Link to poetry.org.
Part I - Overview of Metaphysical Poetry & John Donne
John Donne was born in 1572 in London, England. He is known as the founder of the Metaphysical Poets, a term created by Samuel Johnson, an eighteenth-century English essayist, poet, and philosopher. His wife, aged thirty-three, died in 1617 shortly after giving birth to their twelfth child, a stillborn. The Holy Sonnets are also attributed to this phase of his life.
The term "metaphysical poetry" is used to describe a certain type of 17th century poetry. The term was originally intended to be derogatory; Dryden, who said Donne "affects the metaphysics," was criticizing Donne for being too arcane. Samuel Johnson later used the term "metaphysical poetry" to describe the specific poetic method used by poets like Donne.
Metaphysical poets are generally in rebellion against the highly conventional imagery of the Elizabethan lyric. The poems tend to be intellectually complex, and (according to the Holman Handbook), "express honestly, if unconventionally, the poet's sense of the complexities and contradictions of life." The verse often sounds rough in comparison to the smooth conventions of other poets; Ben Jonson once said that John Donne "deserved hanging" for the way he ran roughshod over conventional rhythms. The result is that these poems often lack lyric smoothness, but they instead use a rugged irregular movement that seems to suit the content of the poems.
For an example of metaphysical rebellion against lyrical convention, one can look at Donne's Holly Sonnet VI, below.
"Holy Sonnet VI"
by John Donne, 1610
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's deliverie.
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.
The poem personifies death through an extended metaphor. It speaks to death as if poking fun at its history of being known as “mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so” according to the narrator. The speaker even goes so far as to say “nor canst thou kill me.” This ends the first stanza and is much more interesting and off putting than “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” or Let me not to the marriage of true minds” by Shakespeare.
That the punctuation is just as vital to the meaning of the work. In addition to challenging the conventions of rhythm, the metaphysical poets also challenged conventional imagery. Their tool for doing this was the metaphysical conceit. A conceit is a poetic idea, usually a metaphor. There can be conventional ideas, where there are expected metaphors: Petrarchan conceits imitate the metaphors used by the Italian poet Petrarch. Metaphysical conceits are noteworthy specifically for their lack of conventionality. In general, the metaphysical conceit will use some sort of shocking or unusual comparison as the basis for the metaphor. When it works, a metaphysical conceit has a startling appropriateness that makes us look at something in an entirely new way.
In the sonnet above, he last line is what does it for me, though and it was utilized brilliantly in Maraget Edison’s Wit.
Some editions of the text present the last line as follows:
And Death shall be no more; Death thou shalt die!
In the Gardner edition, it is presented as follows:
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.
As stated in Edison’s play “Nothing but a breath. A comma separates life from eternal life.” Therefore, the metaphysical conceit of the sonnet is that when you die you live forever.
"Holy Sonnet IV"
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This is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint
My pilgrimage's last mile, and my race
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
My span's last inch, my minute's latest point,
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space,
But my ever-waking part shall see that face,
Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
Then, as my soul to heaven her first seat takes flight,
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
To where they're bred and would press me to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.
Part II - Modern Sonnets
"Sonnet XLIII"
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's deliverie.
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.
The poem personifies death through an extended metaphor. It speaks to death as if poking fun at its history of being known as “mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so” according to the narrator. The speaker even goes so far as to say “nor canst thou kill me.” This ends the first stanza and is much more interesting and off putting than “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” or Let me not to the marriage of true minds” by Shakespeare.
That the punctuation is just as vital to the meaning of the work. In addition to challenging the conventions of rhythm, the metaphysical poets also challenged conventional imagery. Their tool for doing this was the metaphysical conceit. A conceit is a poetic idea, usually a metaphor. There can be conventional ideas, where there are expected metaphors: Petrarchan conceits imitate the metaphors used by the Italian poet Petrarch. Metaphysical conceits are noteworthy specifically for their lack of conventionality. In general, the metaphysical conceit will use some sort of shocking or unusual comparison as the basis for the metaphor. When it works, a metaphysical conceit has a startling appropriateness that makes us look at something in an entirely new way.
In the sonnet above, he last line is what does it for me, though and it was utilized brilliantly in Maraget Edison’s Wit.
Some editions of the text present the last line as follows:
And Death shall be no more; Death thou shalt die!
In the Gardner edition, it is presented as follows:
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.
As stated in Edison’s play “Nothing but a breath. A comma separates life from eternal life.” Therefore, the metaphysical conceit of the sonnet is that when you die you live forever.
"Holy Sonnet IV"
by John Donne, 1610
If poysonous minerals, and if that tree,
Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us,
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
Cannot be damn'd, Alas ! why should I be?
Why should intent or reason, born in me,
Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
And, mercy being easie, and glorious
To God, in his stern wrath why threatens hee?
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee?
O God, Oh! of thine only worthy blood,
And my teares, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
And drown in it my sinnes blacke memorie.
