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observations: Byron’s poem is set in Venice at Carnevale: the season of joy and pleasure preceding Lent. Heroine Laura thinks she is widowed. George Gordon Byron: Beppo ( words) In Beppo the garrulous narrator tells the story of how Beppo (short for Guiseppe) disappears on a sea voyage. The purpose of this paper is to show that Beppo, a story known to be based on an . 9: Tony Tanner, ch.2, «Lord Byron: A Sea Cybele», Venice Desired.

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G eorge Orwell once said of saints that they should be judged guilty until proven innocent. Byron felt the same about poets.

But his problem with poets ran deeper than a dislike of certain examples of the breed. Byron occasionally found better things to do; he died bygon them.

But his attitude was more than simply boastful, and later in his career, he began to write a kind of poetry that could stand up to his own suspicions of the form.

Strangely enough, given his bdppo about Wordsworth and Wordsworth’s “poetical system”, the preface to Bpepo Ballads sets the stage for the problems of Byron’s final flourishing. PoetryWordsworth had said, should return to its roots, the real language of men. Byron took him at his word – though he differed substantially in his sense of “real language” and real men.

In the spring ofhe wrote from Bppo to ask his friend Thomas Moore to assure the critic Jeffrey, one of his supporters, that “I was not, and, indeed, am not even now, the misanthropical and gloomy gentleman he takes me for, but a facetious companion, well to do with those with whom I am intimate, and as loquacious and laughing as if I were a much cleverer fellow.

Literary Encyclopedia | Beppo

It’s very easy for writers, like other people, to slip into their professional roles, to let it take over their personalities. The problem, for a poet like Byron, is that he distrusted the writer’s point of view; he preferred the man of the world’s. A few months later, he began work on “Beppo”, and in it he tried to capture something of the flavour of his Venetian life, and something of the personality he had described to Moore.

The first stanza quietly announces his heretical intentions. Byron sets the scene for his Venetian tale with a piece of very ordinary information. He’s describing the Carnival, and his account includes a series of useful and wonderfully unpoetical tips. Verse, as a rule, doesn’t deal in practicalities; Byron is making a point.

Beppo, A Venetian Story Poem by George Gordon Byron – Poem Hunter Comments

Don’t dress up as a priest, he writes, the locals won’t like it. Bring some kind of English sauce, or you’ll get bored with the food by the end of the season: A Lent will well-nigh starve ye”. The rhythm, loose, conversational, and the rhyme, comically excessive, tend towards the same end: The story itself is scant but dramatic enough. A pretty woman suspects that her sailor husband, Beppo, has been lost at sea.

She mourns him decently for several years, but finally succumbs to the general practice and takes a lover, a cavalier servente. He is a count, a gallant and fashionable man, with excellent taste, and a wide and pleasant range of amateurish talents: Such accomplishments make for an amiable life; they make him amiable, too: He turns out to be her old husband.


All of this takes up very little space. The real hero of the piece bepp the poet himself Byron once criticised Wordsworth for making “the bard the hero of the story”who digresses chattily from stanza to stanza on a variety of topics, including his own life.

I say the poet is beppoo hero – it’s his failure as a poet that makes heppo who he is, and I wonder if Byron had in mind the self-portrait he offered Moore when he wrote:. Writers often try to bepppo what they might do, what they might be like, if they weren’t writers. It’s a source of anxiety that has produced, ever since Wordsworth, a great deal of unprofitable farming. Byron, here, is imagining himself as a non-poet, and the genius of the move lies in the fact that he imagines himself more or less the same, only unsuccessful – and, crucially, a little more inclined to prose.

He even manages to work in a few digs against his own backlist. The world did delight. What he’s describing is his own canny exploitation, of inspiration, lodr experience; his transformation of these vague quantities into a marketable good. Such modesty, I think, is real enough, but he banks it for a reason. He wants to make us suspicious of such writing – to set us up for the kind of writing he’s selling us now.

Self-mockery is also the device he employs to justify his mockery of others.

