/lit/ - Literature

>>23682659
The leading scholar Samuel Taylor Coleridge did.

>The few passages that remained obscure to me, after due efforts of thought, (as the chapter on original apperception,) and the apparent contradictions which occur, I soon found were hints and insinuations referring to ideas, which Kant either did not think it prudent to avow, or which he considered as consistently left behind in a pure analysis, not of human nature in toto, but of the speculative intellect alone. He had been in imminent danger of persecution during the reign of the late king of Prussia, that strange compound of lawless debauchery and priest-ridden superstition: and it is probable that he had little inclination, in his old age, to act over again the fortunes, and hair-breadth escapes of Wolf. The expulsion of the first among Kant’s disciples, who attempted to complete his system, from the University of Jena, with the confiscation and prohibition of the obnoxious work by the joint efforts of the courts of Saxony and Hanover, supplied experimental proof, that the venerable old man’s caution was not groundless. In spite therefore of his own declarations, I could never believe, that it was possible for him to have meant no more by his Noumenon, or Thing in itself, than his mere words express; or that in his own conception he confined the whole plastic power to the forms of the intellect, leaving for the external cause, for the materiale of our sensations, a matter without form, which is doubtless inconceivable. I entertained doubts likewise, whether, in his own mind, he even laid all the stress, which he appears to do, on the moral postulates.

Esemplastic is a qualitative adjective which the English romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge claimed to have invented. Despite its etymology from the Ancient Greek word πλάσσω for "to shape", the term was modeled on Schelling's philosophical term Ineinsbildung – the interweaving of opposites – and implies the process of an object being moulded into unity. The first recorded use of the word is in 1817 by Coleridge in his work, Biographia Literaria, in describing the esemplastic – the unifying – power of the imagination.

The Biographia Literaria was one of Coleridge's main critical studies in which he discusses the elements and process of writing. In this work, Coleridge establishes a criterion for good literature, making a distinction between the imagination and "fancy". Whereas fancy rested on the mechanical and passive operations of one's mind to accumulate and store data, imagination held a "mysterious power" to extract "hidden ideas and meaning" from such data. Thus, Coleridge argues that good literary works employ the use of the imagination and describes its power to "shape into one" and to "convey a new sense" as esemplastic. He emphasizes the necessity of creating such a term as it distinguishes the imagination as extraordinary and as "it would aid the recollection of my meaning and prevent it being confounded with the usual import of the word imagination".

Use of the word has been limited to describing mental processes and writing, such as "the esemplastic power of a great mind to simplify the difficult", or "the esemplastic power of the poetic imagination". The meaning conveyed in such a sentence is the process of someone, most likely a poet, taking images, words, and emotions from a number of realms of human endeavor and thought and unifying them all into a single work.

Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

gigakino bros 1/0

>>23433863
>>23433873
>>23433878
Samuel Taylor Coleridge had similar thoughts on Kant as well:

The few passages that remained obscure to me, after due efforts of thought, (as the chapter on original apperception,) and the apparent contradictions which occur, I soon found were hints and insinuations referring to ideas, which KANT either did not think it prudent to avow, or which he considered as consistently left behind in a pure analysis, not of human nature in toto, but of the speculative intellect alone. [...]
He had been in imminent danger of persecution during the reign of the late king of Prussia, that strange compound of lawless debauchery and priest-ridden superstition: and it is probable that he had little inclination, in his old age, to act over again the fortunes, and hair-breadth escapes of Wolf. The expulsion of the first among Kant’s disciples, who attempted to complete his system, from the University of Jena, with the confiscation and prohibition of the obnoxious work by the joint efforts of the courts of Saxony and Hanover, supplied experimental proof, that the venerable old man’s caution was not groundless. In spite therefore of his own declarations, I could never believe, that it was possible for him to have meant no more by his Noumenon, or Thing in itself, than his mere words express; or that in his own conception he confined the whole plastic power to the forms of the intellect, leaving for the external cause, for the materiale of our sensations, a matter without form, which is doubtless inconceivable. I entertained doubts likewise, whether, in his own mind, he even laid all the stress, which he appears to do, on the moral postulates.

>I am forgotn...

>mOgS yOuR fAvOuRiTe PoEt

>be me
>literally just turned 33 year old white guy
>high on coke right now
>drinking to take the edge off
>reading Coleridge because his poems are amazing
>realize that his addiction held him back
>I am being held back by my addiction

What do I do anons? My prof four years ago told me my work was comparable to John Ashbery (her writing prof) and Ted Hughes (whom she did a few retreats with), but I can't write much more because of anxiety and addiction. What do I do?

Why is poetry so.... liberating? Literally all of my problems go away whenever I read imaginative literature in general. Why is the imagination so freeing bros?

>>21882993
>why would communication with us in a form we could grasp be beyond His capacity
I never said this was beyond him. In fact, the supposition of divine anthropomorphosis is recognized by all forms of Islamic esotericism. I'm asking how does Hanbalite theology fill that vacuum. How does Hanbaliyyah make known the unknown God?
>He can't talk to us in intelligible language?
He can talk to us, but what would he be communicating? His essence is entirely ineffable; it follows from the fact of his utter uniqueness that there is absolutely no common ground between us and him, and therefore no possibility of meaningful communication (between us and the transcendent God). I'm not sure what you were trying to answer with the bee example. A bee is not by nature unknowable; even if I never saw a bee before, I can grope around my memory bank for some analogy or parallel that would allow me to understand what you mean. We can't do this with the transcendent God. My main point anyway was not primarily that language is unable to express God; it is that, for anything to have any intellectual meaning for us it has to fit the limited categories of human thought. If God deems to take some intelligible form, like a bee's face, this form can only have a meaning for us if it is limited and finite. But such a form cannot translate God's essence; the names of God necessarily limit and confine Him on this basis. And if that is so, than the transcendent God cannot be known; only the forms He takes for our particular selves can be known and understood.

>How do you want your self portrait that people will associate with you for all time?
>Juck my shit up man. Fuck it up
>Say no more

It means you're a pleb

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

kubla khan

Why do you guys think there is a prejudice towards romantic or archaic styles of writing nowadays.

>reading some coleridge
who else is knowing this based vibe

How do I get into English poetry?

*blocks your path*

Who is the closest the Anglos got to Goethe? Would it be Coleridge or somebody like Byron?

Are drugs necessary to write good poetry?

How to have an enlightening opium experience like Coleridge in the 21st century?

>>17312019
Best Romantic

>>16972115
>Sup?

Evening /lit/! Long time poster and reader. Tonight I am rolling pretty hard on MDMA tonight and I wanted to make a thread to ask what movements you guys associate with? Romanticism, Victorian, Transcendentalism, Modernism, Post-Modernism, etc? What era do you connect yourself with or enjoy the most? Me? I am a Romantics guy. Love my Blake, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Wordsworth, and Keats. As well as Modernism, with my TS Eliot, Hart Crane, HD, Marianne Moore, and Ezra Pound!!

Romantic poetry appreciation thread! Coleridge is a personal favourite of mine; his poems display an amazing ear for rhythm/meter and his imagery can be out of this world at times. I kind of identify with how he often felt like a failure in the realm of poetry.

Kubla Khan
BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Best Romantic poet and critic. Prove me wrong.