That thou remember them, some claime as debt,
I thinke it mercy if thou wilt forget.
"Holy Sonnet X"
If poysonous minerals, and if that tree,
Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us,
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
Cannot be damn'd, Alas ! why should I be?
Why should intent or reason, born in me,
Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
And, mercy being easie, and glorious
To God, in his stern wrath why threatens hee?
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee?
O God, Oh! of thine only worthy blood,
And my teares, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
And drown in it my sinnes blacke memorie.
That thou remember them, some claime as debt,
I thinke it mercy if thou wilt forget.
"Holy Sonnet X"
by John Donne, 1610
My pilgrimage's last mile, and my race
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
My span's last inch, my minute's latest point,
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space,
But my ever-waking part shall see that face,
Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
Then, as my soul to heaven her first seat takes flight,
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
To where they're bred and would press me to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.
Part II - Modern Sonnets
"Sonnet XLIII"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1956
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
"Florida Doll Sonnet"
by Denise Duhamel, 1961
I love Fresh Market but always feel underdressed
squeezing overpriced limes. Louis Vuitton,
Gucci, Fiorucci, and all the ancient East Coast girls
with their scarecrow limbs and Joker grins.
Their silver fox husbands, rosy from tanning beds,
steady their ladies who shuffle along in Miu Miu’s
(not muumuus) and make me hide behind towers
of handmade soaps and white pistachios. Who
knew I’d still feel like the high school fat girl
some thirty-odd years later? My Birkenstocks
and my propensity for fig newtons? Still, whenever
I’m face to face with a face that is no more real
than a doll’s, I try to love my crinkles, my saggy
chin skin. My body organic, with no preservatives.
"The Harlem Dancer"
by Denise Duhamel, 1961
I love Fresh Market but always feel underdressed
squeezing overpriced limes. Louis Vuitton,
Gucci, Fiorucci, and all the ancient East Coast girls
with their scarecrow limbs and Joker grins.
Their silver fox husbands, rosy from tanning beds,
steady their ladies who shuffle along in Miu Miu’s
(not muumuus) and make me hide behind towers
of handmade soaps and white pistachios. Who
knew I’d still feel like the high school fat girl
some thirty-odd years later? My Birkenstocks
and my propensity for fig newtons? Still, whenever
I’m face to face with a face that is no more real
than a doll’s, I try to love my crinkles, my saggy
chin skin. My body organic, with no preservatives.
"The Harlem Dancer"
by Claude McKay, 1922
Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes
And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;
Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes
Blown by black players upon a picnic day.
She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,
The light gauze hanging loose about her form;
To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm
Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.
Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls
Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise,
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,
Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze;
But looking at her falsely-smiling face,
I knew her self was not in that strange place.
"Ever"
"Ever"
by Meghan O'Rourke, 2015
Never, never, never, never, never.
—King Lear
Even now I can’t grasp “nothing” or “never.”
They’re unholdable, unglobable, no map to nothing.
Never? Never ever again to see you?
An error, I aver. You’re never nothing,
because nothing’s not a thing.
I know death is absolute, forever,
the guillotine—gutting—never to which we never say goodbye.
But even as I think “forever” it goes “ever”
and “ever” and “ever.” Ever after.
I’m a thing that keeps on thinking. So I never see you
is not a thing or think my mouth can ever. Aver:
You’re not “nothing.” But neither are you something.
Will I ever really get never?
You’re gone. Nothing, never—ever.
"Superheroes as 2004 Volkswagen Passat: A Double Sonnet"
by Bruce Covey, 2012
The Invisible Woman is the windshield.
Never, never, never, never, never.
—King Lear
Even now I can’t grasp “nothing” or “never.”
They’re unholdable, unglobable, no map to nothing.
Never? Never ever again to see you?
An error, I aver. You’re never nothing,
because nothing’s not a thing.
I know death is absolute, forever,
the guillotine—gutting—never to which we never say goodbye.
But even as I think “forever” it goes “ever”
and “ever” and “ever.” Ever after.
I’m a thing that keeps on thinking. So I never see you
is not a thing or think my mouth can ever. Aver:
You’re not “nothing.” But neither are you something.
Will I ever really get never?
You’re gone. Nothing, never—ever.
"Superheroes as 2004 Volkswagen Passat: A Double Sonnet"
by Bruce Covey, 2012
The Invisible Woman is the windshield.
Mr. Fantastic is the wiper fluid.
The Thing is the tire.
The Human Torch is the spark plug.
Spiderman is the antenna.
Storm is the ignition coil.
Rogue is the crank shaft.
The Punisher is the exhaust pipe.
Captain America is the hub cap.
Quicksilver is the oil.
Rogue is the gasoline.
Psylocke is the catalytic converter.
The Hulk is the cylinder block.
She Hulk is the mount.
Mantis is the manifold.
Ms. Marvel is the muffler.
The Scarlet Witch is the instrument panel.
Iceman is the cooling system.
Wolverine is the hood.
Colossus is the camshaft.
Banshee is the horn.
Polaris is the voltage regulator.
Silver Surfer is the rearview mirror.
Powerman is the bearing.
Phoenix is the powertrain.
Emma Frost is the hinge pillar.
The Vision is the fuse box.
Black Widow is the brake.
The Tradition—By Jericho Brown
ReplyDeleteAster. Nasturtium. Delphinium. We thought
Fingers in dirt meant it was our dirt, learning
Names in heat, in elements classical
Philosophers said could change us. Star Gazer.
Foxglove. Summer seemed to bloom against the will
Of the sun, which news reports claimed flamed hotter
On this planet than when our dead fathers
Wiped sweat from their necks. Cosmos. Baby’s Breath.
Men like me and my brothers filmed what we
Planted for proof we existed before
Too late, sped the video to see blossoms
Brought in seconds, colors you expect in poems
Where the world ends, everything cut down.
John Crawford. Eric Garner. Mike Brown.
As we address aestheticism in our readings of Oscar Wilde, a modern poem, such like “The Tradition,” by Jericho Brown, contrasts the belief the art is create for the sole sake of beauty. Although just a fourteen line sonnet, Brown is able to include great political meanings and implications to his work. He raises concerns that are both broad yet relatable for many while questioning the meaning of safety and the true values of America. I find it interesting and tremendously powerful that he concluded his poem by incorporating the three names of innocent African Americans murdered by white police officers: “John Crawford. Eric Garner. Mike Brown.” This poem is vastly different than that we have been studying. Compared to Petrarch and Shakespearean sonnets, this modern poem has much more political meaning. While those other works aim more to romanticize readers in the beauty of nature or a beautiful woman, Jericho Brown chooses to highlight a very serious, political topic. He is similar with Donne metaphysical poetry in that the verse sounds rougher in comparison to the smooth conventions of other poets. However, ultimately, modern poetry seems to cover a wide variety of topics. While scrolling through the website, I came across a number of different ideas, from the playful poem titled V-Neck T-Shirt Sonnet to that of Jericho Brown.
I also did a sonnet by Jericho Brown, i think his style of writing is very intriguing in the aspect of how different it is to the more traditional ones we've looked at in the past. I agree with how you stated that he is able to convey very strong and important messages through very few words.
DeleteI do really appreciate his style. Also, I like how Brown contrasts "Aster. Nasturtium. Delphinium," three flowers, with "John Crawford. Eric Garner. Mike Brown," three African Americans murdered by white police officers.
DeleteA Certain Slant of Sunlight
ReplyDeleteTed Berrigan
In Africa the wine is cheap, and it is
on St. Mark’s Place too, beneath a white moon.
I’ll go there tomorrow, dark bulk hooded
against what is hurled down at me in my no hat
which is weather: the tall pretty girl in the print dress
under the fur collar of her cloth coat will be standing
by the wire fence where the wild flowers grow not too tall
her eyes will be deep brown and her hair styled 1941 American
will be too; but
I’ll be shattered by then
But now I’m not and can also picture white clouds
impossibly high in blue sky over small boy heartbroken
to be dressed in black knickers, black coat, white shirt,
buster-brown collar, flowing black bow-tie
her hand lightly fallen on his shoulder, faded sunlight falling
across the picture, mother & son, 33 & 7, First Communion Day, 1941--
I’ll go out for a drink with one of my demons tonight
they are dry in Colorado 1980 spring snow.
Upon reading, you can tell that this sonnet is very in depth, as its meaning is difficult to understand. The title does not give an idea of what the poem is about but there is a shift in the sound of the poem when it says “I’ll be shatter by then”. Up until this part, the poem seems to be describing a place or a certain scene. At this shift, the tone seems somewhat sullen because of the words such as “shattered” and “heartbroken”. The writer is almost discussing something particular because the phrases almost address a certain something. This poem is extremely hard to interpret because none of the lines clearly tell you what it is discussing. One of the lines says a few random ideas. The line states “across the picture, mother & son, 33 & 7, First Communion Day, 1941”. I was confused about this line because the ideas seem jumbled into one sentence. I did notice however that this is the second time that the year 1941 was mentioned so this must be significant. Compared to the petrarch sonnet, this poem is a lot harder when trying to understand what it about. It does not rhyme or follow any of the standard petracharian structure. The Shakespearean sonnet also has a rhyme scheme and follows a standard form. The petrarch and shakespearean sonnet forms describe feelings or emotions in a way that attracts the readers. This new type of sonnet style that we are studying does not follow any type of guideline and does not aim to please the readers. It is challenging in the way that it is unique and confusing.
I really appreciate how this poem that you picked out from the website is different from most sonnets we have read. It lack a rhyme scheme, yet still have incredible flow. Also, I like how it incorporates culture and meaning throughout, which is very different from many past forms of poetry we've studied.
DeleteI Am a Little World Made Cunningly
ReplyDeleteBy John Donne
I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic spright,
But black sin hath betrayed to endless night
My worlds both parts, and oh! both parts must die.
You, which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres and of new lands can write,
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more:
But oh! it must be burnt; alas the fire
Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore,
And made it fouler; Let their flames retire,
And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal
Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal.
In this poem, the speaker writes about their past sins and struggle to overcome them. It begins by him stating he is just a “a little world made cunningly,” who is essentially haunted by his past sins. The “You” in which he’s speaking to is God, which whom he is asking for forgiveness, or to be pardoned from these sins. God is the only one with such power to cleanse him of these sins. The tone in which he uses is of urgency and desperation, ready to accept whatever must be done (“Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more… it must be burnt; alas the fire”). In comparison to Petrarch and Shakespearean sonnets, this poem uses different elements such as the metaphysical conceit. The writing is of metaphysical poetry, which is vastly different from previous works we've seen. Metaphysical poetry is much rougher and does not necessarily have to rhyme. John Donne illustrates this throughout this poem, “I Am a Little World Made Cunningly,” but also in many of his other works as well.
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
ReplyDeleteI have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
When I read this poem, I thought of an old person who is having memory problems but still loves and misses her family. The author makes references to forgetting stuff, such as when she says "What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten", and when she mentions "unremembered lads", but she also talks about how she misses the people she loves, such as when she says "in my heart there stirs a quiet pain," and when she makes the analogy to the winter tree. The structure of this sonnet is a lot like a Petrarchan sonnet, which has an octet with ABBAABBA and a sextet with a flexible rhyming scheme. Another similarity between this sonnet and the petrarchan sonnet is the turn. The first part of the poem, ending with midnight with a cry, is more about the author at a particular moment. After the turn, the poem becomes more figurative and more dramatic/intense. Like the metaphysical sonnets, this poem uses a somewhat unconvential metaphor, comparing the author with a tree in the winter. However, it also relied on another more convetional metaphor also (that of summer to symbolize happiness), which made it also similar to the petrarchan and shakespearean sonnets.
The interesting (and in my opinion, rather annoying) thing about poetry is that two people can read the same poem and read an entirely different story. When you read it it was about an older widow. When I read it, I thought the poem was trying to explain the whole phenomenon of loss of love. I envisioned a younger couple at the time. I think it's a big part of poetry but I also hate it because I stress about multiple choice questions on the AP test (what if I completely disagree with the person who made the test?). I also liked how you looked at the rhyming scheme, I also noticed it was weird.
Delete"Florida Doll Sonnet"
ReplyDeleteby Denise Duhamel, 1961
I love Fresh Market but always feel underdressed
squeezing overpriced limes. Louis Vuitton,
Gucci, Fiorucci, and all the ancient East Coast girls
with their scarecrow limbs and Joker grins.
Their silver fox husbands, rosy from tanning beds,
steady their ladies who shuffle along in Miu Miu’s
(not muumuus) and make me hide behind towers
of handmade soaps and white pistachios. Who
knew I’d still feel like the high school fat girl
some thirty-odd years later? My Birkenstocks
and my propensity for fig newtons? Still, whenever
I’m face to face with a face that is no more real
than a doll’s, I try to love my crinkles, my saggy
chin skin. My body organic, with no preservatives.
In Florida Doll Sonnet, Duhamel incorporates the style of metaphysical poetry as a way to unconventionally express the narrator's rather complex experience at the farmer’s market. At Fresh Market, the narrator feels as if she doesn’t belong, “...[I] always feel underdressed squeezing overpriced limes,” and elaborates by describing her surroundings. Other customers wearing designer labels come in, setting a dynamic far-off from the organic aura of a market. Ultimately, she is left insecure but concludes with settlements of self-love, “I try to love my crinkles, my saggy chin skin. My body organic, with no preservatives.” The way that Duhamel closes the sonnet with this line leaves the audience with a sense of ambiguity, and ultimately instils curiosity to analyze for a deeper interpretation. “My body organic, with no preservatives,” sets up a comparison of aging between of the two types of parties mentioned in the sonnet. The narrator loves her organically aging body, and feels discomfort with the other “ancient East Coast girls” masked behind high-street labels and a false image. These ladies are almost similar to the overpriced limes, and in a sense, the narrator is hypocritical for loving Fresh Market; she loves an environment that sells inorganic produce, infatuated with preservatives to stay lucious and aesthetically pleasing.
Florida Doll Sonnet is a work of poetry that has depth beyond the words. Duhamel was able to incorporate a metaphysical conceit at the end of the poem through the narrator’s experience at the market, to evoke a greater meaning discoverable to the audience. This modern poem also focuses on ideas such as self image, beauty, and fashion— concentrations that did not appear as frequently (in this sense) in older works by Shakespeare or Petrarch. It was also more relatable in a sense and easier to apply to my personal life.
