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Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics
Spirits in Bondage was C. S. Lewis's first published work, released in 1919 and was originally published under the pseudonym Clive Hamilton. The book, subtitled A Cycle of Lyrics, and is composed of three different sections of poetry. This collection of forty poems give a look into the heart of C. S. Lewis. They are divided into three parts, The Prison House, Hesitation, and Escape. This 3-part cycle of poems chronicles Lewis' spiritual quest during World War I and his student years at Oxford.
Spirits in Bondage stands out among Lewis's writings because of the focus on poetry rather than prose and because the Lewis had not yet made his conversion to Christianity; therefore the themes and worldviews offered in Spirits in Bondage differ greatly from those for which Lewis is most well-known. Clive Staples Lewis was a novelist, poet, academic, medievalist, literary critic, essayist, lay theologian and Christian apologist from Belfast, Ireland. He is known for both his fictional work, especially The Screwtape Letters, The Chronicles of Narnia and The Space Trilogy and his nonfiction, such as Mere Christianity, Miracles and The Problem of Pain.
Spirits in Bondage stands out among Lewis's writings because of the focus on poetry rather than prose and because the Lewis had not yet made his conversion to Christianity; therefore the themes and worldviews offered in Spirits in Bondage differ greatly from those for which Lewis is most well-known. Clive Staples Lewis was a novelist, poet, academic, medievalist, literary critic, essayist, lay theologian and Christian apologist from Belfast, Ireland. He is known for both his fictional work, especially The Screwtape Letters, The Chronicles of Narnia and The Space Trilogy and his nonfiction, such as Mere Christianity, Miracles and The Problem of Pain.
106 pages, ebook
First published March 20, 1919
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June 6, 2017
This is the first published work by Lewis, and the first to enter the public domain. I listened to it today while traveling, but I didn't know quite what I was getting myself in to. It was a rainy, gloomy day and Lewis's poetry did nothing to alleviate that atmosphere.
I am not really qualified to assess the success of his art, not being well-versed in poetry (ha). But his pre-conversion struggle with God and evil is something that many can relate to. It struck me that it took 40 poems in his cycle to be free-but his freedom was found in death. In Scripture, the Israelites returned home after 40 years of wandering, Jesus experienced victory over temptation after 40 days, etc. Often freedom from God is found, even if it is freedom from judgment. I wondered if Lewis did this on purpose? Maybe it was a defiant stance against the idea that freedom could be found anywhere other than death? It is also interesting that Lewis converted after this struggle. This cycle ended up being autobiographical, but with a different ending than Lewis imagined.
At any rate, those who appreciate the expressions of Lewis's mind will want to read this.
I am not really qualified to assess the success of his art, not being well-versed in poetry (ha). But his pre-conversion struggle with God and evil is something that many can relate to. It struck me that it took 40 poems in his cycle to be free-but his freedom was found in death. In Scripture, the Israelites returned home after 40 years of wandering, Jesus experienced victory over temptation after 40 days, etc. Often freedom from God is found, even if it is freedom from judgment. I wondered if Lewis did this on purpose? Maybe it was a defiant stance against the idea that freedom could be found anywhere other than death? It is also interesting that Lewis converted after this struggle. This cycle ended up being autobiographical, but with a different ending than Lewis imagined.
At any rate, those who appreciate the expressions of Lewis's mind will want to read this.
August 7, 2023
I received a copy as a gift from Lexham Press for providing a reader report (Spring 2020). Read in one day on a trip to Niagara Falls.
Written while an Oxford student and a soldier in WWI. Published in 1919, when Lewis was twenty (and still an atheist), about ten years before his conversion in 1931. He originally used the pseudonym "Clive Hamilton." The book title comes from Milton's Paradise Lost (1.658; Satan speaking).
There are three sections: Part I (The Prison House), Part II (Hesitation), Part III (The Escape).
Milton tangent (CL1 = Collected Letters, Vol. 1)
Poem XIX in the first section of Spirits is titled "Milton Read Again," and it basically says that Lewis enjoyed and learned from Paradise Lost much more the second time around (he wasn't wise enough to fully appreciate the first time).
Lewis's letters mention PL as early as Nov. 1914 (CL1 94), when he compares PL to Malory's Morte and claims that the Morte "is really the English national epic" since PL is literary and not folk-lore (Lewis had started lessons with Kirkpatrick in September). In late 1915, Lewis read Mackail's Springs of Helicon, a study that covers Chaucer, Spenser, and Milton (CL1 157). In May 1916, still as a student of Kirkpatrick’s in Surrey (the title "Milton Read Again" is followed in parentheses with "in Surrey"), Lewis was contemplating buying two volumes of Milton's work (CL1 182). By mid-July, the first volume of Milton had arrived; Lewis had read at least from Book 2, and he tells Arthur Greeves that he will also "love Milton some day" (CL1 215). A week later, apparently after further reading in PL, he no longer seems convinced that Arthur will love Milton: "I don't think I should advise [that you read] Milton: while there are lots of things in him you would love – the descriptions of Hell and Chaos and Paradise and Adam and Eve and Satan's flight down through the stars, on the other hand his classical allusions, his rather crooked style of English, and his long speeches, might be tedious" (CL1 220). About a month later, in September, the second volume of Milton had arrived, and Lewis says that he is reading Spenser's Faerie Queene and "reserving the Milton for next term" (CL1 222–23). In mid-October, Lewis tells Arthur that "both volumes [of Milton] are so good, if you care for him" (CL1 232–33). "Milton Read Again" begins with the words, "Three golden months while summer on us stole / I have read your joyful tale another time." Based on the chronology above, I assume that these "Three months" are mid-July to mid-October (two of which are in the summer). So by the end of 1916, Lewis had read Paradise Lost for the first time.
By the end of January 1917, he had read Book 1 again (CL1 269). A little more than a week later, in February, he had read through Book 2; he tells Arthur that he "loves Milton better every time I come back to him, &, what is more to the point, I think his merits are of a [kind] you'd appreciate" (CL1 274). About a week later he had still not finished PL (CL1 278). In early March 1917, Lewis wrote to Arthur Greeves, "I have finished 'Paradise Lost' again, enjoying it even more than before. Really you must read it sometime soon. In Milton is everything you get everywhere else, only better. He is as voluptuous as Keats, as romantic as Morris, as grand as Wagner, as weird as Poe, and a better lover of nature than even the Brontes" (CL1 290).
Lewis officially began his studies at Oxford in April 1917, but because of WWI didn't fully begin until January 1919.
For Lewis's comment about reading PL around age nine, see Sayer's Jack (p. 51 and note 20).
Written while an Oxford student and a soldier in WWI. Published in 1919, when Lewis was twenty (and still an atheist), about ten years before his conversion in 1931. He originally used the pseudonym "Clive Hamilton." The book title comes from Milton's Paradise Lost (1.658; Satan speaking).
There are three sections: Part I (The Prison House), Part II (Hesitation), Part III (The Escape).
