Poem analysis of Robert Browning

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Paper Name : Victorian Literature

Assignment Topic : Poem analysis of Robert Browning

Name: Solanki Pintu V

Sem : 2

Roll No : 31

Enrollment No: PG15101037

Email: solankipintu1991@gmail.com

Submitted to :

                 M.K. BHAVNAGAR UNIVERSITY

                                Department Of English

       Poem analysis of Robert Browning

v ROBERT BROWNING (1812-89)

  

         

        He was an  English poet and play write whose mastery of Dramatic verse, specially dramatic monologues , made him one of the leading Victorian Poets.  In 1846, Browning married Elizabeth Barrett, a poetess, more highly regarded than him. He became admirer of the Romantic poets, especially Shelley.

       His father  was connected with the bank of England. The future poet educated semi-privately. As a child he was talented, and began to write poetry at the age of twelve.  In 1882 Oxford conferred upon him  the degree of D.C.L.. He died in Italy, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

          Browning is possibly most famous for his use of the dramatic monologue, a poem written from the point of view of someone who has dramatic vital to argue for him or herself. This form fits Browning's interests perfectly, since it allows him to empathize with perspectives he likely did not hold himself, thereby considering myriad human perspectives, and to examine the remarkable human ability for rationalizing our behaviors and beliefs.

v Robert Browning: Poems Themes

       Many of the themes and meanings of Victorian poetry mirror a conflicted sense of self. At once many poems by Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning portray a longing for the ideals of the Romantic period in literature but they are stunted it seems by the unique period and its new use of language, the changing and ever-growing economy in the active city of London, and of course, the changing views of religion and its place in such a complex world.

      Through the poems from the Victorian era of both Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Matthew Arnold, the recurrent themes of shifting religious ideas, language usage, and the economy are clear.

v The Patriot by Robert Browning Analysis

                           

             

                     The'' Patriot'' is one of the many poems English A level will have to study. Like with many of Browning's poems, this is a dramatic monologue being that the character is talking to himself in a 'dramatic' way. The poem tells the story of somebody's completing in front of the public: for which he is being misunderstood and should not be killed. It relates very much to the fall of leaders who, like the patriot, are misunderstood and killed because of this.

          The analysis starts in the very title, 'The Patriot'. A patriot is someone who fights/works for their country. They love their country and will do anything for their country too.

       The speaker of the poem is a patriot. He thinks of his glorious past. A year ago he was given a grand welcome on his arrival to the town. People had thrown roses and myrtle in his path. The church-spires were decorated with bright flags.

       The house-roofs were full of people who wanted to have a look at him. Bells rang to announce the patriots arrival. The frenzy and madness exceeded all limits. People were even ready to catch the sun for him.

         Death is not the end of everything. The patriot hopes that since he did not receive his reward in this world, he will be rewarded in the other world.

       He feels safe in the hands of God. Thus the poem also becomes an expression of Browning’s optimistic philosophy of life. “God is in His heaven and all is well with the world.”

v Porphyria's Lover by Robert Browning

The rain set early in to-night,

      The sullen wind was soon awake,

It tore the elm-tops down for spite,

       And did its worst to vex the lake:

       I listened with heart fit to break.

When glided in Porphyria; straight

       She shut the cold out and the storm,

And kneeled and made the cheerless grate

       Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;

       Which done, she rose, and from her form

Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,

       And laid her soiled gloves by, untied

Her hat and let the damp hair fall,

       And, last, she sat down by my side

       And called me. When no voice replied,

She put my arm about her waist,

       And made her smooth white shoulder bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

       And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,

       And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,

Murmuring how she loved me — she

       Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,

To set its struggling passion free

       From pride, and vainer ties dissever,

       And give herself to me for ever.

But passion sometimes would prevail,

       Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale

       For love of her, and all in vain:

       So, she was come through wind and rain.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

       Happy and proud; at last I knew

Porphyria worshipped me; surprise

       Made my heart swell, and still it grew

       While I debated what to do.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

       Perfectly pure and good: I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

       In one long yellow string I wound

       Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her. No pain felt she;

       I am quite sure she felt no pain.