“Florida Doll Sonnet”
ReplyDeleteBy Denise Duhamel, 1961
I love Fresh Market but always feel underdressed
squeezing overpriced limes. Louis Vuitton,
Gucci, Fiorucci, and all the ancient East Coast girls
with their scarecrow limbs and Joker grins.
Their silver fox husbands, rosy from tanning beds,
steady their ladies who shuffle along in Miu Miu’s
(not muumuus) and make me hide behind towers
of handmade soaps and white pistachios. Who
knew I’d still feel like the high school fat girl
some thirty-odd years later? My Birkenstocks
and my propensity for fig newtons? Still, whenever
I’m face to face with a face that is no more real
than a doll’s, I try to love my crinkles, my saggy
chin skin. My body organic, with no preservatives.
I thought this sonnet was a great example of several ways in which sonnets have changed from the days of Petrarch and Shakespeare. One gets this sense with just a simple skim through the poem due to the fact that it isn’t written the older form of English familiar to the sonnets we have read in class so far. However that is to be expected, of course. The next most glaring difference to me is the lack of a rhyme scheme, at least one that I can detect. It certainly does not follow ABAB or ABBA rhythms that older poets sought to rigidly maintain. They likely would not have even viewed this piece of writing as a sonnet or even a poem at all. Another (more minor) difference that stuck out to me is the fact that sentences sometimes carry over between lines. For example, “all the ancient East Coast girls with their scarecrow limbs” has a line break in between “girls” and “with.” It’s possible Shakespeare and poets of his time had some poems that did this but it stuck out to me as different. It seems like the older poems we have read have contained each thought to its own line. The modern poem also felt more “stream of consciousness” though I would not call this a characteristic of modern poetry, rather more particular to this example. I do not find one form preferable to the other, I think both types of sonnets can come across successfully and both can not.
I like that you pointed out the stream of consciousness because while this piece is more modern I feel it still has more in common with older poetry as it still has careful line breaks and full thoughts. Characteristically, modern stream of thought is much more abstract and often broken up in order to portray a theme by association. I like that this is sort of an in between.
DeleteA face seen passing in a crowded street,
ReplyDeleteA voice heard singing music, large and free;
And from that moment life is changed, and we
Become of more heroic temper, meet
To freely ask and give, a man complete
Radiant because of faith, we dare to be
What Nature meant us. Brave idolatry
Which can conceive a hero! No deceit,
No knowledge taught by unrelenting years,
Can quench this fierce, untamable desire.
We know that what we long for once achieved
Will cease to satisfy. Be still our fears;
If what we worship fail us, still the fire
Burns on, and it is much to have believed.
I noticed there is only one stanza and they are all a different number of lines. I also noticed that the rhyme pattern is odd, at least in this poem. At first, it goes A B B A then A B B B, and then B C D E C F G C. What? I might be looking into this too much? Is there supposed to be a pattern? I don’t know. Metaphysical poetry seems to be about things the poets notice about the world but can’t put a face to. Like, to use the poem above as an example, that person or feeling that is fits the model of a story book hero. When someone acts just like it, and how people react. I liked this poem, by Amy Lowell, called “Hero-Worship”. I thought it really captures this phenomenon that I see all the time, where there is a person who just personifies a one man parade. Who everyone likes and cheers for. My brother kind of has this personality. Also, a weird note, I kind of like this poem better read backwards? Try it, am I crazy?
I had a similar experience where I was trying to count the rhymes in the poem I read and it was so incoherent I was left sitting there trying to find any pattern. It's interesting how our first instinct is often to look for these patterns in poetry, these modern sonnets are probably making a statement about that.
DeleteThis is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint
ReplyDeleteMy pilgrimage's last mile, and my race
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
My span's last inch, my minute's latest point,
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space,
But my ever-waking part shall see that face,
Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
Then, as my soul to heaven her first seat takes flight,
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
To where they're bred and would press me to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.
I like seeing the development of poetry as it becomes more modern. These poems have strayed far from the original lovey-dovey nature of the Petrarchan sonnets and the eloquent and tetious language of the Shakespearean poetry. Thematically, these poems are more morbid than those of previous time periods and I can see where Metaphysical ideology might come from. It has this sense of existentialism that had really only started to be explored with Shakespearean tragedies. In this poem Donne questions the meaning of death and the after-life. He talks about how his “earth-born body in the earth shall dwell” and how he wishes to “Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil,” thus admitting his sins and that in death he may not find an after-life and, if he does, it may be not the ideal put in place by religion. It has an eerie tone comparable to something like Macbeth that refers to the Devil and sin as not something to be fear, but a given. It assumes the inherent flaws of humanity, which is far more cynical and dark than any poetry previous to this type.
I really liked how you talked about how you talked about modernity and how the style of poetry is different from that of the past. I agree that the tone is almost harsher and as you said more eery, giving it a very different feel than Wilde's.
