- Those of us who teach early nineteenth-century British literature
to undergraduates have much to ponder as we approach Keats's "Ode on
a Grecian Urn." How much should we emphasize close reading and usher
our students into the presence of the well-wrought urn, whether in a
consecrating or deconstructive spirit? How much should we take up a
variety of other contexts, such as the genres of the ode or the romantic
lyric, the reflection on romantic Hellenism, the place of Keats in a
museum-going public, the poet's reflections on the distinctiveness of
aesthetic value, or the place of the ode within his highly self-conscious
poetic career? Ideally, one should be able to invite students into the
poem as a carefully wrought artifact while also making it clear that
writing poetry that demands such close reading represents a literary
strategy of interest in its own right. To that end, in recent years
I have taught Keats in a course on the literature and culture of the
Regency period, alongside such authors as Byron, Austen, Scott, Hazlitt,
Cobbett, and Clare. By the time students read Keats, they are already
aware that the period sustained a wide array of literary practices,
each performing a specific strategy in relation to the performance of
social rank, the display of cultural capital, and the construction of
emergent reading audiences. Thus while students are drawn into Keats's
aesthetic, so congruent it seems with their own, they remain at least
dimly aware that it emanates from his specific social position as an
aspiring "cockney" poet.
- To emphasize the cultural overtones of Keats's characteristic themes,
on a day preceding our discussion of the ode I assign a portion of Colin
Campbell's The Romantic Ethic and the Spirit of Modern Consumerism.
Campbell argues that modern consumerism creates a distinctive form of
desire: the day-dream, in which one imagines a plausible future pleasure
that would arise from purchasing or consuming a particular commodity.
Such a day-dream is not satisfied by the commodity itself, which can
never quite match the imagined pleasure it is meant to bring. The consumer
thus perpetually longs for something beyond the reach of any real satisfaction.
But Campbell goes on to argue that the result is not frustration, but
rather a pleasure one takes in day-dreaming itself; the deferral of
satisfaction makes possible a hedonistic delight one takes in a purely
imagined satisfaction. Furthermore, day-dreaming alters the status of
commodities; rather than fulfilling a prior longing, "many of the cultural
products offered for sale in modern societies are in fact consumed because
they serve as aids to the construction of day-dreams" (92). Such commodities
differ little from advertising images, films, novels, or other representations;
all encourage the consumer to construct and constantly revise an "'as-if'
world" to inhabit" (93).
- Campbell's theory of consumerism provides a useful framework for our
discussion of the theme of dreaming in portions of Endymion,
the catalog of artifacts in "Sleep and Poetry," the central problems
of "The Eve of St. Agnes," the suburban setting for the odes, and Keats's
position more generally as a partially educated Londoner aspiring to
a position of literary prominence. The close match between Campbell's
argument and Keats's characteristic themes enables students to locate
Keats's poetry within a world of consumption and desire familiar to
them and to recognize the serious social concerns embedded in Keatsian
lyricism. This approach gains special force when we begin our discussion
of "The Eve of St. Agnes," whose themes take on a vivid new dimension
in light of Campbell's argument. Why do the couple never eat from the
table of dainties? Why should Madeline prefer her dream over consummation?
What exactly happens to the lovers in the key moment when Porphyro invades
her dream? Why does the poem represent its own ornate literariness in
the gorgeous aesthetic displays it describes, as if to suggest that
it resembles the ornate window before which Madeline prays? Is it to
be consumed as an object of pleasure, or simply viewed adoringly, in
its iconic splendor, transforming the reader into a ravished spectator?
What is poetry's status in a world shaped in part by the pleasure of
- Such a discussion prepares students for the "Ode on a Grecian Urn,"
where Keats takes up similar questions, apparently suggesting that unheard
music and unconsummated desire is preferable. Here he embraces what
Campbell calls day-dreaming, finding pleasure in the endless moment
of imagined satisfaction rather than in satisfaction itself. But in
that case, the urn becomes a magnificent provocation, an exemplary representation,
which takes us beyond any possible satisfaction into a virtual space
of erotic plenitude beyond the body, suspending its use value entirely
in favor of the viewer's construction of an imagined bliss.
- But the opening stanza immediately complicates this reading. The poem
suspends knowledge as well: Who are these men and gods? Where are they?
What does their depicted activity signify? The questions never find
an answer; the problem of significance is suspended as ruthlessly as
the demand for erotic satisfaction. The poem thus introduces another
thematic, at once parallel to consumer desire and distinct from it:
the suspension of particular meaning, historical reference, or mythic
import. The urn can defer satisfaction precisely because it emerges
from an aesthetic domain without specific content. It solicits, but
does not answer, our inquiries; it excites us to knowledge, but withholds
what it promises. An exemplary teacher of Negative Capability (a concept
one can hardly resist teaching in conjunction with this poem), the urn
is also the incarnation of Art, of aesthetic value determined not by
its social location but by its power to dissolve all such determinations.
