Today’s post has proven to be much longer than I anticipated, so I’ll spread over a few days.
Yesterday I shared a Wikipedia list of American poets from the 1800s. The inventory includes close to if not more than 800 names. I recognized only a handful. I mentioned that I’d explore a few of the poets in the coming days and report back on what I found.
I decided to start with Thomas Bailey Aldrich because that name rang a bell. I knew I knew the name Thomas Bailey Aldrich – but why?
I checked my plog (poetry blog) archive, and -- ooohhhh, yes! I know the name Thomas Bailey Aldrich because I’ve written about him before. He was the long-past editor of “The Atlantic Monthly” who wrote this about Emily Dickinson:
"An eccentric, dreamy, half-educated recluse in an out-of-the-way New England village (or anywhere else) cannot with impunity set at defiance the laws of gravitation and grammar….Miss Dickinson’s versicles have a queerness and a quaintness that have stirred a momentary curiosity in emotional bosoms. Oblivion lingers in the immediate neighborhood.”
That’s right! Aldrich is the early reviewer of Dickinson’s work who predicted “oblivion” for her.
Okay, now that I’ve unraveled that scrambled neurotransmission, I explored a bit more about Aldrich, and I read some of his poems. Are you sitting down? There were more than a few surprises!
* Aldrich wrote a semi-autobiographical novel, The Story of a Bad Boy (1870) – with "Tom Bailey" as the juvenile hero – which established the "bad boy's book" subgenre in nineteenth-century American literature. One site on Aldrich even said, “It lay the groundwork for…Mark Twain's ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.’”
* Can this factoid be true? I’ll look into this later, but Mark Twain, a friend of Aldrich, allegedly wrote of Aldrich’s wife, Lillian Woodman, “Lord, I loathe that woman so! She is an idiot—an absolute idiot—and does not know it ... and her husband, the sincerest man that walks ... tied for life to this vacant hellion, this clothes-rack, this twaddling, blethering, driveling blatherskite!"
* In a letter referencing contemporary poet James Whitcomb Riley, who wrote the poem “Little Orphant (sic) Annie,” Aldrich wrote, "The English language is too sacred a thing to be mutilated and vulgarized.”
In addition to reading about Aldrich, I sampled some of his poetry, and it was very much what I expected – frilly, formal, flowery, old-fashioned frippery. It’s not bad, per se, but – as suspected – it’s very outdated. The works I read included many sensory images, though his lines seldom explored any meaning beyond the surface of what was observable.
One poem I read, “Echo,” alludes to the myth of Apollo and Daphne (see the pic below); however, some exploration via Google thought the poem might even make reference to “modern retellings like in Bridgerton, where Daphne and Simon's marital vows are strained by broken promises and misunderstandings about intimacy and children, highlighting themes of duty versus personal desire.” Well, Aldrich’s poem was written in the late 1890s, so that likelihood is nil.
Yesterday I shared a Wikipedia list of American poets from the 1800s. The inventory includes close to if not more than 800 names. I recognized only a handful. I mentioned that I’d explore a few of the poets in the coming days and report back on what I found.
I decided to start with Thomas Bailey Aldrich because that name rang a bell. I knew I knew the name Thomas Bailey Aldrich – but why?
I checked my plog (poetry blog) archive, and -- ooohhhh, yes! I know the name Thomas Bailey Aldrich because I’ve written about him before. He was the long-past editor of “The Atlantic Monthly” who wrote this about Emily Dickinson:
"An eccentric, dreamy, half-educated recluse in an out-of-the-way New England village (or anywhere else) cannot with impunity set at defiance the laws of gravitation and grammar….Miss Dickinson’s versicles have a queerness and a quaintness that have stirred a momentary curiosity in emotional bosoms. Oblivion lingers in the immediate neighborhood.”
That’s right! Aldrich is the early reviewer of Dickinson’s work who predicted “oblivion” for her.
Okay, now that I’ve unraveled that scrambled neurotransmission, I explored a bit more about Aldrich, and I read some of his poems. Are you sitting down? There were more than a few surprises!
* Aldrich wrote a semi-autobiographical novel, The Story of a Bad Boy (1870) – with "Tom Bailey" as the juvenile hero – which established the "bad boy's book" subgenre in nineteenth-century American literature. One site on Aldrich even said, “It lay the groundwork for…Mark Twain's ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.’”
* Can this factoid be true? I’ll look into this later, but Mark Twain, a friend of Aldrich, allegedly wrote of Aldrich’s wife, Lillian Woodman, “Lord, I loathe that woman so! She is an idiot—an absolute idiot—and does not know it ... and her husband, the sincerest man that walks ... tied for life to this vacant hellion, this clothes-rack, this twaddling, blethering, driveling blatherskite!"
* In a letter referencing contemporary poet James Whitcomb Riley, who wrote the poem “Little Orphant (sic) Annie,” Aldrich wrote, "The English language is too sacred a thing to be mutilated and vulgarized.”
In addition to reading about Aldrich, I sampled some of his poetry, and it was very much what I expected – frilly, formal, flowery, old-fashioned frippery. It’s not bad, per se, but – as suspected – it’s very outdated. The works I read included many sensory images, though his lines seldom explored any meaning beyond the surface of what was observable.
One poem I read, “Echo,” alludes to the myth of Apollo and Daphne (see the pic below); however, some exploration via Google thought the poem might even make reference to “modern retellings like in Bridgerton, where Daphne and Simon's marital vows are strained by broken promises and misunderstandings about intimacy and children, highlighting themes of duty versus personal desire.” Well, Aldrich’s poem was written in the late 1890s, so that likelihood is nil.
Not only does the poem center on a classic story, but Aldrich seemed bent on sounding “classic”; however, the poem now sounds archaic. Yes, it’s very quaint – with its “methinks,” and dells with bells, crystal air, secret lairs, myrtle for thy hair, whispers, whilst, and other “charmëd” words, and – are you ready for this one – the third stanza speaks of “Yestere’en.” You read that right – “Yestere’en.” Can this poem get any more moth-eaten?
| But let’s take a gander at the second line of the second stanza, “Daughter of sweet Mystery!” Ah, sweet Mystery of life. Hmm…now why does that sound so familiar? Ohhh – I know – Victor Herbert’s “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” HERE, sung by Jeanette MacDonald & Nelson Eddy. |  |
If that version doesn’t ring a bell, try this one (you won’t be disappointed), HERE.
 | More on other works by Thomas Bailey Aldrich tomorrow. Stay tuned. |
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