DeleteApplauding youths laughed with young prostitutes
ReplyDeleteAnd watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;
Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes
Blown by black players upon a picnic day.
She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,
The light gauze hanging loose about her form;
To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm
Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.
Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls
Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise,
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,
Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze;
But looking at her falsely-smiling face,
I knew her self was not in that strange place.
The poem begins with a surprising line describing young people and prostitutes were laughing with one another. This really “hooked” me as the reader, forcing me to read more. Although this was one stanza, it showed the development of the young woman. She was almost fetishized being watched by all those people. At the same time, her beauty as a black woman was praised and recognized almost making one unaware. She is described as dancing “gracefully and calm” allowing her to be seen as a human. The young woman seems at the time comfortable with the attention given to her, almost welcoming the adoration. It is at the end of the poem we as readers are given reason to believe that though she is adored, maybe she does not want it. The narrator noticed her “falsely- smiling face” aware that there was more to the woman that everyone saw.
The Dream
ReplyDeleteWinifred M. Letts
I dreamt—before death made such dreaming vain—
That sometime, on a day of wind and rain,
I would come home to you at fall of night
And see your window flushed with firelight.
There in the chill dark lonesomeness I’d wait
A moment, standing at the garden gate
Scarce trusting that my happiness was true,—
The kind warm lights of home and love and you.
Then, lest they’d vanish to be mine no more,
I’d speed my steps along the garden path,
Cross my own threshold, close the wind-blown door
And find you in the firelight of the hearth.
O happiness! to kneel beside you there
And feel your fingers resting on my hair.
While reading this sonnet, you can feel the speaker and their want to be with some person. In the first section it describes the speaker looking through a window and dreaming of being inside the house with you on a windy and rainy night. Following this, it almost feels like the speaker dropped out of a trance and that they moved quickly into the house besides the person that they wanted to be with. When it says “I’d speed my steps along the garden path, Cross my own threshold, close the wind-blown door” You can sense the urgency behind the speaker and it is as if the dream has become the reality for them.
The pattern in the sonnet is not how the sonnet forms from the past have followed. They seem to follow a pattern of its own going from AABB to ABAB. Normally rhyming poems follow precise patterns but in this case the way they switched the rhyming does not disrupt the flow of the poem and in some ways almost makes it sounds better.
“Ever”
ReplyDeleteby Meghan O’Rourke
Even now I can’t grasp “nothing” or “never.”
They’re unholdable, unglobable, no map to nothing.
Never? Never ever again to see you?
An error, I aver. You’re never nothing,
because nothing’s not a thing.
I know death is absolute, forever,
the guillotine—gutting—never to which we never say goodbye.
But even as I think “forever” it goes “ever”
and “ever” and “ever.” Ever after.
I’m a thing that keeps on thinking. So I never see you
is not a thing or think my mouth can ever. Aver:
You’re not “nothing.” But neither are you something.
Will I ever really get never?
You’re gone. Nothing, never—ever.
I chose this sonnet because it was very thought-provoking for me. I had to read it a few times before really understanding the meaning. This sonnet made my think about the idea of there being “nothing,” ever. The author found the ideas of “nothing” and “never” hard to wrap her head around almost. She doesn’t believe that nothing necessarily means forever, drawing a contrast with death. The word never is also unfathomable to her, and uniquely writes that something never happening is not a “think my mouth can ever.” I think this means she cannot process the idea that she never sees someone, the example mentioned in the sonnet, and because she can’t process it, her mouth is unable to speak those words. This line was the most confusing for me as I had trouble figuring out what they exactly could have meant.
The rhyme scheme is particularly interesting in this sonnet as well. Every other line rhymes in an ABCB form, until the last 2 lines in which the author rhymes never with ever.
The phrase, “an error, I aver,” was very interesting to me. Initially, I thought “aver” was a play on the word “ever” and including an “error” in it, which was just mentioned. However, to my suprise, aver is a real word, but a very unpopular one, which means the author chose that word particularly to sound like “ever.” There is a lot of wordplay in this sonnet, as the author uses “ever” quite often. Interestingly enough, the author, even though claiming to not fully grasp the word “never,” uses it in a phrase. She writes, “you’re never nothing, because nothing is not a thing.” But never is also not a thing?? The author could be doing this to add to the confusion over “nothing” and “never.” The last line, which states “nothing, never-ever” To end, the author uses the three mostly used words in the poem all in one sentence alone, to show that you are never nothing, ever.
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ReplyDeleteNew Jersey
ReplyDeleteCraig Morgan Teicher
I was afraid the past would catch up with me,
would find this new house too like the scarred
old childhood home. But it hasn’t yet. A tree
casts soft and gentle shade over our green yard.
I feel forgiven all the sins I didn’t commit
for long minutes at a time. What were they?
I can’t now think of anything wrong with me—I fit
in these rooms, can mostly agree to each day.
