Poems That Read Themselves

-Robert J C Young

Introduction
In the realm of literary criticism, Robert J.C. Young's essay, Poems that Read Themselves,
throws a provocative pebble into the still waters of traditional analysis. In Poems That Read
Themselves, Robert J.C. Young delves into the exploration of how texts, over time, develop
their own internal mechanisms for interpretation, independent of their authors. Originally
published in Tropismes in 1991, the essay examines various examples to illustrate this
concept, including P.B. Shelley's Ozymandias, Horatio Smith's rendition of the same, and three
works by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Kubla Khan, Biographia Literaria, and The Ancient Mariner.
Young meticulously analyzes each of these works, comparing and contrasting their unique
reading processes to shed light on the diverse and similar strategies at play in the
interpretation of texts. This seminar delves into Young's argument, examining how poems can
function as self-contained systems of meaning, potentially rendering external analysis
superfluous.

About the Author

Robert J. C. Young was born on 1950 in Hertfordshire, England. Young is a British scholar
known for his work in postcolonial theory, cultural criticism, and history. He received his
education at Renton School and Exeter College, Oxford, earning a B.A. and D.Phil. He initially
taught at the University of Southampton before returning to Oxford University, where he
served as Professor of English and Critical Theory and was a fellow of Wadham College. In
2005, he joined New York University as the Julius Silver Professor of English and Comparative
Literature. Later, he became the Dean of Arts & Humanities at NYU Abu Dhabi.
During his time as a graduate student at Oxford, Young played a pivotal role as one of the
founding editors of the Oxford Literary Review, the first British journal dedicated to literary
and philosophical theory. He currently serves as the Editor of Interventions: International
Journal of Postcolonial Studies, which is published eight times a year. His works have been
translated into more than twenty languages. In recognition of his contributions, he was
elected as a Corresponding Fellow of the British Academy in 2013, and in 2017, he received an
honorary life fellowship at Wadham College, Oxford. Additionally, Young currently holds the
position of President of the AILC/ICLA Research Committee on Literary Theory.
Professor Robert JC Young is widely recognized as a leading figure in postcolonial theory and
history. His contributions have been instrumental in challenging and deconstructing various
concepts within postcolonial discourse. In his seminal work, White Mythologies: Writing
History and the West (1990), Young was among the first to delineate postcolonial theory as a
distinct field of study. He identified scholars like Edward W. Said and Homi K. Bhabha as
central figures in shaping its intellectual foundation. In Colonial Desire (1995), Young delved
into the detrimental effects of colonialism on marginalized communities worldwide. His book
Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction (2001) offers a comprehensive exploration of the
relationship between the history of national liberation movements and the evolution of
postcolonial theory. Young's progressive and analytical insights into postcolonialism are
further articulated in his work Postcolonialism: A Very Short Introduction. Through his
writings, Young continues to play a significant role in shaping discussions surrounding
postcolonialism, offering nuanced perspectives and critical analysis of its historical and
contemporary implications.
In Colonial Desire (1995), Young conducted a thorough examination of the concept of
'hybridity,' tracing its historical lineage from nineteenth-century racial theories to twentieth-
century linguistics. He demonstrated how this concept was later appropriated and
transformed into a significant cultural and political concept by postcolonial theorists in the
1990s. In The Idea of English Ethnicity (2008), Young revisited the topic of race to address the
seeming paradox of English ethnicity. He questioned why ethnicity does not appear to be a
category commonly applied to English people. To explore this issue, Young reevaluated how
English identity was historically defined in terms of race during the nineteenth century. In
2015, Young collaborated with Jean Khalfa on the publication of a collection of writings by
Frantz Fanon. This groundbreaking work marked the first publication of new material by
Fanon in over five decades. The collection includes previously unpublished plays, along with
psychiatric and political essays, letters, editorials from journals at hospitals where Fanon
worked, as well as a comprehensive list of Fanon's library and his annotations to his books.

A Journey Through The Essay

In the essay "Poems That Read Themselves" by Robert J.C. Young, initially published in
Tropismes in 1991, Young delves into the analysis of how a text autonomously presents itself
over time, divorced from considerations of its author. He explores various ways in which a
text engages in the act of reading and decoding without external influence. Young supports his
argument with examples such as P. B Shelley’s Ozymandius, Horatio Smith’s version of
Ozymandius, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s works including Kubla Khan, Biographia Literaria,
and The Ancient Mariner. Young scrutinizes each work individually before comparing them to
demonstrate the diverse and similar techniques employed in the reading process of each text.
The essay opens by referencing Schlegel’s insightful remark that criticism is only meaningful
when it possesses artistic qualities in itself. This notion is linked to the emergence of a new
Kantian era labeled as the ‘age of criticism,’ wherein theory transcends traditional boundaries
of literature and philosophy. Young mentions Lacoue Labarthe and Nancy, who propose that
subsequent developments, such as Oscar Wilde's The Critic as Artist or Roland Barthes'
performative voices, echo the parameters established at the outset of the nineteenth century.
Young diverges from Schlegel's focus on criticism as art and instead delves into the more
radical notion of art as criticism. This concept entails art that is deeply concerned with its own
existence as both an object and a process of interpretation. He references Walter Benjamin's
well-known statement that 'no poem is intended for the reader,' and outlines his intention to
examine several Romantic texts. These texts are characterized by their primary activity being
the act of self-reading or, more provocatively, employing strategies to resist being read
altogether.
In the initial section of the essay, Young primarily discusses three works: P.B. Shelley's poem
Ozymandius, Horatio Smith's version of Ozymandius, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla
Khan.

Shelley’s Poem Ozymandias in Young’s Readings

Percy Bysshe Shelley's sonnet Ozymandias stands out as one of his most renowned poems,
widely anthologized since the mid-nineteenth century. It first appeared in Leigh Hunt's
Examiner on January 11, 1818. Hunt, a close friend of Shelley's, published the sonnet under
the pseudonym Glirastes, a name originating from an inside joke that emerged while the
Shelleys resided in Marlow in 1817. "Glirastes" translates to 'dormouse-lover' (Greek
suffix erastes, meaning "lover of," and the Latin Gliridae, the scientific term for the family of
the dormouse.), with 'dormouse' being a term of endearment Percy used for Mary during that
period.
Moving in with the Hunts in February introduced the Shelleys to a circle of influential literary
figures including Keats, Reynolds, Lamb, Hazlitt, the Cowden Clarkes, and others.
"Ozymandias" can be interpreted as a calculated attempt by Shelley to impress his newfound
acquaintances. It seems that Shelley's renowned intellectual discussions sparked a friendly
rivalry between him and Horace Smith on the subject. The poem was composed between
December 26 and 28, 1817, while Smith was a guest at Marlow with the Shelleys.
Interestingly, Horace Smith also wrote a poem on a very similar theme, published in the
Examiner on February 1, 1818.
The primary intellectual inspiration behind this poem stemmed from Shelley's strong
aversion to tyranny. Given his inherent rebellious disposition, it's likely that the poem
metaphorically references the contemporary governance of England. In March of the same
year, habeas corpus had been suspended due to governmental apprehensions regarding
pressures for reform. Subsequently, in November, three men were executed and mutilated for
their involvement in leading the Pentridge Revolution, a workers' uprising that occurred in
June. These events prompted Shelley to write "An Address to the People," a piece that
highlighted the injustices perpetrated by the government. Unfortunately, this work is no
longer in print, but it served as a critique of the government's actions during that time.
The poem's structure reflects Shelley's rebellious nature. Shelley was not known for writing
many sonnets, so it's not surprising that when he does, as in "Ozymandias," he deviates from
the traditional sonnet format. "Ozymandias" experiments with the sonnet form by employing
an unconventional rhyme scheme: ababacdcedefef. Additionally, it incorporates disorienting
half-rhymes such as "stone"/"frown" and "appear"/"bare."
It serves as a scathing critique of human arrogance, symbolized by the enduring yet baseless
pride of a once-powerful but now deposed tyrant named Ozymandias. Young uses this poem
as his initial example of a work that inherently reveals its meaning. "Ozymandias" was first
published in The Examiner on January 11, 1818, amidst reports about The Queen's visit to
Bath, the situation in New Guinea, and updates on the implementation of the Poor Laws. The
poem is concerned with an act of iconoclasm:
OZYMANDIAS
I met a Traveller from an antique land,
Who said, ‘Two vast and trunkless legs of stone,
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read.
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the beam that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away’.
- GLIRASTES
Young begins by noting the distinction between the present and the 'antique,' which is
mediated by the traveler who moves from the past, the antique land, to the narrator's present.
This narrative technique allows the poem to straddle both time periods, serving as a
metaphor for the two legs standing in the desert. The contrast between the antique and the
present is a recurring theme in Romantic literature, with many Romantics using it to
characterize their own circumstances. Young suggests that this contrast effectively
historicizes Schiller's dualism of the 'naive' and 'sentimental' by re-framing self-consciousness
as a product of history.
Initially, "Ozymandias" might seem to embody the naive perspective rather than the
sentimental one. Interestingly, the poet refrains from expressing any personal viewpoint,
distancing the narrative through the speech of the traveler, who becomes the voice of the
poem after the first line. Even then, the traveler seems to merely observe and report what he
saw without injecting any emotion into his account. No explicit interpretation is offered,
leaving the reader to engage in the task of deciphering the poem's implications. However,
contrary to this appearance of open-endedness, numerous interpretations of the poem
abound, suggesting that it is not solely up to the reader to interpret its meaning.
Young delves into the poem and identifies a moment where the traveler interjects with a brief
comment in the middle of the sonnet. This comment is condensed to the point of being nearly
indecipherable:

“Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;”
In these lines, the subject is a fragment of a representation depicting a shattered and partially
submerged face. Young scrutinizes a minute detail that suggests something beyond the mere
physical remnants of the sculpture survives: the result of an act of interpretation. He proposes
that the sculptor "read" the emotions visible on Ozymandias' face and essentially performed a
gesture akin to writing rather than sculpting, "stamping" or imprinting the signs onto the
stone. Despite both Ozymandias and the sculptor being long deceased, the traveler's
unambiguous observation in these complex lines suggests that it is the sculptor's act of
interpretation that endures. Despite the decay of the statue, the representation persists and
its original meaning remains intact. Young hints at a potential contrast between this form of
representation and literal writing.
Young then presents another observation, highlighting another act of interpretation. This
time, it's not of a representation stamped onto lifeless stone, but rather of an inscription
carved on the pedestal of the statue:

‘My name is OZYMANDIAS, Kings of Kings:

Look on my works. ye Mighty, and despair!’

Here in this inscription it involves an act of self naming, and a challenge, attributed to the
statues subject, Ozymandias. But his command it turns out has two meanings.
One interpretation of the inscription could be: “I am Ozymandias, the King of Kings, the most
powerful ruler of all. Any other king or military leader who dares to claim greatness should
look upon my works—the magnitude of my statue, the vastness of my cities and armies—and
feel nothing but despair. You will never surpass my greatness.”
The originally intended meaning of the inscription can be interpreted as follows: It serves as a
proclamation of Ozymandias's unparalleled greatness, challenging any other ruler to compare
themselves to his grandeur and inevitably feel inferior. However, it's crucial to note that this
meaning doesn't stand alone. The second line functions both as a command and as a
performative act, compelling the reader to gaze upon Ozymandias's achievements in order to
evoke the desired response of despair. What the poem illustrates, though, is that meanings,
such as the word "kings," evolve over time. Therefore, these lines can only be fully understood
within their specific historical and contextual framework. Explicitly stating the literal implied
meaning will only hold true within this specific context.
Young offers a profound analysis by suggesting that Ozymandias, as observed through the
wreckage of the statue, has not been brought down by any earthly rival but rather by the
relentless passage of time. The poem implies a vast distance between the era when the statue
was erected and the present, accentuated by the irony of the phrase "King of Kings," which is
predominantly associated with biblical contexts. This irony is particularly potent when
considering that Ozymandias, also known as Ramses II, was the Pharaoh whom Moses
confronted during the Exodus. What's intriguing is that Ozymandias's proclamation still holds
significance, but its meaning has evolved over time. The original reference points no longer
signify the same things they once did. The name "Ozymandias" now denotes a fallen and
improper figure. Consequently, Young suggests an entirely different interpretation for the
second line:
“Those of you, who are mighty, powerful, present day kings, look on my works-now almost
completely destroyed-and despair: for however mighty you are, your earthly achievements
will eventually end in nothing they will decay and disappear into dust. No conqueror, however
powerful can defeat time.”
In the context of the traveler's narrative, Young notes that the contemporary meaning of the
inscription has become more prominent, despite not being the original intended meaning of
the inscription's author. Another perspective Young presents relates to the poem's
publication in 1818, which ties it to Napoleon. It's suggested that Napoleon may have
encountered the inscription on the pedestal during his Egyptian campaign, even though he
wouldn't have been able to read it at the time. This is because the Rosetta Stone wasn't fully
deciphered until Champollion completed the task in 1821. Similarly, the traveler in the poem
would have faced the same limitation, as the poem is based on an impossibility. In 1818,
Thomas Young, for instance, could only decipher proper names in hieroglyphics. This notion
of a Napoleonic impossibility underscores the paradox that the message, intended for other
kings, has the same impact whether interpreted in its original or contemporary context.
Ultimately, the message would have conveyed the same point to Napoleon, evoking a sense of
despair at the impossibility of surpassing Ozymandias' greatness.
Young suggests that over time, Ozymandias transforms from a self-evident truth into a
narrative characterized by Socratic irony, (check) where ignorance is feigned to provoke
others into making statements that can then be challenged. This shift implies that the poem's
opening distinction between the contemporary and the antique signifies an identification of
Romanticism with history. The poem illustrates that both meaning and power are not stable
or fixed; even power cannot ensure a tyranny of meaning. Despite authors' intentions, once
their work is written, they lose control over its interpretation. The inherent unreliability of