Milton tangent (CL1 = Collected Letters, Vol. 1)
Poem XIX in the first section of Spirits is titled "Milton Read Again," and it basically says that Lewis enjoyed and learned from Paradise Lost much more the second time around (he wasn't wise enough to fully appreciate the first time).
Lewis's letters mention PL as early as Nov. 1914 (CL1 94), when he compares PL to Malory's Morte and claims that the Morte "is really the English national epic" since PL is literary and not folk-lore (Lewis had started lessons with Kirkpatrick in September). In late 1915, Lewis read Mackail's Springs of Helicon, a study that covers Chaucer, Spenser, and Milton (CL1 157). In May 1916, still as a student of Kirkpatrick’s in Surrey (the title "Milton Read Again" is followed in parentheses with "in Surrey"), Lewis was contemplating buying two volumes of Milton's work (CL1 182). By mid-July, the first volume of Milton had arrived; Lewis had read at least from Book 2, and he tells Arthur Greeves that he will also "love Milton some day" (CL1 215). A week later, apparently after further reading in PL, he no longer seems convinced that Arthur will love Milton: "I don't think I should advise [that you read] Milton: while there are lots of things in him you would love – the descriptions of Hell and Chaos and Paradise and Adam and Eve and Satan's flight down through the stars, on the other hand his classical allusions, his rather crooked style of English, and his long speeches, might be tedious" (CL1 220). About a month later, in September, the second volume of Milton had arrived, and Lewis says that he is reading Spenser's Faerie Queene and "reserving the Milton for next term" (CL1 222–23). In mid-October, Lewis tells Arthur that "both volumes [of Milton] are so good, if you care for him" (CL1 232–33). "Milton Read Again" begins with the words, "Three golden months while summer on us stole / I have read your joyful tale another time." Based on the chronology above, I assume that these "Three months" are mid-July to mid-October (two of which are in the summer). So by the end of 1916, Lewis had read Paradise Lost for the first time.
By the end of January 1917, he had read Book 1 again (CL1 269). A little more than a week later, in February, he had read through Book 2; he tells Arthur that he "loves Milton better every time I come back to him, &, what is more to the point, I think his merits are of a [kind] you'd appreciate" (CL1 274). About a week later he had still not finished PL (CL1 278). In early March 1917, Lewis wrote to Arthur Greeves, "I have finished 'Paradise Lost' again, enjoying it even more than before. Really you must read it sometime soon. In Milton is everything you get everywhere else, only better. He is as voluptuous as Keats, as romantic as Morris, as grand as Wagner, as weird as Poe, and a better lover of nature than even the Brontes" (CL1 290).
Lewis officially began his studies at Oxford in April 1917, but because of WWI didn't fully begin until January 1919.
For Lewis's comment about reading PL around age nine, see Sayer's Jack (p. 51 and note 20).
April 2, 2008
Horrific. Pre-Christian poetry from a 19 year old Lewis. Shattering.
January 29, 2019
Pretty dark. Good reminder, as was a song from Jars of Clay that I've heard many times but just recently revealed listened to, that the very person who seems so far from a deep and intimate faith in Christ one day, we have no reason to believe they can't be changed.
August 20, 2013
It's good to see that even accomplished authors like CS Lewis went through that phase where they wrote absolutely rotten poetry. Gives the rest of us rotten poets hope. Or delusions of adequacy.
October 5, 2017
Wow, you say, Lewis wrote poetry.
Well, techincally he did. Trust me, you really don't want to read these.
I mean there is a reason no one talks about Lewis the poet.
Well, techincally he did. Trust me, you really don't want to read these.
I mean there is a reason no one talks about Lewis the poet.
November 2, 2015
I quite enjoyed reading this little collection of early poems, although the poetry is merely decent bordering on bad. For instance, he uses the forced "the XXX green" (where XXX is a noun of something from Nature) about 10 times to end a rhyming line. Here's the most cringe-worthy abuse of syntax: "His eyes stared into the eyes of me / And he kissed my hands of his courtesy." The eyes of me, LOL.
There are some good passages though too. Here's my favorite:
I like this passage because it reminds me to take CSL's atheism at his word. CSL addresses God so many times in this work that one begins to suspect that he's more theist than he cares to admit to himself. If you don't believe God exists, then you shouldn't be mad at him for being evil and cruel because he can't be evil or cruel if he is non-existent. My interpretation is that at this stage of his life he is atheist intellectually, but theist emotionally. It doesn't make sense otherwise. Nevertheless, it would be uncharitable to simply dismiss the young CSL as "not a real atheist," as much as I would like to based on many of the confused ideas herein.
That's the weirdest thing about this whole collection. It is coming on the heels of the horrors of the Great War, and yet Lewis blames a non-existent God for the cruel world rather than the humans who have demonstrably screwed it up. Likewise, he ascribes Beauty and value to "the escape" of his mythological contemplations but does not thereby acknowledge that this too is from Man if his premise of atheism is correct. If the young Lewis was confused about theism he was equally confused about atheism.
This collection is very much worth reading for Inklings fans. It provides first-hand insight into the musings of the atheist C.S. Lewis and the three-stage argument of the lyric cycle--from The Prison House of materialism to The Escape of faerie--is a fascinating early glimpse at the more mature ideas of the Inklings crew.
Here is a scan of the book. You can find various HTML or ebook editions online, but the poetry formatting is generally crap.
There are some good passages though too. Here's my favorite:
I lost my way in the pale starlight
And saw our planet, far and small,
Through endless depths of nothing fall
A lonely pin-prick spark of light,
Upon the wide, enfolding night,
With leagues on leagues of stars above it,
And powdered dust of stars below--
I like this passage because it reminds me to take CSL's atheism at his word. CSL addresses God so many times in this work that one begins to suspect that he's more theist than he cares to admit to himself. If you don't believe God exists, then you shouldn't be mad at him for being evil and cruel because he can't be evil or cruel if he is non-existent. My interpretation is that at this stage of his life he is atheist intellectually, but theist emotionally. It doesn't make sense otherwise. Nevertheless, it would be uncharitable to simply dismiss the young CSL as "not a real atheist," as much as I would like to based on many of the confused ideas herein.
That's the weirdest thing about this whole collection. It is coming on the heels of the horrors of the Great War, and yet Lewis blames a non-existent God for the cruel world rather than the humans who have demonstrably screwed it up. Likewise, he ascribes Beauty and value to "the escape" of his mythological contemplations but does not thereby acknowledge that this too is from Man if his premise of atheism is correct. If the young Lewis was confused about theism he was equally confused about atheism.
This collection is very much worth reading for Inklings fans. It provides first-hand insight into the musings of the atheist C.S. Lewis and the three-stage argument of the lyric cycle--from The Prison House of materialism to The Escape of faerie--is a fascinating early glimpse at the more mature ideas of the Inklings crew.
The ancient songs they wither as the grass
And waste as doth a garment waxen old,
All poets have been fools who thought to mould
A monument more durable than brass.
