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Biography of John Keats

John Keats

John Keats (1795 - 1821)


John Keats was born on 31 October 1795 (probably), first child of Thomas Keats and Frances Jennings Keats, who had apparently eloped. Everything was pretty ordinary for all concerned for a while--the Keatses had three more sons (George and Thomas, plus Edward who died as a baby) and one daughter, Frances, by 1803. That was also the year when John went away to school at Enfield. In 1804, John's father was killed in a fall from a horse. Just over two months later, for mysterious reasons, Frances remarried, to a London bank clerk named William Rawlings. Frances quickly decided she'd made some sort of terrible error and left, taking nothing with her since the laws of the time decreed that all her property and even her children belonged to her husband. Frances' mother, Alice, swept in and took custody of the children, but she could do nothing about the Swan and Hoop, which Rawlings sold immediately before disappearing. It was around this time that John became prone to fistfights, which he rarely lost even though he was small for his age.

Frances reappeared suddenly in 1809, ill and depressed from many years of depending on the kindness of strangers. John was overjoyed to see her and took care of her devotedly, but it was soon obvious that she had consumption. She died in 1810, a year or so after her brother died of the same disease. John was crushed, and turned from fighting to studying. A year later, one of his financial guardians, a man named Abbey, sat him down and asked John what he'd like to do for a living. John had already considered the question, and replied that he'd like to be a surgeon. So he was duly apprenticed to a surgeon named Hammond who lived in the neighborhood.

It was in 1813 that John first started reading lyric poetry, most notably works by Sir Edmund Spenser like "The Faerie Queen." It was also around this time that John began to really rebel against Hammond. The following year, Grandmother Jennings died, and the family was split up, it being improper at that time for younger sisters to live with older brothers without a parental type around. Frances was sent to live with the kids' other financial guardian and the two boys went to work. John just kept to himself and wrote really sad poems. These poems still weren't very good, and he kept right on with learning to be a surgeon (in fact, he was doing so well, he'd jumped ahead of the curriculum) but over the next couple of years, poetry gradually became the overriding ambition of his life and medicine was left in the dust.

One of John's sonnets, called "To Solitude, " was printed in 1816, in the liberal newspaper, The Examiner. This sonnet was good, but it wasn't until a little later in the year that he wrote "On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer," which proved that he was the man to watch. His first volume of poetry appeared on 3 March 1817, and it didn't sell very well at all. John was depressed, but kept writing. Shelley had challenged him to an epic poetry writing contest over the summer, and for that contest, John wrote Endymion, though he didn't finish it within the time limit, so I guess Shelley won. But John was the sought-after young poet in London, and he lived in a whirl of parties and dances, even though he didn't much like crowds.

In June of 1818, John apparently became convinced that he would have only three more years to live. He'd already written many of his most famous poems, but he was still convinced that he hadn't yet done enough to leave his mark on the literary world. His brother George had announced plans to emigrate to Illinois with his new wife, and his brother Tom had just started showing signs of consumption and needed John to look after him. And to top it all off, John had just fallen madly in love with a young woman named Frances Brawne. All of this overwhelmed and depressed him. He tried to lose himself in his latest poem, Hyperion, but that's hard to do when you're spending most of your time in a sickroom.

Tom died in December of 1818. Though John should have received £500 from Tom's estate, Abbey (the guardian) decreed that he couldn't have it until his sister Frances turned 21. It wasn't until a year or so after John's death that anyone realized that Abbey had misappropriated nearly £1000 from Alice Jennings' estate. To make matters worse, brother George had gone broke and was begging John to send him whatever he could scavenge from the family funds. Desparate, John convinced his publishers to issue another volume of his poetry, but this was not a stunning success. Dead broke, he still allowed George to have the remnants of the family estate. John was rapidly becoming dependant on the help of his friends, people like Leigh Hunt (who'd gotten married and settled down some) and Charles Brown. John was also developing consumption, coughing up blood in February of 1820.

It was around this time that, without consulting John, Charles began arrangements for sending John to Italy. John didn't want to be so far away from his ladylove, but he felt incapable of arguing. He left in September of1820, accompanied by Joseph Severn, an up and coming portrait artist. Once in Rome, the two men moved into lodgings across the piazza from an English doctor named Clark. John was not allowed to write poetry and only given the dullest books to read, as emotional excitement was considered very bad for consumptive patients. John was definitely in a state; he stopped opening letters, even from his beloved Frances, after a month or so. In December, he tried to commit suicide by taking laudanum, but Severn stopped him. Later, delirious from the disease and the starvation diet Clark prescribed, John would rant at Severn for stopping him and even went so far as to accuse his friends of having poisoned him back in London.