It is less than two years since his separation, the facts of which, among many rumours, had remained in the public eye. One of his digressions describes the treatment of wives in Muslim countries, their confinement, both physical and spiritual, with strange and ironic commendation: For the benefit of the less knowing, he gestures heavily at what he isn’t saying.

Again, he insists that the real story can be told only in prose. Byron made good on the pun, too, and was writing up the famous memoirs his life around the time he was working on “Beppo”.

The point of these digressions isn’t merely spiteful and personal though they are that, too. He’s trying to give a rounder and more layered self-portrait than he had given in “Childe Harold”. Readers are justifiably suspicious of fictions, in prose or poetry, about writers – their self-reflexiveness puts them in the class of trade manuals, not fit for general consumption.

Byron himself, as he makes clear in this poem, is suspicious of writers defined entirely by their art. On the other hand, the device allows him to add the kind of “real” texture that has begun to matter to him.

Beppo, A Venetian Story – Poem by George Gordon Byron

One reason writers write themselves into their works is that they don’t like the monotony of their own “voice”. It seems a little inhuman to them, omniscient, pure, etc. They want to give it a personality, to play with the contrast between private and professional, to hint at its insincerities: The contrast pord his public and private selves, outlined in that letter to Moore, had been bothering him; “Beppo” showed him how to deal with it. It became the model for his masterpiece, “Don Juan”.

The poem, however, is much more than a discourse byro poets and poetry – that is only its undertone. Really, it is a series of digressions on worldliness: Louis MacNeice once wrote: If this seems remarkably modern “Beppo” came out inthe year in which Keats published “Endymion” and Shelley began work on Prometheus Unboundthat’s because it is, though I wonder how beopo modern poets can suggest, in their poetry, so generous, natural, humorous and serious a response to modern life as Byron shows here.


There’s a kind of chicken and egg argument, in Byron criticism, about the roles of irony and sentiment in his work. It is clear that his first public read him for his “love”; byeon critics have tried to reclaim the sentimental stuff by making it part of some ironic and post-Romantic strategy.

My own sense is that his contemporaries were nearer the truth. Irony, in Byron, is a kind of investment he makes, to build up his capital of sincerity.

What he wants to spend it on is sentiment, on earned sentiment, and “Beppo” contains a beautiful description of the joys of love: What would youth be without love! His career trajectory – I’m aware of the strangeness of the ,ord – looks a little like Woody Allen’s. They wrote serious or they wrote funny, but they couldn’t do both at the same time until they stumbled on this simple idea: Byron had built a career arguing that they don’t and can’t, but in “Beppo”, they do.

It’s one of the strange and wonderful turns in this strange and wonderful poem: Laura takes Beppi back. I say the poet is the hero – it’s lrod failure as bryon poet that makes him who he is, and I wonder if Byron veppo in mind the self-portrait he offered Moore when he wrote: But I am but a nameless sort of person, A broken dandy lately on my travels And take for rhyme, to hook my rambling verse on, The first that Walker’s lexicon unravels, And when I can’t find that, I put a worse on, Not caring as I ought for critics’ cavils.

I’ve half a mind to tumble down to prose, But verse is more in fashion – so here goes.

How quickly would I print the world delighting A Grecian, Syrian, or Assyrian tale; And sell you, mix’d with western sentimentalism, Some samples of the finest Orientalism! Why I thank God for that is no great matter, I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose, And as, perhaps, they would not highly flatter, I’ll keep them for my life to come in prose I like the taxes, when they’re not too many; I like a seacoal fire, when not too dear; I like a beefsteak, too, as well as any; Have no objection to a pot of beer; I like the weather, when it is not rainy, That is, I like two months of every year.

And so God save the Regent, Church, and King! Which means that I like all and everything. What’er his youth had suffer’d, his old age With wealth and talking made him some amends; Though Laura sometimes put him in a rage, I’ve heard the Count and he were always friends. My pen is at the bottom of a page, Which being finish’d, here the story ends; ‘Tis to be wish’d it had been sooner done, But stories somehow lengthen when begun. Poetry Lord Byron Benjamin Markovits reviews.