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antoinedoinel 's review for:
Complete Poetry
by Oscar Wilde
here is a token of thought that occurred as i was reading this book.
i think that upon reaching the 20th page benchmark i was questioning why did i not look into other poems of Wilde before purchasing it and have it occupied my shelf that could be of use to any other books that i would enjoy more? of course, the primary reason is that Wilde's language, his lyricism in "Each man kills the thing he loves" is very charming, alongside with the not so morally right The Picture of Dorian Gray which i had a lot of appreciation for. the problem here is that all that work took place after the majority of these poems were written. here we come to the criticism part, for Wilde famously said that "the supreme vice is shallowness", and let us explore whether the man really have to undergo so much unnecessary turmoil to find himself on the right track.
his early poems share his usual tones of lyricism, and romanticism too. yet, the lyricism in his poems simply doesn't appeal to me. the language seems to be far too superfluously flourished, especially of his imagery, but it fails to engage me, as a reader, because it doesn't touch me in any way, there is not much of this universality which all readers can adhere to in them. i.e. there is a poem called Italia, which is like this:
"Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen
Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride
From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide!
Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen
Because rich gold in every town is seen,
And on thy sapphire-lake in tossing pride
Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride
Beneath one flag of red and white and green.
O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain!
Look southward where Rome's desecrated town
Lies mourning for her God-anointed King!
Look heaven-ward! shall God allow this thing?
Nay! but some flame-girt Raphael shall come down,
And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain."
i couldn't say how amazed i am by the fact that out of all things he could praise a country of, he chose the national flag. and for the whole of Italia and the love of it, by this poem, i couldn't care less, really.
the next aspect that is thoroughly demonstrated in his poems is that there is a lot of references to the Greek myths. i am not opposing it because it is too overly sophisticated for any common people like me to understand, or simply driven by the laziness in doing research about it (too many gods, it'd be such a disturbance for the reading experience). the point is that, in my very humble opinion, the poem can't be all about Greek myths, and how he's literally only by referring to the great Gods of Greek, his poems became all of that, and nothing else of his own. it seems to be more of this recreation of the myths or whatsoever, his narrative pieces are also painstakingly lacking, in void of the grandiosity which he very much is able to offer us, nor the beauty of language that grips your heart in a way like this line from Borges "i have bled into too many sunsets". to elaborate on this, his use of the myths very much limited the reading experience with the complexity of them, and myths alone do not give meaning to poems, unless the poet addresses it in his poems, instead of putting mythical characters that would only be the myths giving meaning to his works, and it becomes pointless, because it is lacking the relatability to the greater receivers of his work.
considering the style of most of these poems, they likely employed the 19th century poetic meter and the form as well, which is slightly old-fashioned and too rigid at points. it seems that Wilde cares more about rhyming than making his words bringing an element of truth, which somehow, as Friedrich Schiller mentioned in his On the Aesthetic Education of Man, a poet should include in his/ her work an element of truth even in the disguise of an illusion, that is to lead people, and to educate people on creating a better world. Wilde, by this definition, very much fails to be the poet that actually matters, as though he surely did have the courage to allow his works to become meaningless by putting forth his works and having written them.
thematically, most of these poems are about beauty and love, a few of it political (very slight), and some of them praising the great dead poets alongside the epic tales of a place, like Italia and Rome. some of his lines on beauty and love seem to me that they are reeking too much of the same energy as Coldplay's latter (not-so-good) lyrics about the same universal love, does. they aren't really chesesy, but so flaunting and lack of meaning. take this line as an instance:
"Sweet, there is nothing left to say
but this, that love is never lost."
is it just me or i think that actually sound like some random pop song in the 2010s have the same lyric? and it's very much the same cliche in some and maybe most of his other poems.
we cannot leave The Ballad of Reading Gaol unspoken, untouched, unattended here. it is the best poem of Wilde, because it is the one that, like some other reviews here written, has a personality of its own, that it doesn't feel like a rip-off of the 19th century romantic poets' works. the famous line of each man kills the thing he loves is very memorable, the rest is a lengthy, diary-like, observant poem about his endurance in the prison, and it seems slightly long-winded and repetitive in a way. but again, this is the best he could write, and presumably the only good one in his complete poetry collection.
overall, it is a great let down, (both ironically and unironically, i'm listening to that song of the same title by Radiohead, you know i know) and if you are looking for Wilde's ingenuity, it wasn't blossoming in his younger years- his literary flair, if you're so hell-bent on collecting all his work in a go, then you could buy it and let it wither away on your shelf, unless one day the thought of Greek mythology gave you a bit of a start that you became so eager to know about it, then this would be of some use, otherwise, it is just plain, uncreative, pretentious in a way with no significance philosophical musings or an artistic stir to add on to the beauty of language.