On 23 February 1821, John died. Frances, upon hearing the news, seemed all right for a few weeks, then fell ill, and after recovering began wearing widows' weeds. John had requested that his tomstone read only "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." Charles Brown, feeling that was too brusque, had this carved on the stone instead: "This Grave contains all that was Mortal of a YOUNG ENGLISH POET Who on his Death Bed, in the Malicious Power of his Enemies, Desired these Words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone 'Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water'".


Biography by: Ward, Eileen. John Keats: The Making of a Poet. New York: Viking Press, 1963.


82 Poems written by John Keats

The poems are by default sorted according to volume, but you can also choose to sort them alphabetically or by page views.

Volume | Alphabetically | Page Views | Comments | [First Lines]


First LineComments
"Dark eyes are dearer far
to a friend Comments and analysis of Robin Hood by John Keats 2 Comments
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Comments and analysis of A Thing of Beauty (Endymion) by John Keats 4 Comments
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Comments and analysis of La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats 4 Comments
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
BARDS of Passion and of Mirth,
BOOK I
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art! -
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art— Comments and analysis of Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art by John Keats 2 Comments
BRIGHT Star, would I were steadfast as thou art--
Byron! how sweetly sad thy melody!
Cat! who hast pass’d thy grand climacteric,
ENDYMION.
Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy Comments and analysis of On Fame by John Keats 1 Comment
Fill for me a brimming bowl
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; Comments and analysis of The Human Seasons by John Keats 1 Comment
Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
Full many a dreary hour have I past,
Give me a golden pen, and let me lean Comments and analysis of On Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour by John Keats 1 Comment
GIVE me women, wine, and snuff Comments and analysis of Give Me Women, Wine, and Snuff by John Keats 1 Comment
God of the golden bow,
Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Happy is England! I could be content Comments and analysis of Happy Is England! I Could Be Content by John Keats 1 Comment
Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak
Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
Hither hither, love---
How many bards gild the lapses of time!
I Comments and analysis of To Autumn by John Keats 10 Comments
I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!
I. Comments and analysis of Isabella or The Pot of Basil by John Keats 1 Comment
If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
IN a drear-nighted December, Comments and analysis of Stanzas by John Keats 1 Comment
In drear-nighted December,
It keeps eternal whisperings around
Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Many the wonders I this day have seen:
MOTHER of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, Comments and analysis of On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer by John Keats 3 Comments
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains Comments and analysis of Ode To A Nightingale by John Keats 1 Comment
My spirit is too weak; mortality
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Comments and analysis of Ode On Melancholy by John Keats 1 Comment
Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
O blush not so! O blush not so!
O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung Comments and analysis of Ode To Psyche by John Keats 1 Comment
O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute! Comments and analysis of On Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again by John Keats 2 Comments
O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
O soft embalmer of the still midnight, Comments and analysis of To Sleep by John Keats 1 Comment
O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
O SORROW!
O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!
O that a week could be an age, and we
Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
One morn before me were three figures seen,
Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood!
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Comments and analysis of Ode To Autumn by John Keats 4 Comments
Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,
Son of the old Moon-mountains African! Comments and analysis of To The Nile by John Keats 2 Comments
Souls of Poets dead and gone,
St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! Comments and analysis of The Eve Of St. Agnes by John Keats 1 Comment
Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
The poetry of earth is never dead: Comments and analysis of On The Grasshopper And Cricket by John Keats 2 Comments
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
Think not of it, sweet one, so;---
This living hand, now warm and capable Comments and analysis of This Living Hand by John Keats 9 Comments
This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Comments and analysis of Ode On A Grecian Urn by John Keats 1 Comment
To one who has been long in city pent,
Unfelt unheard, unseen,
What though, for showing truth to flattered state, Comments and analysis of Written On The Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison by John Keats 1 Comment
When by my solitary hearth I sit, Comments and analysis of To Hope by John Keats 2 Comments
When I have fears that I may cease to be Comments and analysis of When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be by John Keats 9 Comments
Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell: Comments and analysis of Why Did I Laugh Tonight? No Voice Will Tell by John Keats 2 Comments


Books by John Keats

 
1.
Search : The Complete Poems of John Keats (Modern Library)
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Search : Complete Poems and Selected Letters of John Keats (Modern Library Classics)
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3.
Search : Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne
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