John Keats was born in London, on October 29th, 1795. John was the oldest of four children. His father was an ostler (which leaves me jealous with envy) and the family was raised quite humbly. His family couldn’t afford to send John away to the nearest prestigious schools. Consequently, off John and his brother George went to board at John Clarkes school. John was only 8 at the time. It was a small school, but they had a liberal stance with advanced curriculum.
One year after boarding his new school, his father fell from a horse after coming by the school to visit. Quite traumatically, he died from a skull fracture. Much to the shock of the four children, his mother quickly remarried after only 2 months as a widow. Things must have not been quite up to Mrs. Keats standards, as she left him shortly after their wedding. She sent her sons to live with her mother, Alice in Edmonton.
Despite all the changes causing emotions to run high, John quickly grew an appetite for classics and history. Still a bit too young to process the losses and emotional holes, John struggled with angry outbursts at school. He was known to get into fights and had bouts of intemperate if something lit his match. But by the age of 13, John began settling in and focused his energy on reading, winning his first academic price in 1809. Literature became a way to explore all of the “realms of gold”, as he later wrote.
Just a year after John’s small win, his mother passed away from tuberculosis. Alice (John’s Grandma) appointed two guardians for the children. In the next few months, John left school to be an apprentice with Thomas Hammond, a surgeon and apothecary. He made his home in the attic of Thomas home until he was 17.
From 1814 John had two bequests, held for him until his 21st birthday. £800 from his grandfather and £8000 from his mother. Apparently, his legal guardians never let John know he had the money from his grandfather, though there isn’t any proof if it was intentional or not. Money was always a worry and a concern for him, as he tried with all his might to stay out of debt and remain independent. This oversight (intentional or not) contributed to much of John’s financial woes the remainder of his life.
Once completing his five-year apprenticeship, John registered as a medical student and began studying there. Within a month he was accepted as dresser, which would equate to a junior house surgeon today. He had a weighty workload and had no choice but devote to all his time into medicine. Everyone who knew John assumed he was on the path to be financially set! Alas, all that the time taken in medical training left John bitter. He had no time to write. He had not too long ago experienced the inspiration of completing a poem, “An Imitation of Spenser”, that left his heart hopeful to continue writing.
John’s brother saw the lack of flexibility in his schedule cause depression on occasion expressing, “feared that he should never be a poet, and if he was not, he would destroy himself.” In 1816, John received his apothecary’s license. He was now eligible to practice as an apothecary, physician, and surgeon…. but by the end of that very year, John spoke up and said he was committed to becoming a poet!
John did continue working at the hospital but dedicated much of his time to the study of literature. “O Solitude” was published and made its first appearance in The Examiner, during May of 1816. Five months later came the publication of Poems, the first volume of John’s verse. This wasn’t a huge hit sadly and his publishers weren’t really running around, trying to showcase it. In so many words, they weren’t intrigued…not one bit.
John switched his publishers to Taylor and Hessey in Fleet Street. These guys were ecstatic! They were introducing him to people, offering advances for new volumes and soon enough, people considered John Keats to be a poetic genius and one of England’s greatest writers! Despite the positive talk bouncing around England, John was no longer doing well financially. He decided to give up medicine entirely (oddly enough), despite the large loans he had pending. One of his brothers also found himself in a bit of predicament financially, and John offered his brother £700. Which meant that now, John couldn’t cover the interest of his debts.
John moved into his brothers place in 1817, hoping to escape the damp dwelling holes he had been occupying previously. His brother, Tom was suffering from tuberculosis and the family tried their best to help him recover. About year later, John, his other brother George and George’s wife, Georgina took venture on a walking tour of Scotland, Ireland, and the Lake District. The group navigated to Liverpool, then America. Upon his return home, John’s brother Tom was still suffering (but alive) from tuberculosis. John continued to nurse Tom, but to no avail. Tom Died in December of 1818.
John moved to newly built home called Wentworth Place that was owned by his friend. Though he had just lost his brother, his passion and desire to write didn’t fade. During 1818-1819, he wrote some of his best work. He composed five of his six great odes in April and May of that year, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”, “Ode on Indolence”, “Ode on Melancholy”, “Ode to a Nightengale”, and “Ode to Psyche”.
At this point, poor John wasn’t gaining the income he needed to truly soak into his poetic peace. He became desperate and considered his options. Take up journalism? Accept a post as a ship’s surgeon? Instead, he approached his publishers with a new book of poems. Much to John’s dismay, they were not pleased. They found his poems confusing and “unfit for ladies”.
After some tweaks and edits here and there, the final volume Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems was published in 1820. It would be recognized as one of the most eminent poetic works ever published! During this successful period of John’s life, he continued two unique friendships (of sorts). One of these was with the most beautiful and talented women John had met.
Isabella Jones was part of his close circle and though their commitment showcased a vacancy, the warmth of playful kisses and bedroom visits ran steadfast. The other was Fanny Brawne. Though it appears John truly felt a love unlike any other for Fanny, despite their lack of physical expression.
John and Fanny would read together and would seek to visit each other every day. There is no mention of these vastly different relationships overlapping. Though one can’t help but wonder if Fanny was his intended future and Isabella was his release of passion. Soon enough though, all of his desires seemed to be focused on Fanny in the end, and all letters and communication with Isabella came to a halt. John knew he had nothing to offer Fanny financially had he asked for her hand, leaving John disheartened. John wrote to Fanny, “I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks;” he wrote to her, “your loveliness, and the hour of my death”.
Yes indeed, John wrote to her. And often. On October 13th, 1819 John wrote quite the letter. “My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you … I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you.”
It was soon after that John was told he had tuberculosis and to move to a warmer climate. Doctors orders. In 1820 John moved to Rome, with doubtful wonders of when or if he’d see his beloved again. John displayed many signs of illness; severe stomach pain, coughing up blood, and enduring two lung hemorrhages. He would often cry upon waking, wishing he hadn’t. Only five months later he passed at the age of 25. His autopsy showed his lung nearly disintegrated.
Fanny mourned his loss for 6 years. John wrote her a letter once aware of his diagnosis, “I have left no immortal work behind me – nothing to make my friends proud of my memory – but I have lov’d the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remember’d.” What a shame that John passed away with a mindset of mediocre. He was anything but that!
John often spoke of negative capability in relation to being capable of uncertainties. “Mysteries, doubts with any irritable reaching after fact and reason…being content with half knowledge”, trusting in ones of heart’s perceptions. He went on to write later, “Certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty.
His treasured letters to loved ones and friends were kept, and reveal his innermost thoughts and offer insight into his views of simple beauty, magnified to immense stages. He often used such unostentatious surroundings as inspiration for his poems. John Keats heart seemed to be that of a genuine, warm, vulnerable, yet, self-doubting romantic. His poetry sailed high in the last 6 years of his life. Prior to that, he studied and fashioned his work, fine-tuning his writing with every page read. One can’t help contemplating the talent he still left that was still dawdling behind, like a distracted schoolboy unaware of the time. John needed more time. He needed to catch up.
O Solitude, John Keats
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavilion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
References:
John Keats – Wikipedia
John Keats Quotes (Author of The Complete Poems)
(goodreads.com)