Yes. And wasn't he tempted to destroy everything he'd written, like Kafka? This is why I said "in my memory", recognizing that it's both limited and rusty. What prompted me to mention Hopkins is that "Dappled Things" seems to me one of the great poems of joy in the language - as opposed perhaps to happiness - and, not knowing the Terrible Sonnets, that note did not seem alien to what I know of his work.

Oh - continuing to look for great happy poems, how about The Canterbury Tales? It's not all happy (The Knight's Tale) but I think there's a fair bit of happiness in it.

I agree, John: he wrote some joyous poems. Inversnaid is another one, and Penmaen Pool. I think all good poets have a wide range.
Here's a triolet of his that delights me, though it's mostly forgotten nowadays:

‘The child is father to the man.'
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
‘The child is father to the man.'
No; what the poet did write ran,
‘The man is father to the child.'
‘The child is father to the man!'
How can he be? The words are wild!

Sadly, I can only read English, but what I can glean from translations confirms what Jennifer says here. Some of the world's greatest poetry in C20 came from not only the damage caused by the two world wars, but by the widespread misery inflicted on so many countries due to the influence of Marxism, communism, and the even fouler far-right ideologies of national socialism and extreme militarism, as in Germany and Japan.

Completely distinct from politics, emotional and physical suffering — unrequited love, poverty, drug abuse, domestic abuse, etc. — and manic depression have certainly been major catalysts to some great poetry.

I know that my own personal suffering - not from political oppression, as I've been very lucky - but stemming from psychological issues, disastrous experiences in the romance department, divorce, and my struggles to make a living, have fueled my poetry and my other passion, music.

Oddly enough (or not), the main source of my happiness, apart from my kids, and the general support from my friends and family, is the pure joy I get from being productive: by writing poetry, fiction, commentary, and my occasional musical projects. Without that creative outlet, my life would be, to quote from a favorite film, "misery, at it's best."

Some jet-lagged musings…

I agree that, as a general rule, a broader range makes for a better poet. Shakespeare and Dickinson would be my archetypes here, as encyclopediae of human thought and emotion. I suspect there is at least one probable exception to this rule: the truly visionary poet. I’d put Whitman and Rumi in this category, and Blake and Dante and Milton.

I characterized the mature Whitman and Rumi as ‘happy’ poets, and I think they are, but I also think underlying Whitman’s happiness is a darkness that was – to use the Hegelian term -- largely sublimated, or aufgehoben. The darkness is apparent in his early work and juvenilia, and I think it’s still present in his mature work as a shadow, or in the way that the rain of the storm cloud combines with the Sun to make the hyacinth in Spring. Sometimes I can almost feel Whitman struggling against it. As for Rumi, I hear the darkness mostly in the serene and almost light-hearted argument of the poet with himself; I feel it there, in the background, though the poet chose – in his vision of joy, to return to Jennifer’s word – to emphasize the light. Post tenebras lux, that sort of thing.

Blake may have broader range than Whitman or Rumi, but less than WS or ED; still, he is certainly a visionary. I think I’d say the same of Dante and Milton, but, to be sure, I haven’t read all of Milton and it’s been a long time since I read the Divine Comedy straight through. I’m open to different views.

At any rate, I suspect a true vision demands communication, and I wonder if that explains why some poets who have achieved joy or ‘happiness’ as an enduring state (as opposed to a transient emotion) may feel compelled to keep writing…

Michael, I enjoyed your comments on Whitman. And yes, there's a great deal of darkness in Whitman since he is constantly reminding us of death and how we will all turn into compost, and surely he must know that urging us to be glad that the compost is part of a process whereby life is regenerated is at best a partial consolation when we're on our death beds. As I said earlier, so much of adult poetry that is "happy" is "happy" only because it offers ways to come to terms or overcome very sad and depressing concerns. It cheers us up, but starts with the premise that we need cheering.

Thank you, Rogerbob. I know you are big fan of Whitman and a careful reader, so I value the compliment.

M

I'm surprised no one has mentioned Robert Browning, one of the most relentlessly upbeat personalities to write English verse.

My Last Duchess?

From M.A. Griffiths's comments on her sonnet "Aftermath":

(Yes, "His Last Duchess" is very dark, but note that the last duchess was bumped off because she was too damned cheerful, and the possessive narrator couldn't make her stop smiling at people other than himself. There's plenty of darkness in "Pippa Passes," too--the long version, not the famous eight-line snippet--but Pippa's blissfully unaware of most of it, and remains cheerful despite the rest.)

My favorite Browning by far is Pied Piper of Hamelin, which I first encountered in a very well done volume with Kate Greenaway illustrations. It's quite cheerful even though the children are led off into the mountain never to be heard from again. On the bright side, they did also get rid of the rats.