For long minutes I don’t even blame my mother
for dying, my father for spending years in bed.
My little traumas are just souvenirs of other
lives, of places I might have once visited.
I’m mostly a father here, a husband, barely a son.
The big sun rises early here, as I do, with everyone.
...
Although this sonnet was written in 2016, it has remnants of Aestheticism throughout, using beautiful words to illustrate the starting of a new life away from the author’s past “little traumas”. Teicher is able to bring up emotional memories like “blam[ing] [his] mother/ for dying, [his] father for spending years in bed” in an almost nonchalant tone, calling them “just souvenirs of other lives”. These traumas are in fact so large and impactful that he is “afraid the past would catch up,” yet the piece doesn’t doesn’t seem to evoke sympathy more than it does interest and thought. Being in his new home with his new family reminds him of the past, but shows how different his life is now. Teicher brings the ideas of resolution, hope and gratefulness, appreciating that he “can’t now think of anything wrong with [himself]—[he] fit[s]/in these rooms” in a way that he never fit into his scarred childhood home. He leaves the poem on an uplifting note, saying that “[t]he big sun rises early here, as I do, with everyone,” showing that he is living in the present with those around him, feeling the warmth of life and love around him. The poet outlines but never details the pain he has felt, making the poem easier on the reader’s heart and leaving them more to think about, similar to how Wilde would leave readers with much to rethink. Can you really let go of the past, or does it continue to follow you around? Will having a bad father somehow make you a bad or unconfident father? These questions linger in the subconscious of the poet, poem and reader.
I like how in depth you went to analyze this poem. You really delved into the meaning beneath the lines and how the author was trying to get them across. You described how the writer said some certain lines and you discussed your personal reaction. I think that reading a poem and analyzing it in this way is essential in order to understand the true meaning. You did a really great job when looking at this sonnet.
DeleteJericho Brown - A Young Man
ReplyDeleteWe stand together on our block, me and my son,
Neighbors saying our face is the same, but I know
He’s better than me: when other children move
Toward my daughter, he lurches like a brother
Meant to put them down. He is a bodyguard
On the playground. He won’t turn apart from her,
Empties any enemy, leaves them flimsy, me
Confounded. I never fought for so much—
I calmed my daughter when I could cradle
My daughter; my son swaggers about her.
He won’t have to heal a girl he won’t let free.
They are so small. And I, still, am a young man.
In him lives my black anger made red.
They play. He is not yet incarcerated.
I enjoyed this sonnet a lot, because of the many differences it has in comparisons to the sonnets we’ve read in the past. Although the structure is similar, Brown’s sonnet lacks a rhyme scheme of any kind. The couplet at the end, however, does rhyme loosely. This sonnet is not about lost love but rather is an appreciation of the love towards a son. The speaker speaks highly of his son, commenting on how he is both a child, but is quickly growing into a man through the protection of his sister. The speaker sees himself in his son, and knows that they’ll be one in the same one day.
Super Heroes as 2004 Volkswagen Passat: A Double Sonnet
ReplyDeleteBy Bruce Coey
The Invisible Woman is the windshield.
Mr. Fantastic is the wiper fluid.
The Thing is the tire.
The Human Torch is the spark plug.
Spiderman is the antenna.
Storm is the ignition coil. Rogue is the crank shaft.
The Punisher is the exhaust pipe.
Captain America is the hub cap.
Quicksilver is the oil.
Rogue is the gasoline.
Psylocke is the catalytic converter.
The Hulk is the cylinder block.
She Hulk is the mount.
Mantis is the manifold.
Ms. Marvel is the muffler.
The Scarlet Witch is the instrument panel.
Iceman is the cooling system.
Wolverine is the hood.
Colossus is the camshaft.
Banshee is the horn.
Polaris is the voltage regulator.
Silver Surfer is the rearview mirror.
Powerman is the bearing.
Phoenix is the powertrain.
Emma Frost is the hinge pillar.
The Vision is the fuse box.
Black Widow is the brake.
This is certainly no Shakespearean sonnet. Shakespeare did not write about love or heart break, but still, it sounded romantic. In fact he could probably make a poem about cow poop at least sound pretty. There is no traditional form in the sonnet by Covet, in terms of rhyme scheme, every time I believed to find some intentional organization of ending sounds, it was soon debunked by the next few lines. However, you can say that beginning each new line being a different superhero as some form of repetition. I noticed that female heroes are the first and last line, “The Invisible woman is the windshield...Black Widow is the break,” and arguable two of the most important parts of a car. Covey conveys a message amount the strength of femininity in the world of superheroes, and how they are not meant to be any less heroic then male heroes, and in fact are pretty instrumental badass crime fighters.