Here is a scan of the book. You can find various HTML or ebook editions online, but the poetry formatting is generally crap.
June 19, 2018
The first major published work by C.S. Lewis. Here we see many of the issues he would struggle with in his better known works in embryotic form.
September 17, 2024
Trench warfare seems bad for one’s mental health
June 16, 2018
This book was not at all what I expected.
I recently re-read Mere Christianity and finally understood it, so I went ahead and marked all of C.S. Lewis to read/re-read and this one was included.
I thought it was going to be more thought provoking theology from Lewis, it wasn't. It was a little book of poetry.
I haven't read any poetry since college.
It was so soul lifting. I'd forgotten how poetry can wring you dry and fill you up again. I'd forgotten the joy of discovering a buried gem. When I read poetry I actually do 'hear' it. It's one of the only things I 'hear' while reading, and it's not my own voice which is slightly weird. If I had to describe it, I would say it's an elven voice. Kind of like having Galadriel whisper in your ear. Most of it is beautiful and lyrical and fun, then some verse just grips your soul in an iron claw and flings you up into the heavens to wander among the stars for a bit.
For me, the two poems that have grabbed me and haven't let go are "In Praise of Solid People" and "Song". They were just wonderful and I highly recommend them.
I think one of the reason I like these poems is that they are so simple. There is none of the tortured diction and form of say cummings or the lofty long form of Whitman. Nope. These are simple and heart piercing, like Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson. I really enjoyed it.
I recently re-read Mere Christianity and finally understood it, so I went ahead and marked all of C.S. Lewis to read/re-read and this one was included.
I thought it was going to be more thought provoking theology from Lewis, it wasn't. It was a little book of poetry.
I haven't read any poetry since college.
It was so soul lifting. I'd forgotten how poetry can wring you dry and fill you up again. I'd forgotten the joy of discovering a buried gem. When I read poetry I actually do 'hear' it. It's one of the only things I 'hear' while reading, and it's not my own voice which is slightly weird. If I had to describe it, I would say it's an elven voice. Kind of like having Galadriel whisper in your ear. Most of it is beautiful and lyrical and fun, then some verse just grips your soul in an iron claw and flings you up into the heavens to wander among the stars for a bit.
For me, the two poems that have grabbed me and haven't let go are "In Praise of Solid People" and "Song". They were just wonderful and I highly recommend them.
I think one of the reason I like these poems is that they are so simple. There is none of the tortured diction and form of say cummings or the lofty long form of Whitman. Nope. These are simple and heart piercing, like Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson. I really enjoyed it.
August 5, 2013
I'll be honest and say I'm biased because C.S. Lewis is most definitely my favorite author. Nonetheless, this cycle of lyrics told a beautiful tale in a rhyme scheme and language only Lewis is capable of. His wit is prevalent as well as his sarcasm and skepticism towards the notion of God. He stated at one point that when he wrote this, he was angry at God for not existing, and at the same time angry at God for creating the universe and for existing. This ambiguity shows in the poetry and it's frankly beautiful.
Whether or not you're religious, i do believe that this cycle of lyrics has something to offer you. Lewis's voice and insights on humanity touch and speak to each person differently, whether or not you share his faith. Personally, i am religious, yet i find the struggle with religion discussed in these poems insightful, deep, and when it comes down to it, quite beautiful. So follow Lewis in his struggle and anger against God or just follow his wit as he tells you a story. It's up to you.
Whether or not you're religious, i do believe that this cycle of lyrics has something to offer you. Lewis's voice and insights on humanity touch and speak to each person differently, whether or not you share his faith. Personally, i am religious, yet i find the struggle with religion discussed in these poems insightful, deep, and when it comes down to it, quite beautiful. So follow Lewis in his struggle and anger against God or just follow his wit as he tells you a story. It's up to you.
September 7, 2017
Poetry by a searching soul...a couple gems contained therein.
May 17, 2020
Lexham Press has done all Lewis enthusiasts a great service by publishing this new edition of Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics. The introduction by Karren Swallow Prior would alone be worth the price of the book, but the real prize is the window we receive into the pre-conversion heart of Lewis through these poems. Here we are introduced to a Lewis many of us have heard of, but have never met. There are certain enriching continuities—the love of words, the love of nature, the love of fantasy and adventure. But there are also stark discontinuities—cynical, hopeless, condescending. This Lewis is a house divided: enthralled by the enchanted world he insists is strictly material. This conflict of convictions is occasionally felt by Lewis, and when the materialistic disenchantment wins the battle, it is hard to grieve for the young soul-stricken Lewis—sitting in his dirty trench and suffocating from hopelessness:
False, mocking fancy! Once I too could dream,
Who now can only see with vulgar eye
That he’s no nearer to the moon than I
And she’s a stone that catches the sun’s beam.
What call have I to dream of anything?
I am a wolf. Back to the world again,
And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men
Our throats can bark of slaughter: cannot sing. (pg. 7)
This cynicism does at some places give way to throbbing conceit, as in the case of the ever-condescending poem, “In Praise of Solid People” (the delicious irony is that all the things young Lewis patronizingly praises in “solid people,” aged and converted Lewis praises in good faith). There is no mistaking the old self Lewis describes in Surprised by Joy many years later: a self who is very angry at God for not existing:
Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.
…
O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel,
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee. (pg. 27-28)
If this were all we ever had for this young poet, Spirits in Bondage would be a straightforward tragedy. But the looming and towering giant we as C.S. Lewis casts light backwards into these dark poems. And what we discover in the daylight of time passing is that the hound of heaven was at the young aspiring poet’s heels the whole time. Or rather, heaven was pulling him there irresistibly—he was always bound for Aslan’s Country. The fight between Lewis’s affections for “Northernness” and his pessimistic disenchantment was only ever going to go one way. Christ Jesus had him by the gut, and that was that. Lewis’s later conversion transforms moments of hopefulness and longing from pictures of inconsistency to pictures of destiny. These are the stabs of joy that were the beginning of the end of Lewis’s atheism:
Or is it all a folly of the wise,
Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes
While all around us real flowers arise?
But, by the very God, we know, we know
That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow
Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow. (pg. 63)
…
And the all of the roads is upon me, a desire in my spirit has grown
To wander forth in the highways, ‘twixt earth and sky alone,
And seek for the lands no foot has trod and the seas no sail has known:
—For the lands to the west of the evening and east of the morning’s birth,
Where the gods unseen in their valleys green are glad at the ends of the earth
And fear no morrow to bring them sorrow, nor night to quench their mirth. (pg. 81-82)
In this little collection of poems, we have the privilege of getting to know Lewis better. It is, in its way, a magnificent display of God’s saving grace. It is also a window into the aspirations of Lewis, who loved poetry more than prose, and desired to be a poet far more than an apologist. There are many references in Spirits in Bondage that I—as someone who did not receive the kind of classical education Lewis enjoyed, formal and informal—miss in ignorance. But the central and glaring truth in Spirits in Bondage is the truth Lewis himself missed in ignorance while he wrote: God is a gracious God who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness. Lewis’s story, and the story of this whole world, begins and ends in some way or another illustrating this central truth.
