Robert Browning

"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?"
(Browning, pg 686, from Andrea del Sarto)

These two lines could be an anthem for all artists. All of these writers we have studied faced critics and beliefs that they could not be great, yet here we are reading their work years later. I am glad that they endeavored to reach beyond their grasps. I find a lot of Browning's life throughout Andrea del Sarto; although, that was not his norm. His words are difficult for me, but I couldn't help thinking about his life story as I read this poem. Along with his unwillingness to conform, his eccentricity kept him from the status he desired. I think the boasting painter in this work is very similar to his own character.

"...You don't understand
Nor care to understand about my art,
But you can hear at least when people speak:
And that cartoon, the second from the door
--Is the thing, Love! so such things should be--
Behold Madonna!--I am bold to say.
I can do with my pencil what I know,
What I see, what at bottom of my heart
I wish for, if I ever wish so deep--"
(pg 685)

I realize that this could be true of any artist and their work. But I like to think that something he wrote reflected him! The painter even says of the great painters, "My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here (pg 685)." The fact that Browning was so happy that he had societies named for him and that people celebrated him so much means that he thought himself worthy. I wonder if the reason that he first published anonymously was out of the fear of bad reviews. Perhaps, he was a man who always wanted the fame. I will never know. I think Mark Twain, who shared the anonymity idea, must have had some restricted insight when he said, "I can read Browning so Browning himself can understand it." Browning is still a mystery to me. I am also curious as to what his wife thought of his work as she was so gifted herself. I have to say that I do not appreciate Browning's style very much. The syntax is nerve-racking at times and I feel like I am listening to Yoda. I do commend him in his endeavors to be unique. He brings a different approach and I wish that I was able to connect to it more, but I find myself vexed by reading the "standard" for so long.

I may be weird, but I really like Porphyria's Lover for it's eccentricity. I like the way the poem raises so many questions and the hairs on the back of your neck. I probably am alone on this, but I don't think he killed her. I know, I know... See, he says that he strangled her, but then he looks at her eyes.

"I warily opened her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain"
(pg 663)

Asphyxiation causes blood to fill the eyes. I think that was what he was looking for when he opened them. I figure that they would be stained if she was dead. I guess I am just hoping that she passed out. The end made me think it again.

"And yet God has not said a word!"
(pg 663)

It is like he is expecting to be struck by lightning, or waiting for angels to come and get her. Meanwhile, nothing happens. Maybe she really is just passed out?