of Byron and Venezia

I'd like to extend a warm Divas welcome to my dear friend squozed who graciously agreed to write a piece for our blog (romantics that we are) about the poet Lord Byron. Now, as many romance writers know - especially the historical writers - Byron's poetry is - well pretty much required reading. So I'm sure you'll enjoy reading this post as much as I did.

Thank you so much squozed for blogging with us today. You truly are an honorary Divo.

by Squozed

I was honoured when I was asked by the lovely Johanna D’Angelo if I would consider writing a piece for her terrific website Pop Culture Divas where I was made an honorary Devo.  I met JoJo a few months ago through a social media site that I don’t use much anymore and discovered that we have a lot in common, not only our heritage, but a passion for movies and great literary works. If you don’t already, I highly recommend you check out her other site – well worth the visit.

JoJo suggested that I write about my favourite poet who may be yours as well, Lord Byron.  Now I know that there have been many stories, books and even documentaries and movies written and produced about the bard, but I decided to write about what he means to me from the perspective of his time in Venice, which coincidentally is where part of my family is from and where I started my life as well.  The request was also quite timely as I was scheduled to go there for business and to partake in some of the Carnevale festivities.  So as I arrived by motorboat snaking my way down the Grand Canal to my destination, I stopped and saw the Bridge of Sighs and immediately thought of the following passage:

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.

~ Childe Harold (canto IV, st. 1)

I suppose at this point I am taking for granted that you know who Lord Byron is? I have studied the man and have found some similarities in my life.  No, I absolutely do not think that anything I could ever write would have gone anywhere other than the rubbish bin if he wrote the exact same words.  I do imagine though that when I do write prose that I am channeling his spirit at some points. 

Anyway, a quick thumbnail about Lord Byron – born to a well to do father, he was short in stature – only 5’8” and fluctuated widely in weight being between 137 and 202 pounds as an adult; he became notorious for his alleged love affairs with women and Mediterranean boys; created his own cult of personality, the concept of the 'Byronic hero' - a defiant, melancholy young man, brooding on some mysterious, unforgivable in his past; had a clubbed foot that was made worse by a quack physician, he attended Cambridge which he called “a devil’s place,” because of his lasciviousness was basically exiled from England, travelled to Italy and settled in Venice where he lived for a few years and wrote some of his best works including the fourth canto of Childe Harold, the good-humored satire of Beppo, large parts of his memoirs, sundry other lyrics, some verse drama, dozens and dozens of letters, and the first sections of his masterpiece Don Juan.  He died of complications from Malaria in 1824.

Venice at the time that Byron arrived was a tribute to extreme excess and hedonism – clearly, it was well-suited for Byron where he spent many days and nights in unprecedented debauchery.  For example, he wrote about how he was with 200 women in the first 200 days that he was there.  He lived at the palazzo mocenigo, a tribute to all that was opulent during that time.  However, after a while, it appears from historical accounts, he backed away from the free-for-all.  This was also the period where he began to shy away from that brooding, angst-ridden tortured soul and introduced satire into his writing.  It has been said that Teresa Guiccioli, Byron's last love, whom he met in April 1819 became the mellowing influence on his life, though how he got together with her was also quite scandalous as she was married at the time and had the Pope dissolve her marriage in order to be with Byron. 

So with that as the backdrop, my similarities with Byron consist of attending the same university (though not the same college), having a passion for a city that is unmatched in the world, being a tortured soul but also loving satire.  That is where the similarities end – alas, no heroic trysts here, but nonetheless, I was drawn to his writing as the quintessential romantic and poet quite by happenstance.

I did not study English as a major in school, but did like taking some of the classes – my passion for Byron did not start until after university when I went to a poetry reading with a former fiancée – an aspiring actress who could have been the doppelgänger for Scarlett Johansson.  I was living in New York for a little while, but was so caught up in my work that my life at the time consisted of going from my apartment to work and back.  I figured if I agreed to go it would seem as though I might be more cultured than I really was.  To my shock, I really enjoyed the readings.  There was something that just spoke to my soul about the passion that was intertwined with each word read.  It might have been that he was a somewhat tortured person and that at the time was my mindset.  I just enjoyed and still do all of his writings.  The language is, no doubt, flowery to the point of making you pause and really think about what is being conveyed in each of his poems or stories. 

There is no doubt that he loved women and his mastiff which by the way was caricatured in a cartoon drawn to commemorate Cambridge’s 800th anniversary last year along with other famous graduates of that place.  To me, there is no other writer or poet that has gone before him or since that has been able to capture his passion for life, love, tragedy and yes, even politics not because he wrote of such happy events – but because he wrote of such events with his middle-finger raised high and because he wrote from an often very dark place.  Certainly my assessment is entirely subjective, but I have never felt words move me in such a way as his writing has.  From a moral standpoint, he clearly was bankrupt and the rumours of his sexuality and incest never went away.  In fact, he was such the antihero that many of his works would not be published until much later, after he died because they were thought to have been about subjects that were too risqué.  One of the early banned books pioneers I suppose.

Since the time of my enlightenment about Byron, I have written (attempted) to write some poetry, most of which falls far from his passion, but certainly written in his spirit.  I shouldn’t write this, but there have been times that friends or co-workers have asked me to write for them so they could give their wives, girlfriends or significant other something for a birthday or other special occasion.  Maybe I was like Lord Byron in that sense that I got lucky living vicariously through them.  I can only smile as the modern day Cyrano or something like that.

Each time I go back to Venice, I try to retrace the footsteps and go to the places that Byron enjoyed in order to gain a better understanding of what he was thinking or feeling during that time.  While Venice has evolved from the den of iniquity, being there during Carnevale gives one a small glimpse of what life must have been like at that time although I don’t think that any of the festivities today comes close to what was going on in the early 1800s.  It certainly must have been some culture shock to Byron, especially after being essentially kicked out of England for doing things that were probably quite tame in Venice.  Oh the culture clashes.

To channel Lord Byron is exactly what I try to do with this type of writing.  My words are chosen, not in an attempt to show that I am superior anyone; rather I am trying to make the reader think about what is being conveyed – to foster a discussion about the subject – or to get the reader to express his or her feelings or thoughts. 

Hey, if I can get some of the ladies to swoon along the way – well that is just an added bonus.  I am, of course, just kidding about that part – well, maybe just a little.

I am not a writer, but have a passion for writing;
I am not a poet, but poetry is my song;
I am not a romantic, but live each day hoping to find romance.

Squozed posts regularly on two different blogs:

For articles that range from thoughtful and reflective to whipsmart and witty you can read squozed's posts on his wordpress blog called squozed too.

For always delectable concoctions of provocative music, prose, poetry and images check out squozed's tumblr blog.