False, mocking fancy! Once I too could dream,
Who now can only see with vulgar eye
That he’s no nearer to the moon than I
And she’s a stone that catches the sun’s beam.
What call have I to dream of anything?
I am a wolf. Back to the world again,
And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men
Our throats can bark of slaughter: cannot sing. (pg. 7)
This cynicism does at some places give way to throbbing conceit, as in the case of the ever-condescending poem, “In Praise of Solid People” (the delicious irony is that all the things young Lewis patronizingly praises in “solid people,” aged and converted Lewis praises in good faith). There is no mistaking the old self Lewis describes in Surprised by Joy many years later: a self who is very angry at God for not existing:
Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.
…
O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel,
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee. (pg. 27-28)
If this were all we ever had for this young poet, Spirits in Bondage would be a straightforward tragedy. But the looming and towering giant we as C.S. Lewis casts light backwards into these dark poems. And what we discover in the daylight of time passing is that the hound of heaven was at the young aspiring poet’s heels the whole time. Or rather, heaven was pulling him there irresistibly—he was always bound for Aslan’s Country. The fight between Lewis’s affections for “Northernness” and his pessimistic disenchantment was only ever going to go one way. Christ Jesus had him by the gut, and that was that. Lewis’s later conversion transforms moments of hopefulness and longing from pictures of inconsistency to pictures of destiny. These are the stabs of joy that were the beginning of the end of Lewis’s atheism:
Or is it all a folly of the wise,
Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes
While all around us real flowers arise?
But, by the very God, we know, we know
That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow
Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow. (pg. 63)
…
And the all of the roads is upon me, a desire in my spirit has grown
To wander forth in the highways, ‘twixt earth and sky alone,
And seek for the lands no foot has trod and the seas no sail has known:
—For the lands to the west of the evening and east of the morning’s birth,
Where the gods unseen in their valleys green are glad at the ends of the earth
And fear no morrow to bring them sorrow, nor night to quench their mirth. (pg. 81-82)
In this little collection of poems, we have the privilege of getting to know Lewis better. It is, in its way, a magnificent display of God’s saving grace. It is also a window into the aspirations of Lewis, who loved poetry more than prose, and desired to be a poet far more than an apologist. There are many references in Spirits in Bondage that I—as someone who did not receive the kind of classical education Lewis enjoyed, formal and informal—miss in ignorance. But the central and glaring truth in Spirits in Bondage is the truth Lewis himself missed in ignorance while he wrote: God is a gracious God who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness. Lewis’s story, and the story of this whole world, begins and ends in some way or another illustrating this central truth.
September 5, 2018
Sometimes a book repels me; I don't want to be repelled but I find every excuse to read anything else BUT that book. This small book of 40 poems practically derailed my C.S. Lewis Reading Project. I couldn't read it; I couldn't skip it. It's not that I wanted to like it; I needed to understand it. What did Lewis mean by these poems written between 1915-1918?
Reading poems on a Kindle [free, btw] did not work for me. I needed to see the poem's bones on the page. Reading the print book was better, but still frustrating in my inability to grasp the slippery eel-thoughts.
My go-to strategy for tough books is to simultaneously read and listen. Thank you, Robert Garrison and Librivox.
Also of great help was reading Alan Jacobs' comments about Spirits in Bondage in his book The Narnian. Jacobs calls the poems mediocre and derivative, but acknowledges that they are impressive as the work of a young man between the ages of sixteen and nineteen who hadn't been to university and was recovering from war wounds. Finally, my reading of the poems was aided by reading John Toland's No Man's Land about the final year of The Great War.
A few comments about specific poems:
XII De Profundis - The Latin refers to the opening line of Psalm 130 (one of my favorites): Out of the deep I cry. The poem urges the reader to curse God three times. It is part Job, part Ecclesiastes, part Psalms. Written before his conversion, a response to the mass butchery of the war, this poem gave me a filament of understanding of his despair.
XXIV - In Praise of Solid People - After so many references to mythological gods, a poem of appreciation for stout suburban people:
Thank God that there are solid folk
Who water flowers and roll the lawn,
And sit and sew and talk and smoke,
And snore all through the summer dawn.
XXXIV - The Roads - I loved this poem! I may consider memorizing it as a walking companion. The rare roads and the fair roads that call this heart of mine
XL - Death in Battle - Gulp! This one begins Open the gates for me. It highlights the sudden change from the violent hurly-burly of battle to a place where all is cool and green.
Reading poems on a Kindle [free, btw] did not work for me. I needed to see the poem's bones on the page. Reading the print book was better, but still frustrating in my inability to grasp the slippery eel-thoughts.
My go-to strategy for tough books is to simultaneously read and listen. Thank you, Robert Garrison and Librivox.
Also of great help was reading Alan Jacobs' comments about Spirits in Bondage in his book The Narnian. Jacobs calls the poems mediocre and derivative, but acknowledges that they are impressive as the work of a young man between the ages of sixteen and nineteen who hadn't been to university and was recovering from war wounds. Finally, my reading of the poems was aided by reading John Toland's No Man's Land about the final year of The Great War.
A few comments about specific poems:
XII De Profundis - The Latin refers to the opening line of Psalm 130 (one of my favorites): Out of the deep I cry. The poem urges the reader to curse God three times. It is part Job, part Ecclesiastes, part Psalms. Written before his conversion, a response to the mass butchery of the war, this poem gave me a filament of understanding of his despair.
XXIV - In Praise of Solid People - After so many references to mythological gods, a poem of appreciation for stout suburban people:
Thank God that there are solid folk
Who water flowers and roll the lawn,
And sit and sew and talk and smoke,
And snore all through the summer dawn.
XXXIV - The Roads - I loved this poem! I may consider memorizing it as a walking companion. The rare roads and the fair roads that call this heart of mine
XL - Death in Battle - Gulp! This one begins Open the gates for me. It highlights the sudden change from the violent hurly-burly of battle to a place where all is cool and green.
March 11, 2013
There are a few books that I think every cradle-to-grave Christian ought to read in order to get some perspective on a non-Christian worldview. G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday, a book Chesterton called "pre-Christian" because its publication preceded his conversion, presents God as both the Chief of Police and the head of the Anarchist revolutionaries. This book along with C.S. Lewis's Sprits in Bondage ought to be required reading for every sheltered Christian who has never experienced the horrors of life at depth.
Lewis published this book of forty poems when he was twenty, just coming out of service in WWI. As this was his first published work, it is also the first work to enter the public domain. Lewis covers some dark territory in these poems, which were written before his conversion to Christianity. Nonetheless, the subject matter touches on God along with many of the other themes and topics Lewis will visit throughout his career in writing fiction: fairies, space, witches, personified animals, etc.