language, intrinsic to its nature, is further emphasized by history itself. "Ozymandias"
demonstrates that both meanings require a certain act of reference to occur. Young draws a
parallel to Hegel's interpretation of deictic terms like 'here' or 'now,' which can refer to either
day or night, indicating the unreliability of sense certainty. Similarly, "Ozymandias" reveals
that linguistic meaning is ultimately a historical construct.
Young finds that Shelley discusses this ironic aspect of writing through its historicization in
Shelley's own writings, portraying it not as a weakness but rather as a supreme strength. In
Shelley's Defence of Poetry (1821), for instance, he expresses that "All high poetry is infinite: it
is as the first acorn, which contained all oaks potentially. Veil after veil may be undrawn and
the inmost naked beauty of the meaning never exposed. A great poem is a fountain for ever
overflowing with the waters of wisdom and delight; and after one person and one age has
exhausted all its divine effluence which their peculiar relations enable them to share, another
and yet another succeeds, and new relations are ever developed, the source of an unforeseen
and an unconceived delight."
From Shelley's own statement, Young highlights that each generation of readers will approach
the poem with fresh perspectives and interpretations. However, the poem can never be
exhaustively understood or fully deciphered by any single interpretation.
The evolution of meaning in 'Ozymandias' has largely been shaped by history; it's history that
has brought about this change. However, aside from the broader historical context, the initial
act of reading depicted in the poem—the sculptor's interpretation—differs. The word
'mocked' is particularly significant here. Beyond its primary meaning of imitation, it implies
an element of derision. The sculptor, through his imitation of Ozymandias's passions,
effectively ridicules him. While the act of reading remains accurate, the act of writing
introduces a different layer of meaning—a form of mockery that is underscored by the very
survival of the inscription, contrasting with the deterioration of the statue upon which it is
inscribed.
Young suggests that the sculptor may have foreseen the eventual deterioration of his
sculpture, (Ozymandias) indicating that it was his interpretation of Ozymandias—a critical,
iconoclastic artistic perspective—that ultimately led to its downfall. This notion aligns with
Shelley's portrayal of Dante's poetry, which he describes as great because it continues to
generate new meanings over time, almost as if it had anticipated them. Young presents two
possible interpretations of this process: it may occur unintentionally, as in the case of
Ozymandias, whose absolutism is transformed into relativism by historical forces, or it may
be a deliberate aspect of artistic genius. In a discussion of Shakespeare, Schlegel refers to this
latter possibility as 'the irony of irony,' suggesting that Shakespeare's works possess countless
layers of depth and intention. Young raises the question of whether Shakespeare may have
intended to conceal subtle traps within his works, deceiving future generations of artists into
believing they are akin to Shakespeare himself. This highlights the intentions that great artists
carry with them and convey through their works, contributing to their enduring popularity
and resonance with readers.
Young notes that Schlegel had already anticipated a more radical idea regarding the
ironization of intentionality. This idea suggests that poets are abundant with intentions, and
these intentions can manifest as the deliberate inclusion of hidden traps in their works to
ensnare their most astute readers.
Young suggests the possibility that the sculptor's representation of Ozymandias serves as a
kind of trap, as it both imitates and ridicules its subject. This irony extends further when
considering the narrator Glirastes, who introduces additional layers of possibilities and
indeterminacy, much like the ambiguous name itself. Glirastes, with its exotic sound
reminiscent of Ozymandias but in Latin rather than Greek, adds to the complexity of the tale
being told, taking place in a different time or place from that of the reader. Both Glirastes and
the traveler are ironically portrayed as insignificant compared to the ruler of three thousand
years ago. Despite the statue's destruction, they are still overshadowed by Ozymandias,
symbolized by his vast legs and the "Colossal Wreck" of his face. Even in ruin, Ozymandias
remains a formidable presence, towering over both his empire and history itself. Young also
points out the significance of the name Glirastes, which hints at an inside joke—'gliris'
meaning a mouse or dormouse in Latin, a nod to Shelley's pet name for Mary. This emphasizes
the contrast between finite beings like Glirastes and the traveler, who are confronted with
overwhelming sublimity in their belated connection to antiquity. Ozymandias's enduring
power operates according to the model of the Burkean sublime, evoking terror and awe in
present-day observers despite his fragmented state. At this juncture, the two conflicting
meanings of Ozymandias's inscription may become undecidable. It continues to assert his
mightiness while also revealing its disappearance over time, resembling a "legend" that
persists in claiming power even as it acknowledges its own demise.

