... his answer was, that the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight ... [p240]
1593 to 1633: George Herbert lived just less than forty years, feeling himself become aged in his thirties, in an era when Drury observes that one endured and accumulated illnesses for which there was no cure and experienced death without analgesics. Born into an aristocratic family, he enjoyed a brilliant early career as a student and academic at Cambridge University, before withdrawing to be the parson of a small congregation near Salisbury. He is remembered for a volume of poetry published after he died, and for a book of advice to other Church of England parsons. “He also writ a folio in Latin, which, because the parson of Hineham could not read, his widow [having remarried to said parson] ... condemned to the uses of good housewifery.” [p309]
There is little enough to be said of this life, there is apparently little direct, contemporary written record of Herbert himself, while some material assembled from witnesses many years after his death is unreliable, but Drury successfully reconstructs a considerable amount by inference from other accounts of the period. While we know little of Herbert’s particular experiences as a student in Cambridge, we do know the syllabus and teaching methods that he would certainly have encountered, and this in turn can be sensibly related to aspects of Herbert’s poetry. What we can infer of Herbert’s religious convictions from his own writings can also be related to our knowledge of the wider religious landscape in this period. In general, it turns out that quite a lot can usefully be said and Drury’s account of Herbert’s life seems very credible and well supported.
The book is ultimately an introduction to Herbert’s poetry, with many poems included in full within the text, and Drury’s celebration of its language and technique is as breathtakingly articulate as his interpretation of its meaning and context. If anything, I found Drury’s commentary a bit intimidating: he is not averse to identifying weaknesses in Herbert’s work; when he turns to lesser imitators late in the book, his commentary becomes brutal. However, much of Herbert’s poetry is sublime, and technically it is of the very highest order, so that Drury draws fully on all his own resources to do justice to Herbert’s achievements.
The phrase ‘My Master’ occurs five times. Herbert loves its sound: the deliciousness of its mumbled ‘m’ opening into the long ‘a’, followed by the dental crash of ‘ster’. It is like biting into a peach. [p215]
‘Words of the right sort to ask about the divine’: Herbert likes them to have the truth of sensual immediacy, rather than the remote abstractness of theology’s vocabulary... To describe the spirituality of prayer, in his dazzling sonnet with that title, he appeals to the senses; to the palate with ‘the Church’s banquet; to the eye with ‘sinner’s tower’ and ‘the bird of paradise’; to the ear with ‘thunder’, ‘church bells’ and ‘a kind of tune’; to the touch with ‘softness’; to the nose with ‘the land of spices’; eventually to the mind in the conclusive ‘something understood’. ... So has
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing
in ‘The Flower’. [p337]
For those who love language for its own sake, and despair at its slaughter in the age of the internet, the following may bring a smile:
Resignation, like giving up, can mean two very different things. It can be a passive going along with things or an aggressive rejection of them. You can give up complacently or you can give up crossly. It is a matter of ‘how’. As Herbert’s contemporary Bishop Joseph Hall said, “God loveth adverbs.’ [p92]
Herbert’s poetry is deeply religious and Coleridge, for example, argued that only a true Christian was likely to appreciate it. TS Elliot, for a counter example, totally disagreed and, with very little reflection, it is not hard to pull out a list of influential and very great poets who were similarly religious – Gerard Manley Hopkins comes to my mind at once. Drury takes the very reasonable view that many modern readers will not be familiar with the countless biblical references and allusions in Herbert’s poems, and for the poems that Drury examines he supplies a detailed explanation of the Christian beliefs and the specific biblical sources relevant to the poem. Ultimately, he does not consider it unrealistic for non Christians to appreciate and quickly relish what Herbert is saying in his work; certainly Drury has supplied everything we need to undertake the experiment.
It is not surprising to find that Herbert has influenced many subsequent poets, from near contemporaries to the very recent example of Vikram Seth, who even took the opportunity to purchase the Bemerton Rectory which Herbert once occupied; that is nearly as enviable as Seth’s brilliant poem, Lost, which is included and interpreted in this book, modelled on one by Herbert.
[Richard] Crashaw was not so much an imitator of Herbert as a religious poet with his own distinctive voice, for whom Herbert was an inspiration. [Henry] Vaughan was an imitator who, eventually finding his own ecstatic voice, wrote poems of extraordinary beauty. Together they suggest that imitation may be good training, as was commonly believed at the time, but that inspiration consists of an individual voice telling of things which, however hackneyed or unregarded, have not been told quite like this before. There needs to be something new and, even if modestly, startling. [p291]
Herbert ... had done more than anyone to teach Vaughan the trick of the last line which transforms the whole poem and the combination of the quotidian with the sublime. [p304]
Herbert’s poetry turns out to be not only accessible and understandable, but sublime in its philosophy and in its art. John Drury achieves the most important task of any such biography: it makes the reader a fan of the poet.
A Wreath
A wreathed garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,
Wherein I die, not live: for life is straight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,
To thee, who art more far above deceit,
Than deceit seems above simplicity.
Give me simplicity, that I may live,
So live and like, that I may know, thy ways,
Know them and practise them: then shall I give
For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise.