Keats, by Andrew Motion

Keats by Andrew Motion

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be [...]

  then on the shore

  Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,

 Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats, now considered one of the greatest poets to have ever lived, died of consumption in 1821. He was 25 years old. Unrecognized, unrequited, and underestimated in his lifetime, this young genius toiled away to create authentic works of art, that have been loved by many generations. However, he went to the grave without recognition. Until reading this biography I never realized just how harrowing and tragic Keats’ life really was.

I think any fan of the Romantics will feed into the myth of ‘destiny;’ the idea that such writers will leave this earth early, just by the nature of their gift, and the fevered fire in their soul. However, I always assumed that even the most lowly would get some recognition and a glimpse of posthumous fame in their lifetime. Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Byron all did, but alas not so with Keats’. Diligent studies of Shakespeare, obsessive analysis of Spenser, dreams Milton, and yet Keats was derided by the upper-crust critics: ‘Back to the shop Mr John, back to plasters, pills and ointment boxes.’ All the while, for year on end, he sickened unto death.

This is why I really wanted to like this book! However, after picking up a biography on a poet, written by a fellow poet, I was expecting something, dare I say, a bit more poetical! Motion writes with the pomposity of a 19th century schoolmaster. There is no sparkle or flair to the language and there is the rather offensive assumption that readers should be familiar with such things as: Negative Capability, Soul-making, and the Mansion of Many Apartments. Most of all though, Andrew Motion for a poet, displays a surprising lack of empathy. There is no warmth in reporting on the trials and tribulations Keats’ endured, no compassion when speaking of his final hours in Rome. Instead, dry scholarly observations abound. Admittedly the work is magisterial in terms of research, and it is one of those books, you come away from feeling suitably enriched and a little bit cleverer than you were previously. However, it is so academic, that any enjoyment or pleasure in the story of this brilliant man’s life is diminished considerably. 

Unfortunately there is not much else to say! Motion limits his insight of each poem to the standard cliches, ‘The Eve of St Agnes’ has a subliminal subtext of rape. ‘Ode to a Grecian Urn’ seeks to evoke reality but is defeated by abstraction. ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ is about life and death, and the search for synthesis, and ‘to Autumn’ is about a beautiful season but the coming loss. Worse still, in my opinion Motion, continually wants to explain Keats’ poems in their historical context. A reference here is about his brother George, a line there is about a recent corn legislation, a stanza everywhere is about classism. To me a poem should transcend all of this and be ahistorical. Keats better than anyone aimed for this and achieved this, and so to my mind, his poems should be read in a similar vein.

Overall if you are a professor of Romantic literature, an undergraduate studying your English degree, or just an eccentric who likes dull academic criticism then this book may be for you! If, on the other hand, you are like me, and you want to read about the poets, because their poetry moves you, their lives inspires you, and their legacy enthralls you, then maybe it’s not. Andrew Motion will never be able to write like fellow Romantic biographer Richard Holmes, because the latter cares more deeply and on a more emotional level about the subject. Besides that, he’s just a more engaging writer!

Keats’ was all about rich and sensuous language. Evocative and beautiful images. Transcendent and eternal themes. This is why, I find it so disheartening that Motion’s book is so boring! The Romantic’s are part of our culture and heritage, like the superstar songwriters of today, their poems are about love, life and loss. If we want to reconnect with the past, as we should, Keats’ needs a more imaginative writer than Motion to facilitate it. To paraphrase Keats ‘Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!’ and so we need a writer to really give this poet his wings.