Horatio Smith’s Ozymandias in Comparison with Shelley’s Ozymandias

The second part of the first section of the essay opens to another poem of the same title and
content, written by Horatio, a friend of Shelley.

OZYMANDIAS
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows:
‘I am the great OZYMANDIAS’ saith the stone,
‘The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
‘The wonders of my hand.’ The City's gone,
Naught but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.
We wonder, and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro’ the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place

Horatio Smith wrote his version of "Ozymandias" as part of a competition with Shelley, and
the way Smith's poem reinterprets or rewrites Shelley's sonnet is noteworthy as it highlights
an aspect of historical relativity and change. Similar to Shelley's poem, Smith's work involves
a series of readers, both within the poem and between the two poems. However, unlike
Shelley's poem, this succession of readers in Smith's version follows a structure of repetition
where each reader discovers the same unchanging meaning.
In Smith's poem, it is not only the mighty who are called upon to despair; the inscription does
not specify a particular addressee. Here, the speaker is not Ozymandias himself but rather a
surviving piece of stone, and Ozymandias' greatness is contingent solely on the survival of his
city and the context of its disappearance. The fate of Ozymandias can thus be related to every
possible reader. Young notes that the nineteenth century introduced a different mode of
history, as Flaubert claimed; it is a history characterized by eternal recurrence that
transcends historical time and enters the realm of the sublime.
An Introduction To Coleridge’s Kubla Khan
The third section serves as an introduction to the comparisons and analyses that Young will
conduct in his essay. It outlines three works by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Kubla Khan,
Biographia Literaria, and The Ancient Mariner. However, in the first section, only "Kubla Khan"
and its preface are discussed.
Kubla Khan: or, a Vision in a Dream: a Fragment is a poem crafted by Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
finalized in 1797 but not published until 1816. According to Coleridge's preface to the poem,
he composed it one night after experiencing a dream influenced by opium, inspired by his
reading about Xanadu, the summer palace of Kublai Khan, the Mongol ruler and Emperor of
China. Upon awakening, he began writing down lines of poetry that were inspired by the
dream. However, his writing was interrupted by "a person from Porlock," which caused him
to forget the remainder of the lines. Consequently, the poem could not be completed as
originally planned, with an intended length of 200–300 lines. Coleridge kept the poem private
for his friends' readings until 1816, when Lord Byron encouraged him to publish it.
Structurally, the poem is divided into three irregular stanzas, which fluidly transition between
various times and places.
The opening stanza of the poem depicts a fantastical narrative surrounding the establishment
of Kublai Khan's capital, Xanadu (lines 1-2). It is situated near the river Alph, which meanders
through caves before flowing into a mysterious and dark sea (lines 3-5). Surrounding this area
are ten miles of fortified walls, enclosing vibrant gardens and dense forests (lines 8-11).
In the second stanza, there is a depiction of a mysterious canyon (lines 12-16), followed by the
eruption of a geyser (lines 17-19) that throws debris into the air (lines 20-23). This geyser
serves as the source of the sacred river Alph (line 24). The river flows through the woods
before reaching the caves and dark sea mentioned in the first stanza (lines 25-28). During this
eruption, Kubla Khan hears a prophecy of war (lines 29-30). An indented section portrays an
image of the pleasure-dome reflected on the water, accompanied by the sounds of the geyser
and the river (lines 31-34). The stanza concludes with a couplet describing the dome once
more (lines 35-36).
The third stanza shifts to the first-person perspective of the poem's speaker. He once saw a
woman in a vision playing a dulcimer (lines 37-41). If he could revive her song within himself,
he says, he would revive the pleasure dome itself with music (lines 42-47). Those who heard
would also see themselves there, and cry out a warning (lines 48-49). Their warning concerns
an alarming male figure (line 50). The stanza ends with instructions and a warning, to carry
out a ritual because he has consumed the food of Paradise (lines 51-54).
Young’s Comparison of Coleridge’s Kubla Khan to Shelley’s Ozymandias
Young contrasts the structured layering of readings found in Shelley's and even Smith's
poems, where each prompts the reader to continue with a series of interpretations, with three
texts by Coleridge: Kubla Khan, the Biographia Literaria, and The Ancient Mariner. In
Coleridge's works, Young observes not a series of conflicting interpretations but rather
