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R. Kaminsky

Rachel Kaminsky
Simon Kövesi
Romantic Poetry
20 July 2006

“He lived, he died, he sung, in solitude” (Shelley, ​Alastor​, line 60)

Does the Romantic model of poetic creativity require solitude

or is it disabled by solitude?

Does solitude necessarily dictate that one is ultimately alone? To be alone, of course,

is to be without any other companions, but definitions, specifically adjectives, require an

understanding of the opposite or contrasting meaning. So for one to be alone, he must have

had companionship first. In the same way, solitude is the condition of being alone or

isolated, but to find solitude is to have first been a part of a group. While it is all a rather

complicated path to understanding a simple word, it is no more complicated than trying to

define the Romantic model of poetic creativity itself. The Romantic model or temperament

fights “ the very impulse of definition, favoring the indefinite and the boundless” instead

(Drabble 872). Within that indefinite and boundless state is an inability to set clear

restrictions on what constitutes poetic creativity. With this in mind, George Gordon, Lord

Byron sought and reflected a combination of socialization and solitude within their poetry

and within the writing of his poetry. And so, using Lord Byron as a model, the answer to the

question: “Does the Romantic model of poetic creativity require solitude or is it disabled by

solitude?” is simply “neither.”

Byron, as well as Percy Bysshe Shelley and other Romantic poets conveys an idea of

isolation and solitude through varying expressions of inner turmoil, yet “both [Byron and

Shelley] occupied the ideological vanguard of their period and both actively engaged in

progressive social action at political and ideological levels” (McGann 124). The highest

unifying value that all the Romantic poets share, despite their diversity, is the belief that
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poetry can change people’s lives and that only in poetry can the existence of society be

preserved. With those ideals focusing on society, it is impossible for the poetic creativity of

the time to rely only on solitude. Something written for the benefit of the people must

naturally involve the people, at least in thought, as part of the poetic process. It is both the

moments of solitude and the moments of interaction that define the Romantic poets and

impact their lives, thus their writing and creativity; and through this relationship the poets

find inspiration. For Byron, his meeting, friendship, and subsequent interaction with Shelley

inspired and influenced another level of creativity and productivity in his writing. “It was an

important moment in literary history not unlike the ​annus mirabilis​ of 1797-8 when

Wordswroth and Coleridge inspired each other to ever greater heights of poetic achievement”

(Wu 841). Within Byron’s relationship with Shelley, his dependence on the socialization

with Shelley combined with his sense of isolation from the society he once knew to further

spark his poetic creativity.

In ​Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage Canto III ​(1816), as Byron leaves England toward a

new solitude and isolation from the society he has known, he thinks of and speaks to his

daughter, Ada, within his poetry. By keeping her present in his memory and conversing with

her through his work, his solitude here is not truly one of loneliness. Her creative presence to

him is a type of mental and emotional companionship, she is his “Soul of my thought, with

whom I traverse earth,” (line 51). Again, his poetic creativity stems from the contrast

between the two states. While he has a type of solitude on the ship, albeit not pure solitude,

the content of his poem touches on his past and his relationships outside of his present state.

His poetic creativity here, in fact, comes from his loss of society rather than a seeking out of

solitude. For him, as he leaves England, “the hour’s gone by / When Albion’s lessening

shores could grieve or glad mine eye” (8-9). While heading toward a type of exile, he
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understands “Why thoughts seeks refuge in lone caves yet rife / with airy images” (43-44).

For Byron, a solitude filled with memories has a purpose and benefit which “’tis to create,

and in creating live” (46). It is not the seclusion that gives him creativity but the memories of

what was and what is lost.

When Byron brings in the poem’s hero, Harold, he again focuses on solitude. Harold

is a figure uncomfortable with the general public. “But soon he knew himself the most unfit /

Of men to herd with man, with whom he held / Little in common;” (100-103). For Harold,

traditionally representing Byron, there is a sense of disconnect from society, a feeling he

doesn’t quite belong. Thus Harold seeks out nature as a refuge in place of society. For him

“Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; / Where rolled the ocean, thereon was

his home” (109-110). All landscapes of nature “Were unto him companionship; they spak /

A mutual language, clearer than the tome / Of his land’s tongue, which he would oft forsake”

(114-116). Within society, Harold seems to have lost his very identity, for “But in Man’s

dwelling he became a thing” (127). His desire to escape and seek solitude became a frenzied

desperation “As eagerly the barred-up bird will beat / His breast and beak against his wiry

dome” (132-133), just as urgently Harold fights the social constraints around him, seeking his

freedom in isolation away from society. The search for solitude is prevalent for the character,

narrator, and author, yet it was the interaction with society that spurred the desire to get away

from it. It is more a matter of one contrasting the other than simply the influence of a single

state alone.