I highly recommend listening to these poems read by one of the volunteers who so graciously give their time for LibriVox. Below I have included a link to this recording, as well as a link to the text freely available online. Since this work is in the public domain, I have also included three of my favorite poems from this collection below. You will notice the first two poems I've included bear a striking resemblance to Ahab's prayer in Chapter 119 of Moby Dick:
“Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e’en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whenceso’er I came; whereso’er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there’s that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.”
I. Satan Speaks
I am Nature, the Mighty Mother,
I am the law: ye have none other.
I am the flower and the dewdrop fresh,
I am the lust in your itching flesh.
I am the battle's filth and strain,
I am the widow's empty pain.
I am the sea to smother your breath,
I am the bomb, the falling death.
I am the fact and the crushing reason
To thwart your fantasy's new-born treason.
I am the spider making her net,
I am the beast with jaws blood-wet.
I am a wolf that follows the sun
And I will catch him ere day be done.
XIII. Satan Speaks
I am the Lord your God: even he that made
Material things, and all these signs arrayed
Above you and have set beneath the race
Of mankind, who forget their Father's face
And even while they drink my light of day
Dream of some other gods and disobey
My warnings, and despise my holy laws,
Even tho' their sin shall slay them. For which cause,
Dreams dreamed in vain, a never-filled desire
And in close flesh a spiritual fire,
A thirst for good their kind shall not attain,
A backward cleaving to the beast again.
A loathing for the life that I have given,
A haunted, twisted soul for ever riven
Between their will and mine-such lot I give
White still in my despite the vermin live.
They hate my world! Then let that other God
Come from the outer spaces glory-shod,
And from this castle I have built on Night
Steal forth my own thought's children into light,
If such an one there be. But far away
He walks the airy fields of endless day,
And my rebellious sons have called Him long
And vainly called. My order still is strong
And like to me nor second none I know.
Whither the mammoth went this creature too shall go.
XXVII. The Ass
I woke and rose and slipt away
To the heathery hills in the morning grey.
In a field where the dew lay cold and deep
I met an ass, new-roused from sleep.
I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears,
And spoke soft words to quiet his fears.
His eyes stared into the eyes of me
And he kissed my hands of his courtesy.
"O big, brown brother out of the waste,
How do thistles for breakfast taste?
"And do you rejoice in the dawn divine
With a heart that is glad no less than mine?
"For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes
Is strange and mystic as the skies:
"What are the thoughts that grope behind,
Down in the mist of a donkey mind?
"Can it be true, as the wise men tell,
That you are a mask of God as well,
"And, as in us, so in you no less
Speaks the eternal Loveliness,
"And words of the lips that all things know
Among the thoughts of a donkey go?
"However it be, O four-foot brother,
Fair to-day is the earth, our mother.
"God send you peace and delight thereof,
And all green meat of the waste you love,
"And guard you well from violent men
Who'd put you back in the shafts again."
But the ass had far too wise a head
To answer one of the things I said,
So he twitched his fair ears up and down
And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown.
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2003/2...
http://librivox.org/spirits-in-bondag...
Lewis published this book of forty poems when he was twenty, just coming out of service in WWI. As this was his first published work, it is also the first work to enter the public domain. Lewis covers some dark territory in these poems, which were written before his conversion to Christianity. Nonetheless, the subject matter touches on God along with many of the other themes and topics Lewis will visit throughout his career in writing fiction: fairies, space, witches, personified animals, etc.
I highly recommend listening to these poems read by one of the volunteers who so graciously give their time for LibriVox. Below I have included a link to this recording, as well as a link to the text freely available online. Since this work is in the public domain, I have also included three of my favorite poems from this collection below. You will notice the first two poems I've included bear a striking resemblance to Ahab's prayer in Chapter 119 of Moby Dick:
“Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e’en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whenceso’er I came; whereso’er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there’s that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.”
I. Satan Speaks
I am Nature, the Mighty Mother,
I am the law: ye have none other.
I am the flower and the dewdrop fresh,
I am the lust in your itching flesh.
I am the battle's filth and strain,
I am the widow's empty pain.
I am the sea to smother your breath,
I am the bomb, the falling death.
I am the fact and the crushing reason
To thwart your fantasy's new-born treason.
I am the spider making her net,
I am the beast with jaws blood-wet.
I am a wolf that follows the sun
And I will catch him ere day be done.
XIII. Satan Speaks
I am the Lord your God: even he that made
Material things, and all these signs arrayed
Above you and have set beneath the race
Of mankind, who forget their Father's face
And even while they drink my light of day
Dream of some other gods and disobey
My warnings, and despise my holy laws,
Even tho' their sin shall slay them. For which cause,
Dreams dreamed in vain, a never-filled desire
And in close flesh a spiritual fire,
A thirst for good their kind shall not attain,
A backward cleaving to the beast again.
A loathing for the life that I have given,
A haunted, twisted soul for ever riven
Between their will and mine-such lot I give
White still in my despite the vermin live.
They hate my world! Then let that other God
Come from the outer spaces glory-shod,
And from this castle I have built on Night
Steal forth my own thought's children into light,
If such an one there be. But far away
He walks the airy fields of endless day,
And my rebellious sons have called Him long
And vainly called. My order still is strong
And like to me nor second none I know.
Whither the mammoth went this creature too shall go.
XXVII. The Ass
I woke and rose and slipt away
To the heathery hills in the morning grey.
In a field where the dew lay cold and deep
I met an ass, new-roused from sleep.
I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears,
And spoke soft words to quiet his fears.
His eyes stared into the eyes of me
And he kissed my hands of his courtesy.
"O big, brown brother out of the waste,
How do thistles for breakfast taste?
"And do you rejoice in the dawn divine
With a heart that is glad no less than mine?
"For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes
Is strange and mystic as the skies:
"What are the thoughts that grope behind,
Down in the mist of a donkey mind?
"Can it be true, as the wise men tell,
That you are a mask of God as well,
"And, as in us, so in you no less
Speaks the eternal Loveliness,
"And words of the lips that all things know
Among the thoughts of a donkey go?
"However it be, O four-foot brother,
Fair to-day is the earth, our mother.
"God send you peace and delight thereof,
And all green meat of the waste you love,
"And guard you well from violent men
Who'd put you back in the shafts again."
But the ass had far too wise a head
To answer one of the things I said,
So he twitched his fair ears up and down
And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown.
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2003/2...
http://librivox.org/spirits-in-bondag...
April 3, 2013
One needn't read many of these poems before they're struck by how embittered Lewis was towards the God he didn't believe in; he was wounded, melancholy and aware of the cruel world of which he was born. Though he rejected God, it seems he was often conscious and haunted by Him. Seeing a little of how he saw things before his conversion, helps explain in part why his reflections on God later on had so much depth.
For me it seems my story is a bit in reverse. At the start I saw God as wonderfully good, committed to man and full of love. But as time has continued, God has seemed more like either an absent God; who could careless about his creatures. Or an overly sensitive God; unwilling to forgive; holding grudges and demanding the impossible. Or as Lewis once saw it; sadistically cruel and evil; causing woe. Or maybe he is truly loving and kind, but is simply impotent; for whatever reason unable to intervene in man's affairs. I dunno...
