor,

of The Examiner.

Keats produced some of his finest poetry during the spring

and summer of 1819: Ode to Psyche, Ode on a Grecian Urn

and Ode to a Nightingale. By 1820 Keats began to show

worse signs of the disease that had plagued his family. On

the suggestion of his doctors, he left the cold airs of London

behind and moved to Italy with his friend Joseph Severn

invited by Shelley. For one year, this seemed to help his

condition, but his health finally deteriorated. He died on

February 23, 1821

Keats was in the second wave of Romanticism which

included Byron and Shelly. Politically, the movement was

inspired by the French and American revolutions and the

popular wars of independence in Poland, Spain and

Greece. The movement was against authoritarian forms of

government and the writers were republicans. Emotionally,

there was extreme expression of the self, the value of

individual experience, and the dynamic nature of the

imagination. Socially, it was in favour of democracy, liberty,

end of slavery and poverty.

Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelly and Keats

believed that a better world was possible, achievable in

reality through the power of nature. Imagination inspired by

nature could overcome or ease human suffering.

In those days Britain had transformed from agriculture to

industrial revolution and capitalist life. Working class had

been brought into existence. The ‘have - gots’ and ‘have -

nots’ were a contrast in society. Poet has to consider man as

he is, as he seems to be and as he ought to be.

John Keats poetry

These are the living pleasures of the bard:

But richer far posterity’s reward.

What does he murmur with his latest breath,

While his proud eye looks though the film of death?

“What though I leave this dull and earthly mould,

Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold

With after times. -The patriot shall feel _

My happy thoughts solemn; he will teem

With lofty periods when my verses fire him,

And then I’ll stoop from heaven to inspire him.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full sweet dreams, and health, and quiet

Breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth.

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days.

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,

Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils

With the green world they live in; and clear rills

That for themselves a cooling covert make

‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,

Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms

We have imagined for the mighty dead;

All lovely tales that we have heard or read:

An endless fountain of immortal drink,

Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.

The passion poesy, glories infinite,

Haunt us till they become a cheering light

Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast

That, whether there be shine or gloom o’ercast,

They always must be with us, or we die.

So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;

The songs of birds -the whispering of the leaves -

The voice of waters -the great bell that heaves

With solemn sound, -and thousand others more,

That distance of recognizance bereaves,

Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre - thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow.

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou sayst,

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, -that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”

Satyam Shivam Sundaram