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Poet & Poetess Biographies Master Poets & Poetesses have bestowed upon us their poetic hues, graceful talents and prolific writings. You will find their biographies and sample writings here.

Herman Melville (American Novelist And Published Poet)
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Herman Melville (American Novelist And Published Poet)
Published by MsJacquiiC
05-03-2008
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Herman Melville (American Novelist And Published Poet)

Herman Melville (1819 - 1891)


Herman Melville (August 1, 1819 – September 28, 1891) an American novelist, short story writer & essayist best known for his novel The Whale (aka Moby Dick) is lesser known for his considerable volumes of poetry. He was born in New York City but moved around quite a bit. In 1835 Melville attended the Albany Classical School for a year, then moved to Pittsfield, Massachusetts to work at the farm of his uncle. It was not long however that Melville'd travel back to New York and secured his place as cabin boy on a ship bound for Liverpool, England. Upon return to New York he held various unsatisfying jobs until he next set sail on the whaling ship Acushnet in 1841. These first adventures at sea no doubt fueled the content that would later become one of the greatest novels in American history.

Melville's poetry has never been as highly critically esteemed as his fiction, yet he was a fascinating poet who turned to the art after his serious fiction failed to find the appreciation he expected. In fact - after 1857 he only wrote poetry. His eccentric verse displays the complexity of thought and verbal richness of his novels, which has led some critics to rank him just below Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson among 19th-century American poets. Melville's poetry though tended to outrun the tastes of his readers. His epic length verse-narrative Clarel, for example, is about a student's pilgrimage to the Holy Land; It was quite obscure, even in his own time. At 600 pages in length, thirty-five lines to the page, Clarel may be the longest single poem in American literature. The poem, published in 1876, had an initial printing of only 350 copies. Subsequent Melville works were privately printed and distributed among a very small circle of acquintances.

By the time of his death he had been almost completely forgotten, but his longest novel, Moby Dick -- largely considered a failure during his lifetime, and most responsible for Melville's fall from favor with the reading public -- was rediscovered in the 20th century as one of the chief literary masterpieces of both American and world literature.




 The Maldive Shark
By Herman Melville
About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw,
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril's abroad,
An asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat--
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat.



"The Maldive Shark" was originally published in John Marr and Other Sailors. Herman Melville. Privately printed, 1888.



 America
By Herman Melville
I.

Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand
I saw a Banner in gladsome air-
Starry, like Berenice's Hair-
Afloat in broadened bravery there;
With undulating long-drawn flow,
As rolled Brazilian billows go
Voluminously o'er the Line.
The Land reposed in peace below;
The children in their glee
Were folded to the exulting heart
Of young Maternity.

II.

Later, and it streamed in fight
When tempest mingled with the fray,
And over the spear-point of the shaft
I saw the ambiguous lightning play.
Valor with Valor strove, and died:
Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;
And the lorn Mother speechless stood,
Pale at the fury of her brood.

III.

Yet later, and the silk did wind
Her fair cold for;
Little availed the shining shroud,
Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm
A watcher looked upon her low, and said-
She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.
But in that sleep contortion showed
The terror of the vision there-
A silent vision unavowed,
Revealing earth's foundation bare,
And Gorgon in her hidden place.
It was a thing of fear to see
So foul a dream upon so fair a face,
And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.

IV.

But from the trance she sudden broke-
The trance, or death into promoted life;
At her feet a shivered yoke,
And in her aspect turned to heaven
No trace of passion or of strife-
A clear calm look. It spake of pain,
But such as purifies from stain-
Sharp pangs that never come again-
And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,
Power delicate, and hope grown wise,
And youth matured for age's seat-
Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.
So she, with graver air and lifted flag;
While the shadow, chased by light,
Fled along the far-brawn height,
And left her on the crag.



  excerpt from Clarel
By Herman Melville
Yes, long as children feel affright
In darkness, men shall fear a God;
And long as daisies yield delight
Shall see His footprints in the sod.
Is't ignorance? This ignorant state
Science doth but elucidate --
Deepen, enlarge. But though 'twere made
Demonstrable that God is not --
What then? It would not change this lot:
The ghost would haunt, nor could be laid.

Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate --
The harps of heaven and the dreary gongs of hell;
Science the feud can only aggravate --
No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell:
The running battle of the star and clod
Shall run for ever -- if there be no God.

But through such strange illusions have they passed
Who in life's pilgrimage have baffled striven --
Even death may prove unreal at the last,
And stoics be astounded into heaven.

Then keep thy heart, though yet but ill-resigned --
Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind;
That like the crocus budding through the snow --
That like a swimmer rising from the deep --
That like a burning secret which doth go
Even from the bosom that would hoard and keep;
Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming sea,
And prove that death but routs life into victory.



The reviews were for the most part scathing - but there's an interesting clash of opinion between the American thought and the English one:

We are by no means in a captious, or a dissenting, or even a fastidious mood, but we cannot praise Mr. Melville's poem or pilgrimage, or poem-pilgrimage. It is sadly uninteresting. It is not even given to the gods to be dull; and Mr. Melville is not one of the gods. -- New York Galaxy, August 1876
-----------------------
-----------------------

The scenes of the pilgrimage, the varying thoughts and emotions called up by them, are carefully described, and the result is a book of very great interest, and poetry of no mean order. The form is subordinate to the matter, and a rugged inattention to niceties of rhyme and meter here and there seems rather deliberate than careless. In this, in the musical verse where the writer chooses to be musical, in the subtle blending of old and new thought, in the unexpected turns of argument, and in the hidden connexion between things outwardly separate, Mr. Melville reminds us of A. H. Clough. He probably represents one phase of American thought as truly as Clough did one side of the Oxford of his day.... We advise our readers to study this interesting poem, which deserves more attention than we fear it is likely to gain in an age which craves for smooth, short, lyric song, and is impatient for the most part of what is philosophic or didactic. -- London Academy, August 1876



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