But yeah, here is some snippets from a few of Lewis' poems:
"It's truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart's complaining
For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear,
Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining
And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear
The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead.
But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts
Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped
Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it
Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts?
Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it:
Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done.
And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun
And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill,
And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears
The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill?
He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears,
And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears?"
==========
"Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High...
Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth
Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth
And our few happy days of little worth...
O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel;
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee.
Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right,
Our mercy and long seeking of the light,
Shall we change these for thy relentless might?
Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth,
Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth--
Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth."
=============
"For all the lore of Lodge and Myers
I cannot heal my torn desires,
Nor hope for all that man can speer
To make the riddling earth grow clear.
Though it were sure and proven well
That I shall prosper, as they tell,
In fields beneath a different sun
By shores where other oceans run,
When this live body that was I
Lies hidden from the cheerful sky,
Yet what were endless lives to me
If still my narrow self I be
And hope and fail and struggle still,
And break my will against God's will,
To play for stakes of pleasure and pain
And hope and fail and hope again,
Deluded, thwarted, striving elf
That through the window of my self
As through a dark glass scarce can see
A warped and masked reality?
But when this searching thought of mine
Is mingled in the large Divine,
And laughter that was in my mouth
Runs through the breezes of the South,
When glory I have built in dreams
Along some fiery sunset gleams,
And my dead sin and foolishness
Grow one with Nature's whole distress,
To perfect being I shall win,
And where I end will Life begin."
===========
So piteously the lonely soul of man
Shudders before this universal plan,
So grievous is the burden and the pain,
So heavy weighs the long, material chain
From cause to cause, too merciless for hate,
The nightmare march of unrelenting fate,
I think that he must die thereof unless
Ever and again across the dreariness
There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces,
A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places
And wider oceans, breaking on the shore
From which the hearts of men are always sore.
It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer
Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there,
Seeing how many prophets and wise men
Have sought for it and still returned again
With hope undone. But only the strange power
Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour
Can build a bridge of light or sound or form
To lead you out of all this strife and storm;
When of some beauty we are grown a part
Till from its very glory's midmost heart
Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light
Into our souls. All things are seen aright
Amid the blinding pillar of its gold,
Seven times more true than what for truth we hold
In vulgar hours. The miracle is done
And for one little moment we are one
With the eternal stream of loveliness
That flows so calm, aloft from all distress
Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire
Making us faint with overstrong desire
To sport and swim for ever in its deep--
Only a moment.
O! but we shall keep Our vision still. One moment was enough,
We know we are not made of mortal stuff.
And we can bear all trials that come after,
The hate of men and the fool's loud bestial laughter
And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean,
For we have seen the Glory--we have seen.
For me it seems my story is a bit in reverse. At the start I saw God as wonderfully good, committed to man and full of love. But as time has continued, God has seemed more like either an absent God; who could careless about his creatures. Or an overly sensitive God; unwilling to forgive; holding grudges and demanding the impossible. Or as Lewis once saw it; sadistically cruel and evil; causing woe. Or maybe he is truly loving and kind, but is simply impotent; for whatever reason unable to intervene in man's affairs. I dunno...
But yeah, here is some snippets from a few of Lewis' poems:
"It's truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart's complaining
For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear,
Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining
And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear
The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead.
But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts
Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped
Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it
Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts?
Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it:
Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done.
And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun
And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill,
And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears
The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill?
He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears,
And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears?"
==========
"Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High...
Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth
Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth
And our few happy days of little worth...
O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel;
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee.
Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right,
Our mercy and long seeking of the light,
Shall we change these for thy relentless might?
Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth,
Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth--
Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth."
=============
"For all the lore of Lodge and Myers
I cannot heal my torn desires,
Nor hope for all that man can speer
To make the riddling earth grow clear.
Though it were sure and proven well
That I shall prosper, as they tell,
In fields beneath a different sun
By shores where other oceans run,
When this live body that was I
Lies hidden from the cheerful sky,
Yet what were endless lives to me
If still my narrow self I be
And hope and fail and struggle still,
And break my will against God's will,
To play for stakes of pleasure and pain
And hope and fail and hope again,
Deluded, thwarted, striving elf
That through the window of my self
As through a dark glass scarce can see
A warped and masked reality?
But when this searching thought of mine
Is mingled in the large Divine,
And laughter that was in my mouth
Runs through the breezes of the South,
When glory I have built in dreams
Along some fiery sunset gleams,
And my dead sin and foolishness
Grow one with Nature's whole distress,
To perfect being I shall win,
And where I end will Life begin."
===========
So piteously the lonely soul of man
Shudders before this universal plan,
So grievous is the burden and the pain,
So heavy weighs the long, material chain
From cause to cause, too merciless for hate,
The nightmare march of unrelenting fate,
I think that he must die thereof unless
Ever and again across the dreariness
There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces,
A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places
And wider oceans, breaking on the shore
From which the hearts of men are always sore.
It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer
Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there,
Seeing how many prophets and wise men
Have sought for it and still returned again
With hope undone. But only the strange power
Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour
Can build a bridge of light or sound or form
To lead you out of all this strife and storm;
When of some beauty we are grown a part
Till from its very glory's midmost heart
Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light
Into our souls. All things are seen aright
Amid the blinding pillar of its gold,
Seven times more true than what for truth we hold
In vulgar hours. The miracle is done
And for one little moment we are one
With the eternal stream of loveliness
That flows so calm, aloft from all distress
Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire
Making us faint with overstrong desire
To sport and swim for ever in its deep--
Only a moment.
O! but we shall keep Our vision still. One moment was enough,
We know we are not made of mortal stuff.
And we can bear all trials that come after,
The hate of men and the fool's loud bestial laughter
And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean,
For we have seen the Glory--we have seen.
September 14, 2025
I didn’t expect to like this as much as I did. The Lewis that wrote this was barely 21 and had already suffered through the death of his mother, many close friends, and the horrors of the Great War. He was still an unbeliever, but his poems cry out for the redemption that he longed to receive. And glory be to God, we know he found it! All the knowledge, myth and wonder that is displayed here is simply the unbaptized imagination that comes so beautifully to fruition in Narnia and the Space Trilogy. This is 100 pages worth reading.
November 11, 2015
I didn't realize that Clive Staples Lewis was such a talented poet until I took some time with this. His innate poignancy and lyrical storytelling is ever-present throughout this collection, sprinkled with imagery that could only come from the bared heart of a sci-fi/fantasy enthusiast -- Satyr, Spooks, Wizards, Nereids, and cosmic wonders abound.
Given the frequent undertones of turmoil and cynicism, I would have guessed these works came out of the author's mourning period....after the death of his beloved wife. But looking into it more, I found it deeply insightful to realize these were actually some of his first works--reflective of a time shortly after his service in the trenches of World War 1. But whether these are the musings of an angry Christian or a grieving Agnostic seems less important than the candid beauty in which they are conveyed. I felt connected to nearly every poem and thought. His lilting sense of rhythm carried me along, engaging both my heart and mind's eye with a talent I'm still in awe of.