obstacles to reading. In Kubla Khan, the Orient, associated with the highest Romanticism by
Schlegel, replaces antiquity as the site of sublimity. There are clear parallels between 'Kubla
Khan' and Shelley's poem: instead of Ozymandias the Pharaoh, we have the Khan, an Oriental
emperor portrayed as a godlike creator of vast works, particularly centered around a mighty
fountain reminiscent of Shelley's description of a great poem as "a fountain for ever
overflowing with the waters of wisdom and delight."
According to Young, similar to 'Ozymandias,' the sublimity of the Khan's accomplishments in
Kubla Khan is also contingent upon the vulnerability to time and destruction, as hinted by the
line "Ancestral voices prophesying war!" However, while this temporality and mutability are
implied, the poem does not depict the Khan's creations as being affected by them. Instead, it
abruptly shifts to an exploration of the poet's or speaker's own sense of belatedness in
relation to the Khan's creativity: "Look on his works, ye poets, and despair." Although the poet
is not portrayed as entirely powerless like the speaker in 'Ozymandias,' the poem only
presents the aspiration, expressed in the conditional tense, rather than the actual act of
creation: "Could I revive within me / Her symphony and song..." It is noteworthy that the poet
desires only to emulate the Khan's achievements, rather than surpassing them. Thus,
creativity is framed not in terms of originality but in terms of repetition, akin to the mimicry
depicted by the sculptor in Shelley's poem.
The Reading of Kubla Khan
Similar to 'Ozymandias,' the poem 'Kubla Khan' presents readers with two visions: a direct
description of Kubla Khan himself and a phantasmatic depiction of the Abyssinian maid whom
the poet once encountered. The poet expresses his sense of belatedness in relation to both
visions, suggesting that he could recreate the first only if he could revive the power of the
second. Within the poem, the reader is left unpositioned and seemingly free to interpret.
However, this apparent interpretive liberty is complicated by the fact that 'Kubla Khan'
operates differently when considered in its entirety, including the title and preface that
precede it.
In the conclusion of the first part of his essay, Young emphasizes the significance of the
preface to Kubla Khan, noting that it is widely regarded as one of the most famous prefaces in
English literature. He suggests that the poem itself almost seems secondary to the preface,
which serves to mediate the poem for the reader and offer an ironic perspective. Rather than
merely reflecting on the circumstances of its composition, the preface carefully controls the
way in which the work is to be interpreted. In essence, Young suggests that Coleridge's
addition of the preface to the work makes it exceedingly challenging, if not virtually
impossible, to interpret.
Conclusion
In his essay, Robert J C Young seeks to establish art as a form of criticism and explores various
ways in which a text can be self-referential. Throughout the essay, he illustrates how the
meaning of a text changes over time, indicating the absence of a fixed center. This concept
aligns with Derrida's notion of "free play," as discussed in his essay "Structure, Sign and Play
in the Discourse of the Human Sciences." Young argues that the continuous free play of
meaning necessitates a text to be its own interpretation for its dissemination.
Young's approach to interpreting a text internally, allowing the text to serve as its own
interpreter rather than relying solely on the author, introduces a new way of engaging with
literature. He supports his argument with significant examples and quotes from various
important works, with Friedrich Schlegel being central to the essay. The essay begins by
referencing Schlegel's aphorism that criticism is unnecessary unless it itself is a work of art.
Schlegel's concept of the "irony of irony" is also discussed, as well as Schiller's dualism of the
naive and the sentimental. Additionally, Young incorporates Shelley's ideas from his work
"Defence of Poetry," where Shelley emphasizes the infinite nature of high poetry and the
ability of a good poem to unveil new meanings in different historical periods. These insights
enrich and give depth to the essay's central idea. In concluding the first part of the essay,
Young highlights the main aspect that linguistic meaning is essentially a product of historical
influence.
In his work, Young skillfully examines the text both externally and internally. He looks
externally by contextualizing the text within history to understand the meanings it conveys in
relation to historical events and contexts. Simultaneously, he internalizes the text to explore
the interpretations it generates on its own. Young also references Roland Barthes' concept of
the Death of the Author, suggesting that once a work is created, the author's influence
diminishes, and the text begins to exist independently, almost as if the poems read
themselves.