Walking. With those unheard are sweeter?

Posted on by Live & Learn

4:50 a.m. Late jump. Scrambling to get out before sunrise. 816 consecutive (almost) days on my daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. 816 days, like in a row.

I walk.

Cloud cover is heavy, humidity is heavier. Twilight is patchy.

I was up late last night reading Seán Hewitt’s memoir All Down Darkness Wide.  He shares an excerpt from a Keat’s Poem: ‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard / Are sweeter.’ And Hewitt continues…”And what of them.”

And what of them.

I didn’t find Keats, or poetry, until late in life. And like the toddler scrambling to catch his parent who lurches ahead, I’m still playing catch-up.  I thought I understood the lines, but lacked confidence to say, yep, that’s right, you got it DK.  So, I shut down my Kindle, and googled the lines for an interpretation by Meursault to validate my understanding:

This line from “Ode on a Grecian Urn” is an example of Keats arguing that the power of thought, the imagination and anticipation is often greater than the act itself. Music and “melodies” that are imagined and anticipated are always in tune. They are played perfectly. A melody composed in the mind, cannot possibly be played badly or incorrectly. There is no possibility of error or an imperfect note. Therefore, Keats believes that imagining something brings more fulfillment and contentment than a “real” version ever could. He thinks that anticipation and expectation often outweighs the copy in the real world and that something real can only be disappointing compared to the imaginary.

I re-read the interpretation again, paused, shut down my Kindle, and fell asleep noodling the unheard.

So, back to this morning.

I walk.

…the imagination and anticipation is often greater than the act…they are played perfectly…therefore, Keats believes that imagining something brings more fulfillment and contentment that a “real” version ever could..

To my right, there’s a Great Blue Heron.  His long legs, and webbed feet slide across the ever-so-green algae.

To my left, there’s an Egret, ever-so-white as fresh snow.  Her feet in ankle-deep, cyan (?) tinted water, pausing from fishing for a moment. Go head DK, here’s my good side. I’ll wait for you to get your focus just right.

My imagination bringing more fulfillment and contentment than this?

Sorry.

That’s bullsh*t.

Notes:

  • Photos: DK @ Daybreak. 5:24 a.m. July 30, 2022. 74° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More photos from this morning here  (birds), and here (landscape)
  • Meursault (John Keats Forum, April 16, 2009)

44 thoughts on “Walking. With those unheard are sweeter?”

  2. Wow, wow and more wow! *Lucky* you (who gets up at the crack of dawn and trudges about)! All today’s photos are stunning, and your musings remind me of the depth and fascination of those I’ve imagined happening at the Algonquin Round Table.

  3. hmmmm

    If it can be imagined it can be acted.and, it can be just as glorious.
    I have an analogy but this is a public forum.

    I’m with you. That’s some bullsh*t.

      1. Poetry was always in my life, thanks to Dad and his his brothers. They recited poetry all the time.
        Isn’t magical how the perfect poem, perfect line or two, come to you at the right time?

        Or maybe it’s us, it’s a reflection of us, and it speaks to us differently at different times.
        I don’t know.
        But who ever invented poetry is God.

        1. So lucky to have that upbringing…

          In I Put a Spell on You, Simone describes the relationship between her music and her encounter with and understanding of God. 

          “How do you explain what it feels like to get on the stage and make poetry that you know sinks into the hearts and souls of people who are unable to express it? How do you talk about that? There aren’t many words, but in some way you know that tonight is a good thing. That’s God. I am very aware that I am an instrument. I have fights with God every day. . . . I’ve been given the gift of being able to play by ear, having perfect pitch . . . When you have this gift, you must give it back to the world. . . . I don’t know if I can explain any better than that what God is.”

          —  Fenton Johnson, At the Center of All Beauty: Solitude and the Creative Life (W. W. Norton & Company, March 10, 2020) 

          1. For close to 10 years now I’ve been trying to find a quote. Something along the lines of, “All the Universe is asking of you is to let it through.” Something tells me it was by Muriel Rukeyser. Still cannot find it.

            To let through us, to be a wide open channel, a wide open river. Music and poetry can always go through.
            ❤️

  6. I’m with you. This world is ineffably beautiful. Anything we can imagine is always only derived from something we have seen, or experienced.
    Plus… imperfection > perfection.

  7. Reality is not always worse than anticipation, as you found out in this case. I suppose it depends on how much you fantasize or expect.
    But on obtuse poetry, I wanted to add my two bits’ worth. I think part of the reason so many people don’t learn to love poetry is because it often needs a translator. Why can’t we have beautiful language in poems without having to wonder what it means?

      1. Relieved to hear that. I remember so many of my friends in high school saying they hate poetry. I learned to love it (later), but I remember the frustration, and I clearly remember our English teacher saying, “What do you think he means by…?” WHY should we have to guess?

  10. Oh, these are extraordinary photographs! I think some of the best you’ve taken. The light the light the light. And the colors, and the birds themselves! 😱💓

  11. Absolutely Beautiful captures DK. Both poetry and nature awaken and reveal glimpses of who we really are. Momentarily it dissolves the illusion and our ego and suffering. 🙏🏻

  15. Embrace whatever come up. It’s a different time. Embrace what we can.thank you for sharing what touched you today DK. 💛🙏🏼🎈

  16. Reminds me of a picture I saw a while back. On the left it shows a shark fin breaking through the surface of the water. The text says “horrifying”.
    Then on the right is a picture of the glassy surface of Still water. The caption says “more horrifying”.
    Or that great Kafka quote about the sirens having a weapon more deadly than their song.
    Namely, their silence.

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