pre-MODERN FEMINIST CONCEPTS IN THE POETRY OF BROWNING AND YEATS

pre-MODERN FEMINIST CONCEPTS IN THE POETRY OF BROWNING AND YEATS


     Although Robert Browning and William Butler Yeats come from different time periods in British literature, they share similar insight into the relationships of men and women. Browning's ways of expressing his opinion in poetry were very modern, ushering in the 20th century. His method of speaking in the guise of an adopted voice must have confused many of his readers and peers. The combination of this different method with his progressive insight into the changing roles of women make for some very interesting poetry.

     Yeats must have known of Browning's poetry as a young poet and student. As a twentieth century poet, Yeats faced less pressure to write traditionally, both in style and subject matter. While his poetry tends to be more sexually open than Browning's, it is not necessarily as radical. They were, however, both writing in periods in which women were openly mentioned as inferior, both intellectually and morally. Both poets show women to be victims, as well as compelling figures.  In comparing Yeats's and Browning's poetry side by side, we can see a common interest in the ever-changing relationships between women and men, and their roles in society.

     Browning and Yeats each identify the beauty of women as being crucial in understanding their relationship with men and society. Beauty for women is seen as being both a valuable resource and a double-edged sword. Both poets see the power a beautiful woman possesses, and they identify the potential for self-destructiveness as well as its potential to be exploited by men.

     In Yeats's poem "When You are Old," we see these paradoxical elements of beauty. The opening stanza describes a woman in her later years, slowed to a pace of restfulness, and the narrator then asks her to remember her glorious past: men who "...loved your beauty with false love or true,/ But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you/ And loved the sorrows of your changing face(l.6-8)." The narrator implies that he loved her for reasons other than her beauty, and those that loved her only for her beauty left when she aged. In the poem, now, she must content herself to think on a true love of the past. The self destructive element is seen. Loved only for a beauty of youth, she is left lonely and betrayed by her own self-mage.

     In another of Yeats's poems, "For Anne Gregory," we see a young woman who is being warned by someone who has possibly learned a bitter lesson. An experienced person offers the flattering warning that "Never shall a young man/....Love you for yourself alone/ and not your yellow hair(l.5,6)." The young, inexperienced girl questions rather humorously whether she could dye her hair so "young men in despair" could accept her for whatever inner qualities and virtues she might possess. The final stanza uses Biblical support to "prove" that "...only God, my dear/ Could love you for yourself alone/ And not for your yellow hair(l.16-18)." In using the bible to support a sexist, antiquated notion, Yeats is summoning the responsibility of society to define its own precepts. If a good Christian cannot love a beautiful girl for reasons other than her beauty, then what kind of world do we live in? The young woman of this poem is destined to be a victim of her beauty, raised to cherish her appearance, and live a life based on a fallacy and illusion.

     In "Porphyria's Lover," written by Browning almost a hundred years prior to Yeats's sad tale of his yellow haired lass, we see another woman with yellow hair that seems to be a symbol of feminine beauty. The lunatic voice in "Porphyria's Lover" is that of a domineering, vain male, who kills his lover to capture her beauty for eternity. When she comes into his room, she is sopping wet from the rain. He livens up at her arrival, but it is merely the glow of pride at having his woman home. She is seductive and appealing but he shuns her to notice her love for him. She spreads her yellow hair over him and he tells us that she is too weak to "...set its struggling passion free/ From pride, and vainer ties dissever,/ And give herself to me forever(l.l.123-5)." She is judged as vain by the man, but it is is vanity. He continues, declaring that

                                    ...happy and proud; at last I knew
                                      Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
                                      Made my heart swell, and still it grew
                                      While I debated what to do.
                                      That moment she was mine, mine, fair, and perfectly pure...(l.32-37)

     How can she be "weak, vain, full of pride," yet be "perfectly pure?" It is here evident that he is crazy. He strangles her with with her symbolic hair, preserving her beauty forever, but kills her. In domination of the woman and what she represents, the man satisfies his vanity and nothing happens to him as a result: "...all night long we have not stirred,/And yet God has not said a word(l.59,60." As in "For Anne Gregory," Christianity serves as the symbol of a society which does nothing to change the hollow ideals of aesthetic worth.