As a shut bud that holds a bee,

       I warily oped her lids: again

       Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

       About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

       I propped her head up as before,

       Only, this time my shoulder bore

Her head, which droops upon it still:

       The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

       That all it scorned at once is fled,

       And I, its love, am gained instead!

Porphyria's love: she guessed not how

       Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now,

       And all night long we have not stirred,

       And yet God has not said a word!

v Meaning of Porphyria

               You may have noticed that dictionaries define porphyria as a group of diseases characterized by sensitivity to sunlight as well as other symptoms, such as skin blisters and anemia. This information might have led you to conclude Porphyria had this disease and that the narrator murdered her to end her suffering. But such a conclusion would be wrong. Here is why. Browning wrote the poem in 1836. Porphyria was not identified and named as a disease until 1874. 

v Analysis of  Porphyria's Lover

        "Porphyria's lover" is one of the earliest dramatic mono-logues by Robert Browning in which he explores the mind of an insane male lover.  poem about a couple's relationship where the man kills the women because at she told him she loved him.

       Therefore, the man thought by killing her will let her be his forever. As the reader, we are disturbed by this poem from the madness portrayed by the man. Porphyria is the women and Porphyria's lover is the man.

     Few words in the poem make us suggest the Porphyria belongs to an upper class society "from pride and vainer ties dis-sever", she is too weak to fight for her love or admit it to the world. She is only attracted to him physically but when it comes to feeling, she would not accept him as a husband.

         She tells him that she loves him. In the past, she has been reluctant to free her passion from her pride “and give herself to me forever," the speaker says. But this night, the speaker says, she realizes that he is "pale / For love for her" (lines 28-29) and decides to brave the storm to visit him and tell him that she loves him.

     Her expression of her feelings for him makes "my heart swell" (line 34), he says. His elation grows as he considers how to respond to her.

      The power struggle between men and women seems to play a role in this poem. In a sense, Browning seems to be declaring through a sub theme that religion supports male dominance and suppression of female passion.

        I my opinion, this poem is unexpected and ironic. When you begin to read it you will never expect that this man will kill his be-loved. It was love it self that drove him to murder. At the highest point when he thinks she loves him the most, he strangles her. Why? Because in his mind.

v My Last Duchess - By Robert Browning

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps

Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace—all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

In speech—which I have not—to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—

E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretense

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

v MY LAST DUCHESS

     Robert Browning published "My Last Duchess" in 1842. Underneath the title is the name Ferrara, and the poem's sole speaker is the Duke of Ferrara, a character based in part on Alfonso II, Duke of Ferrara in sixteenth century Italy.

        Alfonso's wife died in 1561, and he used an agent to negotiate a second marriage to the niece of the Count of Tyrol.

      In this poem, the Duke of Ferrara speaks to an agent representing the count. The duke begins by referring to "My Last Duchess," his first wife, as he draws open a curtain to display a portrait of her which hangs on a wall.

    She looks "alive," and the duke attributes this to the skill of the Painter. After saying that he opens the curtain, the duke promptly begins a catalogue of complaints about the way his wife behaved.

       The duke’s pride and selfishness are also revealed. He is very proud of his family name, for, as he describes his marriage to his last duchess, he states that he gave her “My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name” (line 33).

   Yet he never once mentions love or his motivation to emerge from his own ego. Instead, he emphasizes that it is his curtain, his portrait, his name, his “commands” (line 45), and his sculpture. Tellingly, within fifty-six lines he uses seventeen first-person pronouns.

      Themes of this poem reflect on wealth, status, and pride. The Duke, though a wealthy and proud character, is not seen in a good light. Despite thinking very highly of himself, the Duke comes across to the readers as arrogant and unlikable.

      The reader also sees that money cannot buy happiness; although the Duke is wealthy, he is insecure and paranoid about his late wife’s behavior.

      In this short poem, Browning weaves a compelling tale of mystery, murder and plot which in equal parts disgusts and delights the reader. One is shocked at the cruelty and madness of the duke, yet is amazed at the beauty and majesty of the language used, which is in no way below the level of Shakespeare.

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