- In the second and third stanzas, the poem draws attention to this
aspect of the urn by drawing attention to the frozen temporality of
its images. Here the structure of consumer desire is not only provoked
by the urn but also depicted in its own images of suspended animation:
the figures on its surface desire without consummation, much as one
listens to its soft pipes though one cannot hear them. This link between
erotic suspension and the plastic arts changes both. For one thing,
this parallel transforms the temporal stasis of the image into an allegory
of deferred satisfaction; the aesthetic category of the image begins
to represent not so much a specific aesthetic mode among others but
a form of desire that prefers anticipation to consummation. Here art
has become an allegory for daydreaming. Yet for this very reason, the
urn is not simply a commodity among others, for by waiving all answers
regarding its significance, it also waives its claim to satisfy our
desire. Rather than offering itself up for sale, only to be replaced
by another commodity, the urn interrupts the logic of economic exchange
and represents the structure of commodity desire itself, imaging Campbell's
argument, as it were, in the youth who forever draws near the goal.
It is as if the urn stands in for that absent object for which the consumer
ever seeks and which must remain absent for desire to renew itself,
and does so precisely because it empties itself out and, like the youth's
goal, remains forever out of reach. As a result, the urn pushes beyond
the logic of consumer desire: where the consumer can at least hope for
an imagined consummation from a given commodity, the urn makes that
satisfaction impossible and emphasizes the paradoxical bliss one takes
in an anticipation that is never fulfilled. The purest form of consumer
desire takes one beyond the commodity into the aesthetic artifact per
se, from exchange or consummation into Art.
- But how does Art escape the logic of the commodity? Here it is useful
to tell students that Keats was probably inspired to write this poem
after visiting the British Museum and seeing Greek artifacts there.
While the urn is an object among others, an artifact with its own material
and cultural history, it does not address the viewer in the same way
as an object in a shop window. The context of the museum suspends it
from commodity exchange, just as the immense temporal distance between
it and the viewer takes it forever outside the context of everyday use.
The passage of time—not to mention the overvaluation of all things
Greek—has consecrated this object. It seems that the artifact,
simply by enduring so long, has managed to suspend its ordinary relation
to "slow time" and has gained the power to address us on behalf of eternity
itself; it has become a sublime object, that elusive thing desiring
subjects seek but necessarily fail to grasp. Thus the poem articulates
what one might call the ideology of the museum, seeing the latter not
as a specific cultural institution but as the repository of objects
of transcendental value. As an institution, the museum separates objects
we are to regard as culturally significant from the everyday objects
outside its walls; its task is to open up a space of permanent significance,
to cut objects off from their ordinary historical location and give
them a place within a story or schema of absolute value. The poem participates
in this task in its final two stanzas, where it first emphasizes the
urn's evacuation of a presumed historical community, depicted as an
abandoned village, and then places it in that zone of eternal significance,
causing it to address the community of all the mortal generations who
can receive its message.
- The final stanza's reference to the wasting of generations brings
us back to the problem of embodiment, previously broached in the lines
on erotic consummation. The urn can embody suspended satisfaction precisely
because, as an artifact, it can endure much longer than human bodies
can. Its privilege derives from its power to suspend desire more radically
than any desiring subject can ever do. It is radically other to any
human being, any generation, any historical moment, and, as the first
stanza suggests, to any particular knowledge. Thus the notorious final
lines tell us that truth is found in whatever suspends knowledge: the
urn's message is its power to tease us out of thought. These final lines
constitute a critique and manifesto in the same gesture, showing that
the urn has no wisdom to offer and yet celebrating its austere sublimity.
The urn survives through time to tell us nothing at all, yet the absence
of any message is more enduring than any historically located insight.
The urn speaks not for a lived eternity, for a subject who has entered
into bliss, but rather for a technique of suspending temporal succession;
the eternity we find there is only one we attribute to it, one we posit
in order to countenance our own place in a sequence of dying generations.
If the urn is thus the product of an aesthetic sleight of hand, it does
not promise refuge from time except in our own power to project eternity
onto it and then hear its message reflected back into our own historical
present. In that way, Art makes eternity available to the dying generations
through their power to take pleasure in a longing whose fulfillment
- In the remaining days of our discussion of Keats, as we take up the
later odes, Lamia, The Fall of Hyperion, and "To Autumn,"
the students and I have many opportunities to complicate this reading
of the poem. I have found that even when I try to push beyond the above
reading, students remember mostly what I have outlined above, and thus
that it is better to complicate the poem retrospectively, when they
can see Keats apparently reconsidering the stance he takes there. In
recent years, students have been especially interested in rethinking
the ode once they encounter the ravaged face of Moneta or read of the
speaker's horror at having to endure the temporal stasis of the fallen
Saturn. By finding new levels to this poem in retrospect, primarily
by seeing in it anticipations of Keats's later and apparently more de-idealizing
insights, students see the ode less as a finished text than one in a
series of complex statements that approach certain themes in differing
ways. When they see how often Keats inverts the poem, opens it back
up, or plunders it, they begin to grasp it as part of the difficult
process of cultural reading that we share with him. Rather than a well-wrought
urn or an equally well-wrought deconstruction of any such figure, the
poem thus becomes an open-ended text, at once subverting and reinforcing
its hypercanonic status through the mobility of its claims.
Campbell, Colin. The Romantic Ethic
and the Spirit of Modern Consumerism. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987.