William Wordsworth’s Daffodils (1807)

The verges near where I live are seasonally awash with daffodils, as no doubt are yours if you live virtually anywhere in the UK, so what better time to take a look at that classic poem that regularly makes its way into the nation’s favourite poem lists, namely William Wordsworth’s I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (aka Daffodils)? I’m less certain about nowadays, but when I was young, this poem was the one that literally everyone knew. If pushed to quote a line of poetry you could always fall back upon “I wandered lonely as a cloud” in the same way you might have said “To be or not to be” if pushed to quote Shakespeare.

Wordsworth was the man who helped to launch the Romantic movement in English literature when, in 1798, he published Lyrical Ballads with Samuel Taylor Coleridge. As well as being a volume of poems by the two men, the work included a preface expounding the poets’ literary theory and principles. They wanted to make poetry accessible to the average person by writing verse in common, everyday language and with common, everyday subjects as the focus. This was against the grain, of course – how often do we find an artist, famous to us today, pushing the boundaries of convention in their own time?

Although initially received modestly, Lyrical Ballads came to be seen as a masterpiece and launched both poets into the public gaze, so when in 1807 Wordsworth published Poems, in Two Volumes, including Daffodils, he was already a well-known figure in literary circles. Wordsworth had talked of poetry being “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility”, and Daffodils is the perfect illustration of what he meant ( For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye, Which is the bliss of solitude…) .

It was inspired by Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy having come across a long and striking swathe of daffodils whilst out on a stroll around Ullswater in April 1802. Dorothy was a keen diarist who recorded her own feelings about the daffodils, and this likely helped William frame his poem, and indeed, Wordsworth’s wife Mary also contributed a couple of lines to the poem: it was a real family affair. If you want to remind yourself of the poem beyond its immortal opening line, here it is…

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

Aram Khachaturian’s Adagio From Spartacus (1954)

Khachaturian! A great name, for a start, that I recall seeing written on the back of one of those compilation albums of classical music, owned by my parents. That album was actually a great introduction to the classics; it’s where I first heard The Flight of the Bumblebee, The Ride of the Valkyries, The Blue Danube, The Hall of the Mountain King, and, in the case of Khachaturian, the frenzied Sabre Dance.

Aram Khachaturian was born in 1903 in Tblisi, Georgia, of Armenian extraction (I think it was that patronymic suffix, –ian, common to Armenian surnames – such as Kardashian – that added a certain something). Following the Sovietization of the Caucasus in 1921, Khachaturian moved to Moscow, where he enrolled at the Gnessin Musical Institute and subsequently studied at the Moscow Conservatory. He wrote several significant concertos and symphonies, but he is best known for his ballets Gayane (from which comes the Sabre Dance) and Spartacus (from which comes the focus of this blog, the captivating Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia).

Spartacus follows the trials and tribulations of the famous gladiator-general, Spartacus, the leader of the slave uprising against the Romans in 73 BC (which actually happened, incidentally, and was exhaustively chronicled by Plutarch, but that – as I so often have to say – is another story!).

The Roman consul Crassus has returned to Rome from his latest conquests in a triumphal procession. Among his captives are the Thracian king Spartacus and his wife Phrygia. To entertain Crassus and his cronies, Spartacus is sent into the gladiatorial ring and is forced to kill a close friend. Horrified at his deed, Spartacus incites his fellow captives to rebellion, and ends up freeing the slave women, including Phrygia. The Adagio marks their celebration.

It open with a delicate syncopated rhythm from the strings, and a series of trills on the flute. A slow ascending scale is played by the cellos, and the oboe eases the music into the famous ‘love theme’ for the first time. It’s tremendous stuff and readers of a certain age will almost certainly remember its use as the theme music to the TV programme, The Onedin Line.

Below, I present a version of the ballet performed by Anna Nikulina and Mikhail Lobukhin of the Bolshoi Ballet. In addition, below that, I have chosen another version: a piano-only rendering of the music, and I include it because it is just too exquisite to omit. The pianist is Matthew Cameron, who, as well as being a virtuoso concert pianist, appears to be good-looking and, according to his website, collects antique historic swords, with a collection dating back to the 9th century. Hat tip!

Aram Khachaturian