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Timoleon
1st edition of collection of Melville poems.
- GenresPoetry
70 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1891
15 people want to read
About the author
Herman Melville
2,405 books4,526 followersThere is more than one author with this name
Herman Melville was an American novelist, short story writer, and poet of the American Renaissance period. Among his best-known works are Moby-Dick (1851); Typee (1846), a romanticized account of his experiences in Polynesia; and Billy Budd, Sailor, a posthumously published novella. At the time of his death, Melville was no longer well known to the public, but the 1919 centennial of his birth was the starting point of a Melville revival. Moby-Dick eventually would be considered one of the great American novels.
Melville was born in New York City, the third child of a prosperous merchant whose death in 1832 left the family in dire financial straits. He took to sea in 1839 as a common sailor on a merchant ship and then on the whaler Acushnet, but he jumped ship in the Marquesas Islands. Typee, his first book, and its sequel, Omoo (1847), were travel-adventures based on his encounters with the peoples of the islands. Their success gave him the financial security to marry Elizabeth Shaw, the daughter of the Boston jurist Lemuel Shaw. Mardi (1849), a romance-adventure and his first book not based on his own experience, was not well received. Redburn (1849) and White-Jacket (1850), both tales based on his experience as a well-born young man at sea, were given respectable reviews, but did not sell well enough to support his expanding family.
Melville's growing literary ambition showed in Moby-Dick (1851), which took nearly a year and a half to write, but it did not find an audience, and critics scorned his psychological novel Pierre: or, The Ambiguities (1852). From 1853 to 1856, Melville published short fiction in magazines, including "Benito Cereno" and "Bartleby, the Scrivener". In 1857, he traveled to England, toured the Near East, and published his last work of prose, The Confidence-Man (1857). He moved to New York in 1863, eventually taking a position as a United States customs inspector.
From that point, Melville focused his creative powers on poetry. Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War (1866) was his poetic reflection on the moral questions of the American Civil War. In 1867, his eldest child Malcolm died at home from a self-inflicted gunshot. Melville's metaphysical epic Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land was published in 1876. In 1886, his other son Stanwix died of apparent tuberculosis, and Melville retired. During his last years, he privately published two volumes of poetry, and left one volume unpublished. The novella Billy Budd was left unfinished at his death, but was published posthumously in 1924. Melville died from cardiovascular disease in 1891.
Herman Melville was an American novelist, short story writer, and poet of the American Renaissance period. Among his best-known works are Moby-Dick (1851); Typee (1846), a romanticized account of his experiences in Polynesia; and Billy Budd, Sailor, a posthumously published novella. At the time of his death, Melville was no longer well known to the public, but the 1919 centennial of his birth was the starting point of a Melville revival. Moby-Dick eventually would be considered one of the great American novels.
Melville was born in New York City, the third child of a prosperous merchant whose death in 1832 left the family in dire financial straits. He took to sea in 1839 as a common sailor on a merchant ship and then on the whaler Acushnet, but he jumped ship in the Marquesas Islands. Typee, his first book, and its sequel, Omoo (1847), were travel-adventures based on his encounters with the peoples of the islands. Their success gave him the financial security to marry Elizabeth Shaw, the daughter of the Boston jurist Lemuel Shaw. Mardi (1849), a romance-adventure and his first book not based on his own experience, was not well received. Redburn (1849) and White-Jacket (1850), both tales based on his experience as a well-born young man at sea, were given respectable reviews, but did not sell well enough to support his expanding family.
Melville's growing literary ambition showed in Moby-Dick (1851), which took nearly a year and a half to write, but it did not find an audience, and critics scorned his psychological novel Pierre: or, The Ambiguities (1852). From 1853 to 1856, Melville published short fiction in magazines, including "Benito Cereno" and "Bartleby, the Scrivener". In 1857, he traveled to England, toured the Near East, and published his last work of prose, The Confidence-Man (1857). He moved to New York in 1863, eventually taking a position as a United States customs inspector.
From that point, Melville focused his creative powers on poetry. Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War (1866) was his poetic reflection on the moral questions of the American Civil War. In 1867, his eldest child Malcolm died at home from a self-inflicted gunshot. Melville's metaphysical epic Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land was published in 1876. In 1886, his other son Stanwix died of apparent tuberculosis, and Melville retired. During his last years, he privately published two volumes of poetry, and left one volume unpublished. The novella Billy Budd was left unfinished at his death, but was published posthumously in 1924. Melville died from cardiovascular disease in 1891.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
June 5, 2023
Mainly flat. Occasionally exquisite. Top tips: Ravaged Villa & L’Envoi.
November 6, 2017
This has a few poems that fall flat, but I think poems like "Art" and "After the Pleasure Party" are rich and insightful
April 24, 2024
Craftsmen, in dateless quarries dim,
Stones formless into form did trim,
Usurped on Nature’s self with Art,
And bade this dumb I AM to start,
Imposing him.
