“la belle dame sans merci”

“I saw pale kings and princes too,”

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

As I try to copy and paste the entire poem, this line is the only one that gets posted. I don’t notice it, so I consider inserting the most important stanza instead. Still, only this line appears as I paste. It details that the woes in La Belle Dame are ubiquitous to many types, the greats, the not so greats, the princes and the paupers. For Keats, it’s from the perspective of a knight. (Damn Romanticist.)

What is it about this poem that we think we understand, yet we are still frustrated behind a mist of ambiguity, wondering if this really is about romance exclusively?

Of course it’s not. I’ll regurgitate for you the real meaning of the poem so you can save yourself a trip to SparkNotes. The poem is actually about artistic inspiration, and the woes of the writer as he/she cannot control that inspiration. It’s especially coincidental that Keats, easily one of the greatest Romanticist poets, if not the greatest all together, only lived to be 25. 25? Imagine the world that would have been had he stuck around. Perhaps he would have completely eclipsed Donne, but it’s not a matter of what would have been. What did happen is that Keats never had to worry about losing his inspiration. He didn’t live to be old enough. That’s a generalization, since there’s no average for when an artist washes out, and many wash out well before 25.

I wonder about this sort of inspiration and if it only pertains to art, specifically, the kind created in fervor and a spree of good talent. Would Kerouac have thought of this with his kickwriting style? I’m not sure I can answer the thoughts of one who has passed away, but we must think–is it only about art, this inspiration?

I don’t view my work as an art, and perhaps there is no such thing as art, that is, in the way art is commonly perceived. The more I pursue architecture, the more I realize that its artistic component is no less logical than its technical side. A beautifully shaded Egyptian style section is more easily noticed than a brilliant structural system, but the ability to hand draft that section is somehow (usually) disconnected from the process of structural stability. Does great engineering require a sort of artistic inspiration in that case? Just like the composition of the section cut that outlines the embedded space?

Here’s a question of right and wrong, though one should never argue with a dead man (or should one?). Was Keats “right” in worrying over artistic inspiration (which I will now refer to as inspiration in general)? Should we dote on the inevitable demise of our spree, or should we focus on the task at hand, and in our shortsightedness perhaps be lost in the midst of other creations and progress? I ask questions of how to plan something that is random and even the greatest psychologists cannot definitively predict when inspiration will come and go.

I would like to think that we need to be both speculative and engrossed. The long-term and the short-term work hand in hand. What’s worked for me recently is to work, and work like there is no tomorrow. However, the long term requires a sense of process, a series of planning. One has to brand him- or herself. Find a way to do things that are successful, a method that still has room for improvement, but still has foundations malleable to progress. It is this sense of process, consistent and thoughtful in both content and execution, that can lead to a successful creator of any sorts. For example, one who engineers can focus on a type of engineering. Not only structural, but steel structures. Not only steel, but post and beam. Not only post and beam, but high-rise structures that are sustainable and open to development. When one focuses one’s concentration, that person can become entrenched in his/her work, yet still provide for that niche.

The only problem is that most people don’t have a niche, and specifically humans must have one more ingredient: patience. Patience is integral to remaining consistent as well as responsive to criticism. It’s important that our work is at least worthy of criticism–there is nothing worse than not even being worth the notion.

Inspiration, it seems, can be manufactured, and many bullshit artists would tend to disagree. Inspiration, I have found, is borne from the ego. We still have to make sure our egos are in the right place. That, however, is a discourse that requires another blog entry entirely.

And if you were wondering why I chose La Belle Dame to write this piece, it’s not only my main entry point into the discourse of creative inspiration, but it’s also (arguably) the most important poem in the English language. It is about poetry in the English language, after all.