Reading The Eve of St.Agnes: The Multiples of Complex Literary Transaction

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Oxford University Press, 1999 M10 14 - 200 páginas
Using the 180-year history of Keats'sEve of St. Agnes as a basis for theorizing about the reading process, Stillinger's book explores the nature and whereabouts of "meaning" in complex works. A proponent of authorial intent, Stillinger argues a theoretical compromise between author and reader, applying a theory of interpretive democracy that includes the endlessly multifarious reader's response as well as Keats's guessed-at intent. Stillinger also considers the process of constructing meaning, and posits an answer to why Keats's work is considered canonical, and why it is still being read and admired.

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Contenido

Introduction The Literary Transaction
3
The Starting Materials Texts and Circumstances
17
The Multiple Readings
35
Why There Are So Many Meanings I Complex Readership
79
Why There Are So Many Meanings II Complex Authorship
97
Conclusion Keats among the English Poets
115
Appendixes
131
Notes
155
Bibliography
167
Index
179
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Página 83 - ST. AGNES' EVE— Ah, bitter chill it was ! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold...
Página 140 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: — Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Página 128 - ... the real state of sublunary nature, which partakes of good and evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless variety of proportion and innumerable modes of combination; and expressing the course of the world, in which the loss of one is the gain of another; in which, at the same time, the reveller is hasting to his wine, and the mourner burying his friend...
Página 99 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Página 140 - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
Página 138 - I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, If one of her soft ringlets I displace, Or look with ruffian passion in her face: Good Angela, believe me by these tears; Or I will, even in a moment's space, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears.
Página 135 - All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth such things have been.
Página 143 - The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. xxxv
Página 132 - Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Página 88 - As to the poetical character itself (I mean that sort, of which, if I am anything, I am a member ; that sort distinguished from the Wordsworthian, or egotistical sublime ; which is a thing per se, and stands alone...

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