Once he is “Self-exiled” (136), Harold stops in his wanderings at Waterloo and

reflects on the history and horror of that great battle. So even in his chosen solitude, Harold,

through the narrator, still opens himself up to society and the people within it. He expresses

sympathy for those who fought and died and stained the earth with their blood as “How that
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red rain hath made the harvest grow” (151). He involves himself in the sense of the great loss

and the futility, seeing “Ambition’s life and labours all were vain; / He wears the shattered

links of the world’s broken chain” (161-162). Solitude may allow him to reflect upon the

events, but the level of sympathy and despair he feels and expresses can only come from an

understanding of people and, thus, an interaction with them. The narrator describes the

desperation, death, and destruction of the event in great detail, yet Byron was not actually

present when it occurred in order to then implant the knowledge in the narrator. His only

means of understanding such particulars was to be instructed by and shown around by

someone else, a historian or guide (as explained in footnote 51). The creativity here was only

achievable by first spending time in learning with and about others, not in solitude. The same

scenario is reflected at Ehrenbreitstein (stanza 58). Solitude alone would not have provided

the facts necessary to reconstruct the events, but solitude does allow reflection and

re-creation.

If it were solitude alone that Byron sought for his poetic creativity then it would make

sense that he would also find contentment there. Through the poem’s narrator and Harold’s

tale though, Byron seems to express his own restlessness when separated from society. The

narrator explains that “there is a fire / And motion of the soul which will not dwell / In its

own narrow being… “(371-373). The impatience and desire for involvement and adventure

is something that never seems to go away, “And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, /

Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire / Of aught but rest…” (375-377). Ultimate solitude,

in the end, is an isolation from humanity, society, interaction, and adventure and does not

provide contentment for Byron. “His position is always performing loneliness, isolation,

misanthropy, yet we know in ‘real’ life he was incredibly sociable, reliant on friends, etc”

(Kövesi E-mail), and that yearning for companionship carries through in his narrator’s voice.
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Of course, in true Byronic contradiction, the narrator does present the positive aspects

of seclusion as well. He recognizes the value of solitude in nature, so much so he sees “In

glens which might have made even exile dear:” (463). Harold, like Byron, finds some peace

within the separation he endures. The solitude is overwhelming “But soon in me[him] shall

loneliness renew / Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old,” (651). Alone he has time

for reflection, drawing on old memories as new inspiration and realization. So, strong is this

stimulation, he idealizes it and asks “Is it not better, then, to be alone, / And love earth only

for its earthly sake?…Is it not better thus our lives to wear / Than join the crushing crowd,

doomed to inflict or bear?” (671-672; 678-679). And in spiritual idealization he questions

“Are not the mountains, waves and skies a part / Of me and of my soul, as I of them?”

(707-708). Overtly, nature appears to be a personal sanctum and, at the same time, a caution

against society where the calm lake “…is a thing / which warns me[him] with its stillness, to

forsake / Earth’s troubled waters for a purer spring” (799-800). There is a distinct division

between the two states, and “disheartened by his world and his own inability to alter its force

or circumstances, Byron creates in his poetry a drama of disillusioned existence” (McGann

127) where he seems to both despair and covet solitude. Nature is portrayed as the supreme

model of solitude and a conduit of creativity and peace, or so it seems.

For all the beauty of the imagery and personification of nature and its impact on the

narrator (and author), there is a great bit of doubt. Instead dwelling peacefully in nature and

solitude, the speaker questions it. The lines presented are not statements of certainty but

rather questions, and questions, by definition, imply doubt rather than assurance. Thus the

beauty and perfection of the solitude is diminished. The narrator reflects that “I live not in

myself, but I become / Portion of that around me;…” (680-681) and while “High mountains

are a feeling, but the hum / of human cities torture” (682-683), both have had impacts on
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Byron and provided inspiration and poetic creativity for him.

Furthermore, the state of solitude and contemplation becomes cyclical, leading the

narrator right back to his desire for companionship. Here he sees a connection “so felt / In

solitude, where we are least alone – / A truth which through our being then doth melt / And

purifies from self:…” (842-845). So even within solitude there is a bond to others. As the

narrative voice slips more concretely back into Byron’s voice, the poem ends where it began,

with his daughter Ada and her creative presence in his solitude. While it may be true, as

Byron reflects on society that “I [he] stood / Among them, but not of them,..” (1054-1055), it

is still society that shaped him and, ultimately, led/pushed him away. For Byron, the solitude

he finds that leads him to his poetic creativity is nothing less than a “populous solitude” (948

and 949) filled with memories of people, places, and events. This final reflection recalls both

society and companionship: the family and life he left behind that is still a part of him, as

much a mean of his creative inspiration as is his solitude.

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Works Cited and Researched

Drabble, Margaret. ​The Oxford Companion to English Literature​. New York: Oxford

University Press Inc., 2000.

Kövesi, Simon. “Re: Summer Paper.” E-mail to Rachel Kaminsky. 12 July 2006.

McGann, Jerome J. ​The Romantic Ideology: A Critical Investigation​. Chicago: The

University of Chicago Press, 1983.

Stillinger, Jack. ​Multiple Authorship and the Myth of Solitary Genius​. New York: Oxford

University Press, 1991.

Wu, Duncan, ed. Romanticism, 3​rd​ Ed. Oxford, England: Blackwell Publishing, 2006.