As a whole, 'In Praise of Solid People' was among my favorite of all these poems. But a number of verses stood out enough that I continue to find pleasure in re-reading...
----
I lost my way in the pale starlight
And saw out planet, far and small,
Through endless depths of nothing fall
A lonely pin-prick spark of light,
Upon the wide, enfolding night,
With leagues on leagues of stars above it,
And powdered dust of stars below-
Dead things that neither hate nor love it
Not even their own loveliness can know
----
O! but we shall keep
Our vision still. One moment was enough,
We know we are not made of mortal stuff.
And we can bear all trials that come after,
The hate of men and the fool's bestial laughter
And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean,
For we have seen the Glory-we have seen.
----
Atoms dead could never thus
Stir the human heart of us
Unless the beauty that we see
The veil of endless beauty be,
Filled full of spirits that have trod
Far hence along the heavenly sod
And see the bright footprints of God.
Given the frequent undertones of turmoil and cynicism, I would have guessed these works came out of the author's mourning period....after the death of his beloved wife. But looking into it more, I found it deeply insightful to realize these were actually some of his first works--reflective of a time shortly after his service in the trenches of World War 1. But whether these are the musings of an angry Christian or a grieving Agnostic seems less important than the candid beauty in which they are conveyed. I felt connected to nearly every poem and thought. His lilting sense of rhythm carried me along, engaging both my heart and mind's eye with a talent I'm still in awe of.
As a whole, 'In Praise of Solid People' was among my favorite of all these poems. But a number of verses stood out enough that I continue to find pleasure in re-reading...
----
I lost my way in the pale starlight
And saw out planet, far and small,
Through endless depths of nothing fall
A lonely pin-prick spark of light,
Upon the wide, enfolding night,
With leagues on leagues of stars above it,
And powdered dust of stars below-
Dead things that neither hate nor love it
Not even their own loveliness can know
----
O! but we shall keep
Our vision still. One moment was enough,
We know we are not made of mortal stuff.
And we can bear all trials that come after,
The hate of men and the fool's bestial laughter
And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean,
For we have seen the Glory-we have seen.
----
Atoms dead could never thus
Stir the human heart of us
Unless the beauty that we see
The veil of endless beauty be,
Filled full of spirits that have trod
Far hence along the heavenly sod
And see the bright footprints of God.
March 7, 2018
A short but enjoyable collection of poems from Lewis's pre-Christian years during World War I. His poetry really showcases the conflict within his own mind between his atheistic rationalism and his romanticism, between a worldview that reacts cynically to all the pain and suffering in the world and a worldview that yearns for something beyond this world. An interesting and fun read for sure.
Edit: I waffled between 3 and 4 stars but finally went with four due to the fact that, even though it’s short, the enjoyment I got from reading through these poems far outweighed the size of the collection.
Edit: I waffled between 3 and 4 stars but finally went with four due to the fact that, even though it’s short, the enjoyment I got from reading through these poems far outweighed the size of the collection.
June 6, 2022
The most fascinating thing about this collection of poetry is that it was written 12 years before Lewis became a Christian. He was fresh out of the trenches when it was published, had undergone extreme trauma in his life, and was essentially living an existence without hope. This volume of poetry is a gift, because we get to see the broken spirit of a man before he came to Christ juxtaposed to the spirit of Hope he gained after he gave his life to Christ, depicted in all of his later writings. I am so glad that CS Lewis has blessed us with so many incredible writings, this one included.
April 9, 2020
Lewis never fails to fascinate, and that remains true even in this pre-conversion cycle of poems. As one endorsement said, the seeds of Lewis's later writing are here, having already fertilized his imagination. More than that, some of the questions he later answered for himself and his hearers are here raised with the angst and anger of youthful atheism. Perhaps some who scoff at Lewis's apologetic work will glimpse from this work how hard-won those answers were.
More than that, these poems communicate something about Lewis as an atheist that even his memoir, Surprised by Joy, tempered as it is by time and reflection cannot recapture. And yet, knowing the change that did come infuses hope into these otherwise sad and frustrated longings. What Lewis was angry at God for withholding, he later found that God gave in spades.
Finally, a word about the book itself. Lexham continues to impress me with the beauty and quality of their hardback books, but this is one of the best.
*I received a complimentary copy from the publisher but was not required to provide a positive review.
More than that, these poems communicate something about Lewis as an atheist that even his memoir, Surprised by Joy, tempered as it is by time and reflection cannot recapture. And yet, knowing the change that did come infuses hope into these otherwise sad and frustrated longings. What Lewis was angry at God for withholding, he later found that God gave in spades.
Finally, a word about the book itself. Lexham continues to impress me with the beauty and quality of their hardback books, but this is one of the best.
*I received a complimentary copy from the publisher but was not required to provide a positive review.
March 18, 2023
It is fitting that this first published work of Lewis was published under a different name (his mums maiden name), because these poems come from a very different part of CS Lewis that his other writings. These are the cathartic expressions of a PTSD-ridden Jack Lewis in his 20s. Like all his writing, well written and provocative, but with a current of hurt, skepticism, and anger at God and the world.
I found tracing some of the references and themes hard for some of these poems. Knowing Lewis I’m sure they’d make better sense if I was better versed in Norse and Greek mythology and Milton.
Very different from his post conversion works, but I appreciate reading the struggle and wrestling, like reading his early journals (all my roads before me) it was part of the process to make the man he became. God brings good things out of hard things.
I found tracing some of the references and themes hard for some of these poems. Knowing Lewis I’m sure they’d make better sense if I was better versed in Norse and Greek mythology and Milton.
Very different from his post conversion works, but I appreciate reading the struggle and wrestling, like reading his early journals (all my roads before me) it was part of the process to make the man he became. God brings good things out of hard things.
July 6, 2022
These early poems, written by a very young C.S. Lewis show his brilliance, imagination, struggle, and youth. They don't show his hope, so unlike his later work. This reminded me that wisdom, Godliness, depth, often take time and life experience and there is much to be valued in that process.
April 15, 2020
An interesting look at the early Lewis. This edition is lovely.
Note: I work for the publisher.
Note: I work for the publisher.
February 27, 2024
Fantastic glimps into the earlier mind of Lewis. I only wish he continued to hate the god of war instead of justifying it in his later life.
November 8, 2020
What am I doing here, reading poetry and reading it in English? Oh yeah, it is because of reading challenges. I like poems only when I can understand what they are about and they rhyme nicely. In this collection I liked those: VI. Spooks, X. To Sleep, XXII. L'Apprenti Sorcier, XXIII. Alexandrines, XXIV. In Praise of Solid People, XXVII. The Ass, XXXI. Hymn (For Boys' Voices), XXXVIII. Lullaby.