Superheroes and the 2004 Volkswagen Passat, appears to belong in the category in Covet heart, two things that he either loves or is passionate about. Perhaps the Passat was his first car, or one that he’s owned for ages. Giving each of it’s part a name, justifies how much he was enamored with this car, or how important they are to him, and in some ways, humanizes them. Also, car parts must work together for a car to run properly, so then possibly superheroes need to work together to save the world. Are the superheroes even superheroes? Are they politicians? Family members? Teammates on a sports team? In my opinion it can apply to an infinite amount of groups. I believe that because the Passat and the superheroes are possibly so personal to him, the writer himself holds his own meaning for the sonnet that we may never know. Therefore, this sonnet has a slightly unique interpretation for each individual reader, as each of them can connect Covey’s passions to their own.
After reading the sonnet, I the most popular heroes to American society, Spiderman, Captain America, and the Wolverine are nearly tucked away in the middle of the stanzas. Does Covet not think them as important as the other heroes he highlights?
I really like that you chose this sonnet! I thought it was very engaging to read. I like how you ask if the superheros are even superheros or if they are something else. This was a really nice blog post to read!
DeleteWow, I learned a lot from reading your analysis. When I first read it, it didn't make any sense to me why the author would write this poem. It seemed like a meaningless collection of of car parts randomly matched with superhero names. However, after reading your post, I found out that there really are more meaningful ideas packed into this seemingly nonsensical poem. In response to your question about whether or not Covet thinks of the popular heroes as important as the other heroes in the poem, I think Covet is trying to make the point that just because something/someone is popular/well-known, it doesn't make it important. I don't know what he personally believes about the most popular heroes, but I think he's trying to make a larger point than his own opinion.
DeleteTo Spring
ReplyDeleteRobert Greenwald
Dreaded season when light’s too long too soon,
winter turns to you before its work is done.
Along with snowdrops, forsythia, anemone,
along with tulips breaking out of their bulbs,
comes the long memory of the fatal spring
when I was thirty-three and my love wasn’t there,
had gone without waiting and said she’d return,
but winter’s work done, was still gone.
Absence stronger than flowers, steaming in sun,
poisoned the season, buried morbid winter
and filled imagined summer with vapors. Light,
light spring drifts in like a feather
used for torture, its touch
too much and not enough.
In this sonnet, the author writes about the transition from winter to spring to talk about the abandonment of his love. He begins by stating the distinct characteristics that make winter and spring what they are. He then divulges into the departure of his love and describes her “absence [as] stronger than flowers” and having “poisoned the season.” Overall, the tone of this sonnet is somewhat depressing, as he is describing a loss using the transition between winter and spring, an often awkward month as the weather is all over the place, similar to the speaker’s feelings. Something I found interesting was that the sonnet incorporated the theme of love, which we have seen in previous styles of sonnets studied in class before. I found the metaphysical poetry much easier to read and understand in comparison to Petrarchan and Shakespearean sonnets, as it felt more similar to modern poetry. I noticed that while reading other metaphysical poems, there is much less of a rhyme scheme, and the authors use their language to capture the reader’s attention as opposed to rhyme. “To Spring” by Robert Greenwald captures the essence of metaphysical poetry.
I think this sonnet is really interesting, because usually the season spring is associated with positive things like rebirth and hope. I agree about how weather being all over the place can be awkward , chaotic, and stressful.
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ReplyDelete"Ever"
ReplyDeleteby Meghan O'Rourke, 2015
Never, never, never, never, never.
—King Lear
Even now I can’t grasp “nothing” or “never.”
They’re unholdable, unglobable, no map to nothing.
Never? Never ever again to see you?
An error, I aver. You’re never nothing,
because nothing’s not a thing.
I know death is absolute, forever,
the guillotine—gutting—never to which we never say goodbye.
But even as I think “forever” it goes “ever”
and “ever” and “ever.” Ever after.
I’m a thing that keeps on thinking. So I never see you
is not a thing or think my mouth can ever. Aver:
You’re not “nothing.” But neither are you something.
Will I ever really get never?
Despite being centuries apart, there are similarities between “Ever” by Meghan O’Rourke and the Shakespearean sonnets from class. On the surface, both discuss concept of death. Shakespearean sonnets were just as famous for expressing love as they were for their personifications of death. In “Ever”, the poet questions how permanent death is and the nature of the word “never”. Structurally, both sonnets propose a question in the first lines of their work. However, while Shakespearean sonnets provide a solution or conclusion of sorts, O’Rourke asks the same question as she had begun the poem with. I think this is done not to provoke frustration, but to emphasize how impossible her question is to answer. The language in this poem also highlights this sense of uncertainty. While Shakespeare thrived on an eloquent and flowery writing style, “Ever” is far more personal. It is not exactly casual, but it comes off more as a conversation than a sonnet. Lines like “I know death is absolute, forever”(6) and “Never? Never again to see you?”(3) brings the audience into the poem and thus part of the discussion. The uncertainty is more apparent with this investment from the audience. It inevitably draws the reader in, I’d argue more than Shakespeare’s poems. I liked that O’Rourke used the words of the most famous poet to create her own piece.