i think that upon reaching the 20th page benchmark i was questioning why did i not look into other poems of Wilde before purchasing it and have it occupied my shelf that could be of use to any other books that i would enjoy more? of course, the primary reason is that Wilde's language, his lyricism in "Each man kills the thing he loves" is very charming, alongside with the not so morally right The Picture of Dorian Gray which i had a lot of appreciation for. the problem here is that all that work took place after the majority of these poems were written. here we come to the criticism part, for Wilde famously said that "the supreme vice is shallowness", and let us explore whether the man really have to undergo so much unnecessary turmoil to find himself on the right track.
his early poems share his usual tones of lyricism, and romanticism too. yet, the lyricism in his poems simply doesn't appeal to me. the language seems to be far too superfluously flourished, especially of his imagery, but it fails to engage me, as a reader, because it doesn't touch me in any way, there is not much of this universality which all readers can adhere to in them. i.e. there is a poem called Italia, which is like this:
"Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen
Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride
From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide!
Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen
Because rich gold in every town is seen,
And on thy sapphire-lake in tossing pride
Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride
Beneath one flag of red and white and green.
O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain!
Look southward where Rome's desecrated town
Lies mourning for her God-anointed King!
Look heaven-ward! shall God allow this thing?
Nay! but some flame-girt Raphael shall come down,
And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain."
i couldn't say how amazed i am by the fact that out of all things he could praise a country of, he chose the national flag. and for the whole of Italia and the love of it, by this poem, i couldn't care less, really.
the next aspect that is thoroughly demonstrated in his poems is that there is a lot of references to the Greek myths. i am not opposing it because it is too overly sophisticated for any common people like me to understand, or simply driven by the laziness in doing research about it (too many gods, it'd be such a disturbance for the reading experience). the point is that, in my very humble opinion, the poem can't be all about Greek myths, and how he's literally only by referring to the great Gods of Greek, his poems became all of that, and nothing else of his own. it seems to be more of this recreation of the myths or whatsoever, his narrative pieces are also painstakingly lacking, in void of the grandiosity which he very much is able to offer us, nor the beauty of language that grips your heart in a way like this line from Borges "i have bled into too many sunsets". to elaborate on this, his use of the myths very much limited the reading experience with the complexity of them, and myths alone do not give meaning to poems, unless the poet addresses it in his poems, instead of putting mythical characters that would only be the myths giving meaning to his works, and it becomes pointless, because it is lacking the relatability to the greater receivers of his work.
considering the style of most of these poems, they likely employed the 19th century poetic meter and the form as well, which is slightly old-fashioned and too rigid at points. it seems that Wilde cares more about rhyming than making his words bringing an element of truth, which somehow, as Friedrich Schiller mentioned in his On the Aesthetic Education of Man, a poet should include in his/ her work an element of truth even in the disguise of an illusion, that is to lead people, and to educate people on creating a better world. Wilde, by this definition, very much fails to be the poet that actually matters, as though he surely did have the courage to allow his works to become meaningless by putting forth his works and having written them.
thematically, most of these poems are about beauty and love, a few of it political (very slight), and some of them praising the great dead poets alongside the epic tales of a place, like Italia and Rome. some of his lines on beauty and love seem to me that they are reeking too much of the same energy as Coldplay's latter (not-so-good) lyrics about the same universal love, does. they aren't really chesesy, but so flaunting and lack of meaning. take this line as an instance:
"Sweet, there is nothing left to say
but this, that love is never lost."
is it just me or i think that actually sound like some random pop song in the 2010s have the same lyric? and it's very much the same cliche in some and maybe most of his other poems.
we cannot leave The Ballad of Reading Gaol unspoken, untouched, unattended here. it is the best poem of Wilde, because it is the one that, like some other reviews here written, has a personality of its own, that it doesn't feel like a rip-off of the 19th century romantic poets' works. the famous line of each man kills the thing he loves is very memorable, the rest is a lengthy, diary-like, observant poem about his endurance in the prison, and it seems slightly long-winded and repetitive in a way. but again, this is the best he could write, and presumably the only good one in his complete poetry collection.
overall, it is a great let down, (both ironically and unironically, i'm listening to that song of the same title by Radiohead, you know i know) and if you are looking for Wilde's ingenuity, it wasn't blossoming in his younger years- his literary flair, if you're so hell-bent on collecting all his work in a go, then you could buy it and let it wither away on your shelf, unless one day the thought of Greek mythology gave you a bit of a start that you became so eager to know about it, then this would be of some use, otherwise, it is just plain, uncreative, pretentious in a way with no significance philosophical musings or an artistic stir to add on to the beauty of language.