In Search of Xanadu

Hello, this is Altalena and welcome to An Aesthetic Education. When we are in the throes of a creative endeavor, we must find a space that will allow us to perform at our best. To do our best work and reach a high point of creative thought and output. Over the past few weeks, we have discussed many of the nuances and ideas associated with creativity and beauty. From Plato to Byron, we have seen how the geniuses of each age have grappled with trying to identify, understand, and appreciate what it means to be creative and the purpose of making art. The mind works in funny ways. Our dreams, so often fantastical and inspiring, can play host to some of our greatest creative inspirations. This world of dreams played a constant role in the work of the Romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. In his poem Kubla Khan, he presents a fragment of a world, where imagination and creativity permeates the surface. This world, awe – inspiring and frightening at the same time, introduces to us the space that must be found, both psychologically and spiritually, for the creation of art and meaning. Let’s take a journey together to this fragmented world of dreams and see what we can learn about the beauty and the dangers found in our imaginations.

Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw;
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Within this fragment and dreamlike landscape, Coleridge takes us to the place of creative thought. It is a world of contrasting images. A sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice, sunless seas, caverns measureless to man, music and nature mixed together to form a symphony of sounds and delights. Yet, as readers we have to ask ourselves where is this Xanadu that contains these strange wonders and creations? Where does the mind need to go in order to find it? To what depths do you need be willing to push yourself, in order to be creative? The vision that Coleridge shows us in this fragmented dream state is of the powers of the imagination. To find this power the poet must be able to withdraw themselves to a space separated from society. They can observe, they can comment, but they can never actively participate in the great actions of their times. Theirs is the role of the speaker of truth, highlighting the many different forces and elements that come together at the conflagration of humanity’s wills.

Coleridge says that if he could find that place, that space where imagination was free to be its most creative and reach its highest of heights, he too could create those magnificent things. He could be that speaker of truth, a poet. But for Coleridge, and many others like him, reaching that state of creative exertion requires additional help. In Coleridge’s case, his constant battle with and use of opium brought him to that point of creative expression. Where he found his Xanadu. But this came at a steep price for his health, his relationships, and ultimately his life. The poet must be aware of the dangers that accompany such a journey. Yes, one can find new creative heights, but the dread and danger to one’s sanity and soul cannot be understated. This vision of Xanadu is one filled with beauty and terror, which gives a brief insight into the battle of wills experienced by one of the greatest poets of the Romantic age. The path of the creative is never easy and certainly never straightforward. The reward is the creation of beauty and light, yet for every light there is also a shadow. For Coleridge that balance between light and shadow was fraught with peril and his journey to Xanadu would remain incomplete. Yet, for what he managed to create and the verse that he brought to us, we all must remain eternally grateful.

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