Poems and Ballads and Atalanta in Calydon

The media could not be loaded. The editor of this Penguin Classics selection of Swinburne's poetry, Kenneth Hayes, writes of "Dolores" that she is Swinburne's anti-Madonna" and that in the poem his "paganism is tinged with his own interest in sadomasochism."One can well see why High-Victorian heads were turned when poems like this one were published,and Swinburne was accused of blasphemy etc. as the publishers were forced to withdraw his "Poems and Ballads" for a time.To read Swinburne is to luxuriate in the English language, and whilst one detects the influences of Shelley, Baudelaire et al and his own immersion in the Classical Greek tragedians, his verse-style is certainly his own and non other's. I couldn't imagine anyone familiar with even one or two of his poems opening this book at any page and not recognising, in the rich musicality and facility with the depths of language, Swinburne's hallmarks.My reading of a part of the poem - necessitated, alas, by Amazon's restrictions on video size - does not, of course do Swinburne justice, but my hope is that this small fragment will whet the reader's appetite for a poetry uniquely rich and strange.

How strange it is that a poet who burst on the scene like a thunderbolt in the 1860s is all but forgotten today. Perhaps we have Eliot to blame: his comments on Swinburne are certainly pervasive in all latter-day criticism on the poet. Others might say that the relevance of his poetry, with its devastating and blasphemous anti-christianity, its violent portrayal of atypical and obscene sexuality, and its recurring death-wish, is tied in with the period that created them.Yet I beg to differ. Famous lines like "the supreme evil, God" and "There is no God found stronger than death and death is a sleep" may strike home more powerfully in the changing but still thoroughly Christian world of mid-nineteenth century England, but the sentiments expressed apply just as well to our times. Swinburne was, besides many other things, a poet of freedom at all costs, the heir of Blake, Shelley and the French Revolution. His tirades against Christianity are essentially tirades against oppression, against the soul's oppression of the body and the church's oppression of her followers, and as long as there are people who are not free, his voice is one to be heard.Nor is it all blasphemy with Swinburne. In fact, perhaps the most highly rated poem in this volume is "The Triumph of Time", a long lament over lost love in which Swinburne displays all his technichal virtuosity without losing out in emotional content. Memorable lines may stand out, "I have woven a veil for the weeping face / whose lips have drunken the wine of tears", "Wrecked hope and passionate pain will grow / to tender things on a spring-tide sea", but singling them out is like singling out notes in Beethoven's Ninth. Swinburne's poetry is musical in more than only the sound of his language: it is musical also in its very structure, its non-linearity and in its constant appeal to the emotions. To experience it fully, you must, at least for moment, allow yourself to be swept away by the thundering currents and roaring rapids of his angry verses, and to move with the neverending tides of his slow and mournful sea-music.The effort is well worth it indeed, and this volume is an excellent place to start.

Algernon Charles Swinburne may be one of the most famous (in his day) poets that I had never heard of. He wrote incredibly moving poetry about darkness and light, passion and despair. Individual lines stick with you."You have forgotten, O summer swallow / But the world will end when I forget."and"But for a while we live, and life has mutable wings."His poems are longer epics, out of favor in the modern age, but worth savoring.

As previous reviewers have noted so eloquently, Swinburne is sadly neglected these days. More's the pity, because his mastery of the flowing, luxuriously melodic line is astonishing, as is his ability to create vivid imagery. All the senses are engaged in his poems, so that the reader can practically feel the lines as if they were silk or satin. And all of this is so seemingly effortless, even though the technical skill required to create such work is painstaking & precise, the result of intense focus. Yet you'll come away feeling as if every line came naturally, spontaneously to Swinburne, a direct expression of his deepest feelings, thoughts & yearnings.He has the reputation as a controversial poet, rebelling against the hypocritical moral & social strictures of his time. This is true, of course, although he was more the rebel in his poetry than in his day-to-day life. But he seems equally transgressive today, for quite a different reason: when shock & ugliness have become tired clichés, when imitative edginess is passed off as genuine rebellion, then it's actual beauty that becomes truly transgressive & taboo. Not the shoddy, mass-produced kitsch of a Thomas Kinkade or Hallmark cards, mind you, which has absolutely nothing to do with beauty -- no, Swinburne offers something very real, very moving -- an overgrown garden of roses (with thorns), rather than plastic flowers churned out by a factory.For those who wish to lose themselves within a world of exquisite beauty -- one that's no stranger to grief or sorrow, either -- you can do no better than this very rich volume. Most highly recommended!

The Kindle edition does not allow highlighting and the text does not reflow when changing fonts, meaning that it is impossible to actually read the lines without pre-designed line breaks that might be found in the print edition— so extra difficult to enjoy the rhymes and meters and other nuttiness of Swinburne. This is the first time I've had a terrible Penguin edition experience.

I must confess to have only read Swinburne in various bits that other inferior writers quote at the start of chapters in turgid novels I have long since forgotten. This book is a revelation.It is hard going in places but worth it. One is left in awe of the complexity of thought and language and the deft musical touch with which he handles complex and extraordinary rhyme schemes and metres.I suspect these poems are best when read aloud but I have neither the voice nor the art to do it and it is a style so unfashionable it would tax most inexperienced actors and readers to manage it straight without resorting in some way to parody.Since I have only had it for a few weeks I have still got the long poems to do. A really intense read if you like to live on the edge.