January 3, 2023
life halts never, life must on,
and take with term prolonged some scar or stain.
yes life must on and latent germs
time's seasons wake in mead and man,
and brothers, playfellows in youth,
develop into variance wide in span.
if conscience doubt, she'll next recant.
what basis then? O tell at last,
are earnest natures staggering here
but fatherless shadows from no substance cast?
yea, are ye, gods? then ye, tis ye
should show what touch of tie ye may,
since ye too, if not wrung, are wronged
by grievous misconceptions of your sway.
and yet, ah yet, scarce ill I reigned,
through self-illusion self-sustained,
when now enlightened, undeceived
what gain I, barrenly bereaved.
than this can be yet lower decline
envy and spleen, can these be mine?
found a family, build a state,
the pledged event is still the same:
matter in end will never abate
his ancient brutal claim.
indolence is heaven's ally here,
and energy the child of hell:
the good man pouring from his pitcher clear
but brims the poisoned well.
O self reliant, strong and free,
thou in whom power and peace unite,
transcender! raise me up to thee,
raise me and arm me!
what forms divine in adamant fair
carven demigod and god,
and hero-marbles rivalling these,
bide under latium's sod
or lost in sediment and drift
alluvial which the grecian rivers sift.
to dig for these, O better far
than raking arid sands
for gold more barren, meetly theirs
sterile, with brimming hands.
tired of the homeless deep, look how their flight yon hurrying billows urge hitherward but to reap passive repulse from the iron-bound verge!
and take with term prolonged some scar or stain.
yes life must on and latent germs
time's seasons wake in mead and man,
and brothers, playfellows in youth,
develop into variance wide in span.
if conscience doubt, she'll next recant.
what basis then? O tell at last,
are earnest natures staggering here
but fatherless shadows from no substance cast?
yea, are ye, gods? then ye, tis ye
should show what touch of tie ye may,
since ye too, if not wrung, are wronged
by grievous misconceptions of your sway.
and yet, ah yet, scarce ill I reigned,
through self-illusion self-sustained,
when now enlightened, undeceived
what gain I, barrenly bereaved.
than this can be yet lower decline
envy and spleen, can these be mine?
found a family, build a state,
the pledged event is still the same:
matter in end will never abate
his ancient brutal claim.
indolence is heaven's ally here,
and energy the child of hell:
the good man pouring from his pitcher clear
but brims the poisoned well.
O self reliant, strong and free,
thou in whom power and peace unite,
transcender! raise me up to thee,
raise me and arm me!
what forms divine in adamant fair
carven demigod and god,
and hero-marbles rivalling these,
bide under latium's sod
or lost in sediment and drift
alluvial which the grecian rivers sift.
to dig for these, O better far
than raking arid sands
for gold more barren, meetly theirs
sterile, with brimming hands.
tired of the homeless deep, look how their flight yon hurrying billows urge hitherward but to reap passive repulse from the iron-bound verge!
October 20, 2016
As a general rule, the longer a poem in this collection, the worse it is, and the shorter a poem in this collection, the better it is.
There's a few really pretty pieces of about 8 lines or less. Here's one of the best, titled "The Ravaged Villa"
In shards the sylvan vases lie,
Their links of dance undone,
And brambles wither by thy brim,
Choked fountain of the sun!
The spider in the laurel spins,
The weed exiles the flower:
And, flung to kiln, Apollo's bust
Makes lime for Mammon's tower.
Straightforward, paints a vivid and haunting picture, excellent rhyme and meter, and just the right level of complexity. If only all the poems were like this one...
But then there's loads of longer pieces filled with little except highly esoteric Greco-Roman pagan nonsense. Poetic form and comprehensibility tend to suffer in the longer pieces too. Finally, as was Melville's habit throughout his writing career, he often confuses obscure name-dropping with literary brilliance.
This was the last of the 14 books Melville published in his lifetime. In the immortal words of T.S. Eliot, he went out not with a bang but a whimper.
There's a few really pretty pieces of about 8 lines or less. Here's one of the best, titled "The Ravaged Villa"
In shards the sylvan vases lie,
Their links of dance undone,
And brambles wither by thy brim,
Choked fountain of the sun!
The spider in the laurel spins,
The weed exiles the flower:
And, flung to kiln, Apollo's bust
Makes lime for Mammon's tower.
Straightforward, paints a vivid and haunting picture, excellent rhyme and meter, and just the right level of complexity. If only all the poems were like this one...
But then there's loads of longer pieces filled with little except highly esoteric Greco-Roman pagan nonsense. Poetic form and comprehensibility tend to suffer in the longer pieces too. Finally, as was Melville's habit throughout his writing career, he often confuses obscure name-dropping with literary brilliance.
This was the last of the 14 books Melville published in his lifetime. In the immortal words of T.S. Eliot, he went out not with a bang but a whimper.
July 27, 2009
Only one poem in this collection is great: "The Bench of Boors." Others are mediocre.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews