Some time back I posted one of Thomas Traherne's finest poems, Wonder, here as well as a brief history:
Wonder
How like an angel came I down!
How bright are all things here!
When first among his works I did appear
O how their glory me did crown!
The world resembled his eternity,
In which my soul did walk;
And ev’ry thing that I did see
Did with me talk.
The skies in their magnificence,
The lively, lovely air;
Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair!
The stars did entertain my sense,
And all the works of God, so bright and pure,
So rich and great did seem,
As if they ever must endure
In my esteem.
A native health and innocence
Within my bones did grow,
And while my God did all his glories show,
I felt a vigour in my sense
That was all spirit. I within did flow
With seas of life, like wine;
I nothing in the world did know
But ’twas divine.
Harsh ragged objects were conceal’d,
Oppressions tears and cries,
Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping eyes
Were hid, and only things reveal’d
Which heav’nly spirits, and the angels prize.
The state of innocence
And bliss, not trades and poverties,
Did fill my sense.
The streets were pav’d with golden stones,
The boys and girls were mine,
Oh how did all their lovely faces shine!
The sons of men were holy ones,
In joy and beauty they appear’d to me,
And every thing which here I found,
While like an angel I did see,
Adorn’d the ground.
Rich diamond and pearl and gold
In ev’ry place was seen;
Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white and green,
Mine eyes did everywhere behold.
Great wonders cloth’d with glory did appear,
Amazement was my bliss,
That and my wealth was ev’ry where:
No joy to this!
Curs’d and devis’d proprieties,
With envy, avarice
And fraud, those fiends that spoil even Paradise,
Flew from the splendour of mine eyes,
And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds,
I dream’d not aught of those,
But wander’d over all men’s grounds,
And found repose.
Proprieties themselves were mine,
And hedges ornaments;
Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents
Did not divide my joys, but all combine.
Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteem’d
My joys by others worn:
For me they all to wear them seem’d
When I was born.
Thomas Traherne was a fascinating visionary poet (1637-1674) who might have been a precursor to William Blake, Wordsworth, Thoreau, and even Walt Whitman... had his work been known. Traherne published only one text during his lifetime, an obscure tract arguing fine points of Catholic law.
In 1896 two manuscripts were purchased by a hymnologist from a London bookstall. One contained 37 poems in Traherne's own handwriting, the other contained Traherne's masterpiece, Centuries of Meditations. The author of both was not identified until the early 20th century. A few years later, another manuscript was discovered in the British Museum. This manuscript was written in another hand, but contained variations of the poems in the first manuscript as well as 40 other poems. Two more manuscripts by Traherne were discovered decades later: Select Meditations in 1964, and Commentaries of Heaven in 1967 found in a burning London trash heap. The whole of Traherne's oeuvre was not identified until 1982.
Unfortunately, Traherne was not served well by the two people who were his literary executors: his brother Philip Traherne and Susanna Hopton. Philip was a clergyman like Thomas, and Susanna was the leader of a religious society. Both sought not to properly see to the publication of Thomas' literary efforts, but rather to publish the works in an effort to aid in the reader's salvation. Philip, whose hand was that of the manuscript found in the British Museum, sought to "improve" his brother's literary efforts according to the standards of the age, and more importantly, to tame his often radical (like William Blake) theology. When Susanna, a quarter-century after Thomas' death, offered another Traherne volume (Thanksgivings) for publication, she didn't even inform the publisher that she was not the author!
I seriously need to dig through the books I have in storage and find my volume on Traherne as I have been doing a good deal of reading of poetry and short fiction once again.
