Literature and Life
One thing I love about Literature is in reading these great works; you learn that human sentiment although has changed in language has not really changed in feeling. I am currently studying Wordsworth v Byron and although I am not much of a Wordsworth fan, I really appreciate Lord Byron. “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” is a somewhat autobiographical poem by Byron; my Professor described it as a sort of travel log of his many adventures. Canto the Third had been written after he had fled England after disgracing his marriage and had been ostracized for his “unruly” and “improper” conduct (I put the quotes, but he did do wrong). Canto the Third is the accounts of his travels (through the tale of Childe Harold of course) during a desolate and lonely time for him in his life; he cannot love the woman he loves, a form of torture still today.
One passage in particular rang true to me, and I thought I’d share it:
“Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
Where roll’d the ocean, thereon was his home;
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
He had the passion and the power to roam;
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker’s foam,
Were unto him companionship”
- Canto III. Stanza XIII.
Often times when traveling, you learn to take refuge in the nature around you. Sometimes even, you don’t have the indulgence of someone else to be with you to share the experience and you are seeing these wonders alone. I say this, and then I think… well, that’s not entirely true. For me, as much as I did find peace in nature and appreciating the natural beauties of say southern Portugal; I also did have something there to share it with me. I wrote in my journal one day while strolling along the coast after a day of sunshine at the pool:
My camera is my companion sharing with me these experiences. Its pictures will remind me of what I saw like an old friend does at a much overdue lunch. It will remind me of the times gone by; it will be my keener and more vivid eye as my own memories begin to fade.
This is true though, not just for traveling purposes but also in remembering times that have long since passed. I am not quiet like Lord Byron at all in anyway, but I can relate to him in some ways: the seeking refuge in traveling – hoping to escape the memories of love and other times of happiness – and then falling victim of painful nostalgia. It seems, that no matter how far you go, these memories can still grab a hold of you and feel as sharp as it would anywhere in the world. I like when Byron says, “What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?” and those scars are painful to remember. Yet we carry on, through the adventures… then pretty soon your other pictures are buried with newer pictures, of new sights sought and lands conquered. I have come to realize that scars tend to fade with a lot of sunshine, a tan can cover a lot of things up; nonetheless, covering it up does not mean that they do not exist. Now I am getting lost in metaphorical messages, enough.
I have finished four full days here at Cambridge. I have been more than comfortable in my accommodation, and I have quiet literally received a royal treatment here; it is truly an academic oasis and it is inspiring. I do not have a camera right now (long story), but it was supposed to have arrived on Monday. Hopefully, when I do receive it, I will be able to share some photos and in turn document some memories.
