Shamelessly lifted from today’s Writer’s Almanac

From today’s Writer’s Almanac on NPR:

It’s the birthday of poet William Blake, born in London (1757). He started seeing visions when he was a young boy — God in the window, angels in trees. He apprenticed to an engraver, and spent his life as a little-known printmaker and poet.

In 1809, Blake opened an exhibition of his art on the first floor of his brother’s hosiery shop. He called the show “Poetical and Historical Inventions.” He left the show up for a year, but not many people attended, and not a single piece of art was sold. There was only one review of the show, by an art critic named Robert Hunt, who described Blake as an “unfortunate lunatic” in his review.

Blake died in poverty in 1827, at the age of 69. In the 30 years after publishing Songs of Innocence and of Experience, fewer than 20 copies had sold. Three years after his death, he was mentioned in a popular six-volume encyclopedia of British artists. The real breakthrough came when Alexander Gilchrist, a young admirer of Blake, set out to write his biography. Gilchrist died before it was finished, but his wife, Anne, took over the task. In 1863, Life of William Blake was published — it was subtitled Pictor Ignotus, or “unknown artist,” because Blake was so obscure. Besides telling Blake’s life story and claiming that he was not, in fact, insane, Gilchrist quoted many of Blake’s poems, and included his illustrations. The Life of William Blake was hugely popular, and for the first time, Blake was considered a major English poet.

William Blake said, “The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.”

On reading

“You find your voice not by introspection but by reading.”  – Billy Collins, from an interview with Bob Edwards that aired November 24.

I vehemently agree with this statement.  Collins was talking about how he’d found his voice as a poet, and he told Bob Edwards that navel-gazing didn’t help him find it — he had to look outside, not inside, in order to discover and hone it.  Looking outside here = both looking at the literal outside/the natural world and looking in books/becoming a reader.  Put differently: we discover our voice in the company of others, not in isolation from others.  And “others” here includes the canon of great writers as well as that neighbor across the street who retrieves the newspaper in his PJs.  (or wait, is that me?)

 

 

Doris Lessing

One of my all-time favorites died this morning at her London home.  I will never forget reading The Four-Gated City during my first research trip to London, sitting in the top floor of my room in the mice-infested B&B near Kings Cross Station and sweating it out in July.  Lessing opened my eyes in the way only she could do.

Here she is when she received the Nobel Prize in 2007.