Dark romanticism: Dark romanticism is a literary subgenre that emerged from the Transcendental philosophical movement popular in nineteenth-century America. Works of literature that were influenced by Transcendental thought but which didn’t completely embrace the movement comprise the category. Such works are notably less optimistic than Transcendental texts about mankind, nature, and divinity.
(Wiki) While Transcendentalism influenced individual Dark Romantic authors differently, literary critics observe works of the subgenre to break from Transcendentalism’s tenets in a few key ways. Firstly, Dark Romantics are much less confident about the notion that perfection is an innate quality of mankind, as believed by Transcendentalists. Subsequently, Dark Romantics present individuals as prone to sin and self-destruction, not as inherently possessing divinity and wisdom. G.R. Thompson describes this disagreement, stating that while Transcendental thought conceived of a world in which divinity was immanent, “the Dark Romantics adapted images of anthropomorphized evil in the form of Satan, devils, ghosts . . . vampires, and ghouls.”[5] Secondly, while both groups believe that nature is a deeply spiritual force, Dark Romanticism views it in a much more sinister light than does Transcendentalism, which sees nature as a divine and universal organic mediator. For these Dark Romantics, the natural world is dark, decaying, and mysterious; when it does reveal truth to man, its revelations are evil and hellish. Finally, whereas Transcendentalists advocate social reform when appropriate, works of Dark Romanticism frequently show individuals failing in their attempts to make changes for the better. Thompson sums up the characteristics of the subgenre, writing that:Fallen man’s inability fully to comprehend haunting reminders of another, supernatural realm that yet seemed not to exist, the constant perplexity of inexplicable and vastly metaphysical phenomena, a propensity for seemingly perverse or evil moral choices that had no firm or fixed measure or rule, and a sense of nameless guilt combined with a suspicion that the external world was a delusive projection of the mind–these were major elements in the vision of man that the Dark Romantics opposed to the mainstream of Romantic thought.
Many consider Edgar Allan Poe to be the seminal dark romantic author. Much of his poetry and prose features his characteristic interest in exploring the psychology of man, including the perverse and self-destructive nature of the conscious and subconscious mind.[13] Some of Poe’s notable dark romantic works include the short stories “Ligeia” and “The Fall of the House of Usher” and poems “The Raven” and “Ulalume”.
Popular in England during the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-centuries, Gothic fiction is known for its incorporation of many conventions that are also found in Dark Romantic works. Gothic fiction originated with Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto in 1764.[7] Works of the genre commonly aim to inspire terror, including through accounts of the macabre and supernatural, haunted structures, and the search for identity; critics often note gothic fiction’s “overly melodramatic scenarios and utterly predictable plots.”[8] In general, with common elements of darkness and the supernatural, and featuring characters like maniacs and vampires, Gothic fiction is more about sheer terror than Dark Romanticism’s themes of dark mystery and skepticism regarding man. Still, the genre came to influence later Dark Romantic works, particularly some of those produced by Poe.[9]
Earlier British authors writing within the movement of Romanticism such as Lord Byron, Samuel Coleridge, Mary Shelley, and John Polidori who are frequently linked to gothic fiction are also sometimes referred to as Dark Romantics. Their tales and poems commonly feature outcasts from society, personal torment, and uncertainty as to whether the nature of man will bring him salvation or destruction.
Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober;The leaves they were crisped and sere -The leaves they were withering and sere;It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year:It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,In the misty mid region of Weir -It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Here once, through and alley Titanic,Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul -Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll -As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down YaanekIn the ultimate climes of the pole -That groan as they roll down Mount YaanekIn the realms of the boreal pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,But our thoughts they were palsied and sere -Our memories were treacherous and sere, -For we knew not the month was October,And we marked not the night of the year(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) -We noted not the dim lake of Auber(Though once we had journeyed down here) -Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn -As the star-dials hinted of morn -At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born,Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn -Astarte’s bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn.
And I said: “She is warmer than Dian;She rolls through an ether of sighs -She revels in a region of sighs:She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies,And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies -To the Lethean peace of the skies -Come up, in despite of the Lion,To shine on us with her bright eyes -Come up through the lair of the Lion,With love in her luminous eyes.”
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,Said: “Sadly this star I mistrust -Her pallor I strangely mistrust:Ah, hasten! -ah, let us not linger!Ah, fly! -let us fly! -for we must.”In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust -In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust -Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
I replied: “This is nothing but dreaming:Let us on by this tremulous light!Let us bathe in this crystalline light!Its Sybilic splendour is beaming With Hope and in Beauty tonight! -See! -it flickers up the sky through the night!Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,And be sure it will lead us aright -We safely may trust to a gleaming,That cannot but guide us aright,Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”
Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,And tempted her out of her gloom -And conquered her scruples and gloom;And we passed to the end of the vista,But were stopped by the door of a tomb -By the door of a legended tomb;And I said: “What is written, sweet sister,On the door of this legended tomb?”She replied: “Ulalume -Ulalume -‘Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere -As the leaves that were withering and sere;And I cried: “It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed -I journeyed down here! -That I brought a dread burden down here -On this night of all nights in the year,Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber -This misty mid region of Weir -Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”
-Edgar Allan Poe
“Dark romanticism is my life. It let’s the mind feel at ease even if you are speaking of horrors. It gives the world raw uncut emotion. We all know that life isn’t all about sunshine and smiles… I am able to express life, love, etc… In their worst forms.”
-Poetrii