     In Browning's poem, "My Last Duchess," we see further evidence of the vain, possessive male whose appreciation of art's beauty surpasses the appreciation of his wife's allure. As the title of the poem suggests, the aristocratic duke  considers  his wife to be a possession in a line of many. Drawing aside a curtain, he shows that all remains of his wife: a memory recorded. The duke immediately begins to interpret the painting as proof of her infidelity, pointing out a blush on her cheek. He describes her as being flirtatious by saying that "She had/ A heart---how shall I say?--- too soon made glad./ too easily impressed; she liked what'er/ She looked on, and her looks went everywhere(l.20-23)."As he goes on, her innocence and love of life is evident. The duke's unfounded jealousy taints all his perceptions of her until he is convinced of her being unfaithful. He explains to his visitor that he could have questioned her, but chose not to because "...E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose/Never to stoop(l.42,43)." So he brags that he had her killed.

     As with Porphyria, this Duchess is young, sensual, and seemingly innocent. Both men are vain to the point of saturation; their egos allow a dysfunctional reasoning and they commit violent acts. At the poem's conclusion, the Duke tells the Count's representative that "...his fair daughter's self, as I avowed,/ At starting, is my object(l.53)." Not only does this phrase reveal that she is considered "a thing," he also claims her inner totality. This poem, set in the sixteenth century, does well in showing the relationship of man and wife as a sort of "taming" based on social precepts of the times. In showing what was once overt, Browning is asking readers to examine our lives in the present.

     In the poem "Women and Roses," Browning shows the power of a woman's beauty and he pursues some questions in those regards. The opening stanza asks, "which of its roses three/ Is the dearest rose to me(L. 2,3)." In the next stanza it is clear what he is doing; he refers to "women faded for ages," "women fresh and gay," and finally "beauties left unborn." Browning identifies the past, present, and future women in his life and he is examining which is most appealing in beauty.

     The third stanza refers to the past women, the "women faded." Men, or perhaps even Beauty, is represented as a bee; this past woman is described as a rose whose "...term has been reached,/ Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:/ Bees pass it unimpeached(l.13-15)." Women past their prime are ignored and shunned, passed over in favor of "fresher roses."

     The fourth stanza returns the reader to the alternating theme in the poem, that of knowing what "love" is, and it addresses the power of love. In trying to see how one may love the past as much as the future, the poet tells his memory of women that it must "stoop since I cannot climb." The next three lines express the potent feelings involved in loving and desiring:
                             
                               How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you
                               Break my heart at your feet to please you?
                               Oh, to possess and be possessed!
                               Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast! (l.19-22)

In this stanza we see the first admission of the reciprocity involved in loving. The man not only possesses the woman, but she, he; and it seems this could be a definition of love. The first line in the passage quoted above deals with the attempt to preserve the memory; as an artist or taxidermist, the person must perform conscious acts to preserve, or "fix" the remembrance. The entreaty to be equitable, however, is premised on role playing and manipulating with shows of submission.

     The fifth stanza returns to the alternating image of women in the past, present, and future. The
women of the present are again represented as a rose, and described as having a "ruby-rimmed cup," and as having a heart which is "nectar-brimmed." Thus, the present is more attractive to the bees. Indeed, the appeal is so strong that in the next stanza, the "bee" is sucked in by "the hyacinth." This outcome is quite satisfactory for the man, who enveloped in sensual bliss, wishes to "...prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure/' Girdle me for once(133,134)." But once the immediate experience is past, the memory comes into play and these women are part of the past: "But no---the old measure,/ They circle their rose on my rose tree(134,5)."

     In the seventh stanza we see mention of the "future maidens," the "beauties to come." This is pure imagination and fantasy, and is thus a "rose without thorns." In the final stanza we see the value of dream and fantasy as the poet calls for wings to cross "the cold, the clear; " the drear of and abyss of time. In saying "what is far conquers what is near," Browning is embracing a value which transcends the physical, aesthetic joy of regarding beauty. He is embracing the ethereal, eternal power of imagination, an idealization. Since the artist has ultimate control, "I will make an Eve, be the artist that begat her,/ Shaped her to his mind! Alas! in like manner/ They circle their rose on my rose tree(p.46-8)."

     In Yeats's poem "Leda and the Swan," we see a similar focus on the immediate experience, a moment of intensity that is far more lascivious than the image of a bee pollinating a flower. This poem relies on knowledge of the myth of Leda who was raped by Zeus in the form of a huge swan. As with other poems discussed in this paper, "Leda and the Swan" deals with the relationship of woman and man, and it deals with woman as victim of male aggression and domination.

     It is no coincidence that "man" is represented as God, and vice-versa, in this poem and others. Man is master, the dominant over-bearing ruler, the animal who makes its own rules and breaks them. As the supreme god, Zeus rapes throughout Greek history, knowing that it is accepted as part of divine ancient privilege. Yeats's use of Zeus is as Browning's use of the Duke; they are figures of antiquity who live by social practices now taboo and abhorrent.