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2020-ųjų skaitymo iššūkis
I lygis
14. Mėgstamiausio autoriaus debiutinė knyga.
Šis punktas buvo gana sudėtingas. Pirmiausiai į galvą kaip mano mėgstamiausi autoriai atėjo tokie vardai: Dan Brown, J.K. Rowling, Haruki Murakami, Agatha Christie. Bet šių autorių arba esu absoliučiai viską perskaičiusi, arba pirmąsias knygas tai tikrai. Tada ėmiau žiūrėti, kokius autorius esu GoodReads priskyrusi prie mėgstamiausių. Nelabai žinau, kodėl kai kurie tame sąraše vis dar yra, bet šiam iššūkiui nusprendžiau taip ir palikti. Ir tada atradau, kad C. S. Lewis, slapyvardžiu Clive Hamilton, 1919 m. išleido eilėraščių rinktinę "Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics", kas buvo jo pirmoji išleista knyga. Šią rinktinę radau Project Gutenberg tinklalapyje ir nusprendžiau perskaityti kaip lengvą punkto išpildymą - trumpa eiliuota knyga greitai susiskaito.
II lygis
3. Ne lietuvių autoriaus poezija.
Clive Hamilton, a.k.a. C. S. Lewis, yra britų rašytojas, o "Spirits in Bondage" yra jo poezijos rinkinys.
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Vasara su knyga
Eiliuota knyga.
Gerai, kad eilėraščių rinkinys "Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics" tiko iš karto dviem iššūkiams, nes visai neturiu noro skaityti eiliuotas knygas.
-----
2020-ųjų skaitymo iššūkis
I lygis
14. Mėgstamiausio autoriaus debiutinė knyga.
Šis punktas buvo gana sudėtingas. Pirmiausiai į galvą kaip mano mėgstamiausi autoriai atėjo tokie vardai: Dan Brown, J.K. Rowling, Haruki Murakami, Agatha Christie. Bet šių autorių arba esu absoliučiai viską perskaičiusi, arba pirmąsias knygas tai tikrai. Tada ėmiau žiūrėti, kokius autorius esu GoodReads priskyrusi prie mėgstamiausių. Nelabai žinau, kodėl kai kurie tame sąraše vis dar yra, bet šiam iššūkiui nusprendžiau taip ir palikti. Ir tada atradau, kad C. S. Lewis, slapyvardžiu Clive Hamilton, 1919 m. išleido eilėraščių rinktinę "Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics", kas buvo jo pirmoji išleista knyga. Šią rinktinę radau Project Gutenberg tinklalapyje ir nusprendžiau perskaityti kaip lengvą punkto išpildymą - trumpa eiliuota knyga greitai susiskaito.
II lygis
3. Ne lietuvių autoriaus poezija.
Clive Hamilton, a.k.a. C. S. Lewis, yra britų rašytojas, o "Spirits in Bondage" yra jo poezijos rinkinys.
-----
Vasara su knyga
Eiliuota knyga.
Gerai, kad eilėraščių rinkinys "Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics" tiko iš karto dviem iššūkiams, nes visai neturiu noro skaityti eiliuotas knygas.
May 19, 2015
Grim stuff, this pre-conversion poetry, but well-structured nonetheless. "Dungeon Grates" is a shining light in the middle of it, as is "Oxford."
"In Praise of Solid People" has been edited in my mind to "In Praise of Hobbits" because it honestly sounds like his own take on the Professor's creation.
"In Praise of Solid People" has been edited in my mind to "In Praise of Hobbits" because it honestly sounds like his own take on the Professor's creation.
September 12, 2025
Is really any Lewis bad? Loved the Robert Garrison audiobook; meter and natural design of the poems 10/10. Explores aspects of Christianity (notably in the fleeting despair and longing tone) with fairy tales and nature (very Hobbit-esque if you ask me… maybe that’s just because I’m on a Tolkien kick lol).
June 23, 2019
Lewis is not known as a poet for a reason. The poetry is ghastly. But I did appreciate the insight into the mind of a post-WW1, atheist Lewis.
Don’t bother to read for the poetry. Read for the C.S. Lewis history.
Don’t bother to read for the poetry. Read for the C.S. Lewis history.
September 24, 2018
This was...interesting.
Spirits in Bondage was written by a young C.S. Lewis prior to his conversion to Christianity. It was his first published work, after returning home from fighting in World War I, when he was just 19 years old (although he hinted in letters that some of the poems contained within were written even earlier).
I enjoyed parts of this work immensely. Other parts were extremely uninteresting, probably because I couldn't follow Lewis's thought process. Some entire poems (especially toward the end) were so figurative that I simply couldn't ascertain with any degree of certainty what Lewis was saying at all.
I did, however, really like the less figurative poems. Even as an unbeliever, Lewis had a way of identifying, simplifying, and expressing the key issues of human existence in relatable ways that most authors never learn at all.
The story that Lewis told in this work is both depressing, yet hopeful. It's depressing because, as an unbeliever, Lewis blamed God for evil, and didn't acknowledge God for good. But it's also hopeful because in it, Lewis pursued joy, and we know that true joy can only be found in Jesus. Thankfully, Lewis eventually acknowledged this truth later in life.
There truly are horrific evils in this world. But Jesus entered our world to suffer with us, and even to take the sufferings of this world upon Himself. And because He did, all our sorrows will be turned to joy.
I wouldn't say this is a must read, unless you just really like C.S. Lewis, and want to take a peak at how he thought prior to becoming a Christian. I think, more than anything, this work shows that even as a very young person, he was a great thinker, so it was no surprise that he would go on to write great things.
Spirits in Bondage was written by a young C.S. Lewis prior to his conversion to Christianity. It was his first published work, after returning home from fighting in World War I, when he was just 19 years old (although he hinted in letters that some of the poems contained within were written even earlier).
I enjoyed parts of this work immensely. Other parts were extremely uninteresting, probably because I couldn't follow Lewis's thought process. Some entire poems (especially toward the end) were so figurative that I simply couldn't ascertain with any degree of certainty what Lewis was saying at all.
I did, however, really like the less figurative poems. Even as an unbeliever, Lewis had a way of identifying, simplifying, and expressing the key issues of human existence in relatable ways that most authors never learn at all.
The story that Lewis told in this work is both depressing, yet hopeful. It's depressing because, as an unbeliever, Lewis blamed God for evil, and didn't acknowledge God for good. But it's also hopeful because in it, Lewis pursued joy, and we know that true joy can only be found in Jesus. Thankfully, Lewis eventually acknowledged this truth later in life.
There truly are horrific evils in this world. But Jesus entered our world to suffer with us, and even to take the sufferings of this world upon Himself. And because He did, all our sorrows will be turned to joy.
I wouldn't say this is a must read, unless you just really like C.S. Lewis, and want to take a peak at how he thought prior to becoming a Christian. I think, more than anything, this work shows that even as a very young person, he was a great thinker, so it was no surprise that he would go on to write great things.
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