     The poem begins with a "sudden blow" and is followed by a horrific image of the swan's wings "beating over the staggering girl." With her gentle, frail nape in his all-powerful beak, "...he holds her helpless breast upon his breast(l.14) This reminds one immediately of Browning's lines from "Women and Roses:" "...to possess and be possessed! heart that beats 'neath each pallid breast(l.21-22)." The similar images suggest that Yeats, like Browning, is interested in the reciprocal exchange in love and lust; they are not just interested in the male point of view.

     In the second stanza of "Leda," the poet asks "...how can body laid in that white rush,/ But feel the strange heart beating where it lies(l.7,8)." Since it does not specifically refer to Leda as "the body", we must assume he is using her as a symbol for women, as a sentient vessel. The poem goes on to describe the raping experience as "being mastered by the brute blood of the air," and it questions whether Leda "...put on his knowledge with his power/ Before the indifferent beak could let her drop(l.13,14)." Did she get anything out of it?

     It is obvious that Browning and Yeats were not satisfied with traditional roles attributed to women in their times. Throughout their poetry, we see evidence of their disdain for the ways in which men have treated women. Porphyria, the Duchess, Anne Gregory, and Leda are all portrayed as innocent victims. All but Anne Gregory have violent acts committed against them, and Anne is victim of subtle conventions of society which will not recognize her beyond her hair. Throughout these poems, religion is on the side of man. In spiritual possession, or violent bodily possession in the story of Leda, religion is symbolic of the society it serves. They were commenting on the ambivalent virtue of beauty in women: how it is simultaneously noble, perfect, and destructive. Their representations of the male-female relationship are very modern in style, content, and tone, making them outliers in how feminist concerns are represented in male dominated poetry and culture.




F.Bloodgood
Brit Lit 2
Dr O'Donnell
Univ of Kansas
   
   _______________________________

My Last Duchess 
BY ROBERT BROWNING

FERRARA

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps
Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked
Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech—which I have not—to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—
E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master’s known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43768/my-last-duchess



When You Are Old 
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43283/when-you-are-old


For Anne Gregory

"NEVER shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-coloured
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair.'
"But I can get a hair-dye
And set such colour there,
Brown, or black, or carrot,
That young men in despair
May love me for myself alone
And not my yellow hair.'
"I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."

https://allpoetry.com/For-Anne-Gregory



Porphyria's Lover
BY ROBERT BROWNING


The rain set early in to-night,
       The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
       And did its worst to vex the lake:
       I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
       She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
       Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
       Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
       And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
       And, last, she sat down by my side
       And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
       And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
       And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
       And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
       Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
       From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
       And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
       Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
       For love of her, and all in vain:
       So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
       Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
       Made my heart swell, and still it grew
       While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
       Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
       In one long yellow string I wound
       Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
       I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
       I warily oped her lids: again
       Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
       About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
       I propped her head up as before,
       Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
       The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
       That all it scorned at once is fled,
       And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
       Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
       And all night long we have not stirred,
       And yet God has not said a word!





Women And Roses by Robert Browning
I.

I dream of a red-rose tree.
And which of its roses three
Is the dearest rose to me?

II.

Round and round, like a dance of snow
In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go
Floating the women faded for ages,
Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages.
Then follow women fresh and gay,
Living and loving and loved to-day.
Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,
Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

III.

Dear rose, thy term is reached,
Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:
Bees pass it unimpeached.

IV.

Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb,
You, great shapes of the antique time!
How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you,
Break my heart at your feet to please you?
Oh, to possess and be possessed!
Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast!
Once but of love, the poesy, the passion,
Drink but once and die!---In vain, the same fashion,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

V.

Dear rose, thy joy's undimmed,
Thy cup is ruby-rimmed,
Thy cup's heart nectar-brimmed.

VI.

Deep, as drops from a statue's plinth
The bee sucked in by the hyacinth,
So will I bury me while burning,
Quench like him at a plunge my yearning,
Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips!
Fold me fast where the cincture slips,
Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure,
Girdle me for once! But no---the old measure,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

VII.

Dear rose without a thorn,
Thy bud's the babe unborn:
First streak of a new morn.

VIII.

Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear!
What is far conquers what is near.
Roses will bloom nor want beholders,
Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders.
What shall arrive with the cycle's change?
A novel grace and a beauty strange.
I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her,
Shaped her to his mind!---Alas! in like manner

They circle their rose on my rose tree.


Leda and the Swan
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS


A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
                                  Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power

Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?